#but she’s human with a lot of mistakes and all

[anyacad0]

Dan Heng in the fate event is so silly like his entire vibe is that he doesn't give a fuck about this holy grail business but he also can't abide by not even trying to figure out what it is

he doesn't believe that his wish will be granted, so he goes ahead and makes one that definitely won't come true

Dan Heng: she will know exactly what "a lot" means

Stelle: does that just mean he stays in human form? Or is he going to throw? I don't want him to throw but if I say no will he not hold back whatsoever? What if he kicks my ass and it's my fault for not being specific enough? Is it cheating if I say yes?

I also think their dynamic is really cute. If the Trailblazer beats him he says their skills have improved and if they lose, he helps them learn from their mistakes.

Stelle is also convinced she only won due to luck which is. fair enough honestly.

"no surprise" sir you just beat anime Jesus

he is also just researching while everyone fights to the death

not even slightly bothered about losing, just wondering how this whole thing even works

and yet even with his idgaf attitude about the whole thing, his arrogant/defiant side still slips out occasionally if he wins

anyways here are all the other interactions I could find

I appreciate the friendly threats between them so much. It speaks to much more closeness than a more friendly dialogue could.

It also seems like, in the same way the Trailblazer does, March sees him as a teacher when it comes to combat. Which again is just. So cute

Unfortunately I couldn't find any interaction with Hyacine or Jingliu

Finally, did you know he has a lower magic stat than Topaz? weird.

Bonus: Jing Yuan is an absolute menace

lying-ass liar

like is he not the tired amused grandpa playing along with the Trailblazer's nonsense here

[thenexusofsouls]

Wanda could've jump-hugged Tyson for standing up for her just then. It wasn't that he'd done anything overly spectacular, but she just wasn't used to having people come to her defense at all lately. Gratitude overwhelmed her into silence as she listened to Stephen and Tyson discuss things while glancing at the Darkhold. Why does it have to literally hover around us right now? she thought. It was only making things looks worse for her.

"I understand that people make mistakes, but when people are as powerful as Wanda, those mistakes can have staggering consequences. People like us need to be extra mindful of ourselves because we've got far more potential than the average citizen to do a lot of damage, intentional or otherwise," Stephen said. Perhaps he sounded a bit cold, but he'd learned the value of taking responsibility for his actions, and the great responsibility that having knowledge and power came with, first while being a doctor and next as a sorcerer.

"Well, for starters, I didn't think that calling attention to an evil and potentially retaliatory artifact on a city sidewalk with numerous civilians all around us was the best way to go. It seemed to want to follow Wanda, so I let it think I couldn't see it to get it here... where I've got a lot more options at my disposal if I need to try to contain it," Stephen said. "As for why I didn't mention it until this minute, I was waiting to see if one of you would bring it up first. Context is key, after all."

The Darkhold floated a bit closer to Tyson, sensing his discomfort at its presence. It fed off of such things and was attracted to them.

"Clearly, it has no concept of personal space, not that I would expect it to," Stephen said dryly. "Those sorts of spells can be called several things, depending on the situation, but a ward is one of them. Yeah, it could be bouncing back your attempts to probe it or making it seem like there's more here than meets the eye," he mused. "It could be trying to conceal the fact that Wanda's boys are still somewhere in this universe, or it could be trying to make it seem like there's something to hide because it knows that'll distract you for a while. Either way, we need to get to the bottom of it."

Who was this human who knew so much about magic? The Darkhold floated past Tyson and over to Stephen, trying to glean what it from his aura. He looked at it with annoyance. The only reason he hadn't tried to banish it to a holding cell by now was because he preferred to get a better sense of what he was dealing with before he did something that might piss it off. "Back off, Clippy, I don't need help right now," he said sharply. He was perhaps dating himself with that reference, but he couldn't help it. "Don't touch it," he then ordered his cloak, which had lifted itself off his shoulder somewhat to try to push the offending book away. The cloak recoiled at his words.

What Have I Become? || closed with glitchexmachina

{ @glitchexmachina, continued from here. }

In her frantic state, Wanda thought of the first person she thought would understand, the first one she thought might be able to comfort her and make her feel safe. That person was Tyson. Responding to her thoughts of him, her magic sent her straight to his front door, and after banging on it for a short while, Wanda was so glad to see him finally open it.

"Tyson!" she yelled, practically flinging herself at him and wrapping her arms tightly around him as if clinging to a rock in a storm-tossed sea. "Help me! It's gotten out of... of control and I... can't stop it!" she sobbed. "It whispers to me! It... tells me to harm people... and... I'm starting to... to want to... and I..." She shook her head, closing her eyes tightly. "I don't want that... but... I'm afraid... I won't resist it much longer..."

She really felt badly for just showing up like this, especially since things had been weird after she'd been killed in the Blip and then gone off the deep end in Westview. Would Tyson even want to help her? Would he tell her to leave? If he did, Wanda didn't know who else she would go to, since everyone she might have felt comfortable with was either dead or dealing with their own issues. She just prayed that Tyson wouldn't turn her away...

[jeongteen]

THE REAL HER

Semi x gn!reader

Notes : I love my girl Semi soooo much <3 Also please keep in mind all of those are headcanons, we don't know about Semi's background, family etc. It's just how I imagine her character <3 Again English is not my main language so I apologize for any mistake <3

CW : "Angst" with good ending

Summary : Semi may be a tough girl but she keeps a soft spot for someone.

Words count : 675

Semi is seen as a confident and strong girl by everyone. She had to stand up for herself since she was a kid. She would put on her tough girl mask on to discourage other kids at school from being harsh with her. And that's something she kept to this day.

When she became a teenager, Semi had to learn how to be strong when life is trying its best to destroy you. Her family was never really there, leaving her to herself. She was always left alone with no one to count on. She cried herself to sleep a lot at that time, exhausted from having to be the strong girl everyone was scared of.

That's why Semi never lets anyone come close. She doesn't trust people, she's scared they will use her to get what they want before crushing her heart into pieces. When she feels like someone is getting too close, slowly understanding the complexity of her personality, she runs away.

She thinks getting close means being vulnerable, she thinks getting close is accepting that one day, wether you want it or not, this person is going to destroy everything you built together just for the sake of it.

Yes, that's who Semi is, but there is one person who gets to see the real Semi, and it's you.

When Semi met you, it immediately clicked between the two of you. And of course she tried to make it end. The thing is you didn't let her. Unlike the other people Semi rejected out of fear, you kept reaching out. You kept texting, kept calling, even if you knew no answer would be given.

All this because you understood. The way Semi was acting, the way she was always trying not saying too much about herself, the way she would step back when you would touch her arm while laughing. You knew she didn't actually want to get rid of you. You knew she actually really really wanted to be closer to you. You knew she was scared and tried protecting herself. You weren't mad at her for that, you were sad. Sad that life had been so harsh on her that she couldn't trust anyone.

So you didn't let her go too far. And even if Semi wasn't answering, she was stuck between the fear of letting someone come close and the way her heart sank when seeing you were not leaving.

And one day there was one text, the one text which told her she may needs to stop avoiding everyone and may starts allowing herself to be loved.

“I know what you're doing, but I won't leave, never”

Such a simple text but Semi found herself bursting into tears at its sight. And that day she answered, finally allowing herself to have someone by her side.

“I don't want you to leave”

Your eyes were staring at your screen wide open. Semi answered.

And ever since you are the only one she allows herself to be vulnerable with. You're the one who get to see the real Semi every day.

The one Semi allows the tough girl mask to fall with.

When she's with you, Semi turns into the sweetest human being who ever walked on earth, and you can feel it in all of her actions.

The way she strokes your hair while cuddling.

The way her face lights up when she laughs.

The way she holds your hands when you get a bit too overwhelmed.

The way she remembers every detail about you.

The way she showers you in compliments (all the time but even more if you're feeling unconfident).

The way every single kiss from her holds all the love in the world.

The way she tries getting into your hobbies to have fun with you.

The way she puts your favorite music on and starts dancing when you're crying to cheer you up.

The way she is. She's Semi, a girl the world hurt too much who deserves all the love a person can give.

[drowsy-king]

Yuu's Background

°˖➴ℓo͟v͟ꫀ ყoυ .ᐟ

TW: Harassment & beginning of mom issues(?) (Be warned, if any of these trigger you, do not read :<)

Yuu is a human from another world named, "Earth." Back in "Earth," he lived in a peaceful life with a family of 5, including himself as the middle child, being 16. His mother, father, older brother, and younger sister. Yuu and his family lived in America, the west part of the country.

Ever since he was a young child, he was always an energetic child. Running around the house, outside, parks, and even HIS school. Although, the obvious thing from his energetic side, he was always a polite and respectful child. He would always help his mother with his younger sister, who would be 3 years old at his young age, 7, help his father with groceries, and his older sister with some chores he could do for her while she's busy with her school stuff. He would be that type of sweetheart as a child.

That is until puberty hit for him. At the age of 11, he was hardcore emo. To the point he would say to his mom, "BUT MOM, THIS ISN'T A PHASE!" and shut the door with a slam. Yes, the stereotype. The reason he had a major change was because he realized that "this" world would take advantage of him if he was still the sweetheart of the family since he was in fact being used by some of his so called, "friends" through those years, INCLUDING some family members in his parents' sides. So, he decided to change to more intimidating way. Yes, he was emo with all dark, gloomy expression, always with a frown, and some sharp accessories on him, but at that time, he was learning how to defend himself in private. Yes, taught by YT and some professionals in the internet (APPROVED by college tho- He's smart what's fake and real dw). And yes, he taught himself how to defend himself with a dagger and without weapons, instead fists. Sometimes even with knuckledusters- (Present - He's very good at those).

Of course, through out those days, he will usually get into a lot of fights. Yes, he was a troublemaker at school. Always getting into detention and sometimes even getting suspended (Depending on how badly he injured the opponent). Let me remind you, he was still training/working out in these days, so each of the fights was basically a training in his opinion. He never admitted it tho. Even if his mother always scolded him and grounded him for god knows how long.

It will continue like this until he was 13 years old. That was when he caught his parents arguing in the middle of the night, it was about him. His mother was arguing the fact that she doesn't think he can go to an early college highschool if he is keeping this up while his father declined and wanted to at least try for Yuu's sake. Of course, with the disagreements in their ends, they were arguing. While Yuu still in his hiding spot in the stairs, had realized the consequences of his poor actions. In other words, since that night, he changed. Yes, he was keeping up his aesthetics but he was more politer and respectful. Not as much as in his childhood years but eh, it's whatevs.

In respond to this, his father was proud of him while his mother...she was skeptical yet finally agreed with his father on taking him to an early college highschool. And so, when he did get in at the age of 14, he was a very responsible and respectful teen. He was always on task, helping out here and there, taking notes, studying, and etc. In addition, it gain him good grades, not ALL straight A's but good grades for his to pass the class. It continued like this, making his mother's skeptical slowly ease. Although, not entirely go away. She was still keeping eye on him though. To the point she doesn't let him get close to his younger sister like before.

(Below is the TW, be warned)

That problem gree when he hit 16, he was ALMOST finish with his current (at that time) school year, yet he did a so called, "mistake." Before the "mistake," he was just getting into class until he heard far away distress sounds and talking, which made him cautious yet curious. And so, he decided to follow the noises. When he arrived, it was soon revealed that one of the seniors was harassing a student female. Of course, being taught by his two parents to respect females or any gender in general, he defended her. BUT that's when his "mistake" came, he immediately started to beat up the senior, in the processes, saving the female student before it could escalate into something worse. However, even if he was still beating up the senior, it was a reaction from his anger. Meaning he acted before he could think. Due by the on going punches, blood coming from the senior's face, and the loud yelling, it brought attention. Crowds already forming around the two boys until the teachers came when there was students cheering without knowing the story behind it. It took THREE adult teachers to take him away from the injured, bleeding senior.

In other words, he was sent to the principal's office with his mother arriving after half an hour the principal's call. The principal was talking that violence is not allowed and yarayara bs. Yuu, of course, talked back that the senior was being an a-hole and harassing a female student. Although, thinking that his mother was by his side, it turned out, she was not. She gave a scolding to Yuu to shut up, in reaction, Yuu was shocked yet confused. Then she continue to say she agreed with the principal here and there, apologizing for his son's behavior and all like he's the blame. He won't lie, he did act before thinking, it was a mistake but didn't the jerk deserve to be beat up?

Well, the principal send him to detention for a two weeks. And so, the mother and son went back to home. From the school's ground through the car trip and the house was very quiet, making Yuu think his mother was in fact going to give him an earful of scolds. In fact, he was right. Arriving home, he did get earful of scolding's. Although, he did tried to defend himself and tried to explain to only get slapped by her. However, that's not what made him snap, it was what she said. "You're a disappointment. Why can't you be like your sister? Maybe that could've change my mind about you. Just maybe, maybe if my poor baby boy didn't change to this diablo, maybe I could've continue to love you as my son."

That was what made him run away from home with his bag, not even glancing back at his home, just looking straight at the busy town. It was about to be night but not entirely. He walked and walked until he arrived in a lonely, abandoned building far from the city's on going noise. Luckily for Yuu, he always had his headphones and phone on his backpack. And so, for hours, he would stay there to listen to music until 12 am, where there's no traffic or on going people making noise. That will be when Yuu would leave his getaway spot.

His getaway spot and his home were far away, so he still had time to listen to his music while walking. After a few 20 minutes passed and it was time to cross the street, he checked to see the sign in front of him say he can walk while the lights were on red for the cars to stop. So without waiting a moment, he started to walk...until he heard horses. Confused, he looked over to only see a huge black carriage with large horses, startled from the sudden human in front of the, getting up before Yuu getting KO from their startled smack.

[perilegs]

i know astrology is fake but i'm not too keen on how a lot of people on this website seem to be clowning on it as a hobby a bit too hard. i swear the woman who thinks it's neat how she and her friends with the same sun sign are all similar isn't trying to say that you are who you are born as and there is nothing you can do to change it. it's a hobby. an interest. what happened to finding meaning and joy in the small things. does it affect you if someone enjoys tarot reading or crystals. does it make you upset someone has interests that they enjoy.

[sysig]

It's my disaster polyship and I'll do what I want with it!! (Patreon)

[beckywiththeshitassbangs]

The video I posted on TikTok was code for “I’m starting queen b with 800+ diamonds now I have 250 and is still going”

[hana-bobo-finch]

THE FIRST SIDE OF THE PUMPKIN DADDY’S BOOK CASE IS DONE 🦅🦅🦅💥💥💥

[fragmentedblade]

I haven't looked forwards to a character as much as I've looked forwards to Sunday. I hope he won't disappoint

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[areyoudoingthis]

that post about how if you don't value someone to ask for their advice why would you accept their criticism really changed my perspective about things

[naamahdarling]

I did some embarrassing and even kinda terrible shit when I was younger, and I also made some awful mistakes that screwed with my life. I'm not pleased with that person, but I can't really be mad anymore. She was just a stupid kid, sheltered in some ways, in others neglected, never taught to be kind to humans, never given the tools she needed to draw boundaries or respect herself.

But, like, I can still learn from that person. Those mistakes taught me a lot of lessons. Some mistakes were kind of inevitable, and I feel like I can be excused that I made them. There were some where very few people could have done better.

So...thanks, past me, for fucking up so terribly, so I don't have to. I wish I could save you. All I can do is try to be better to the world and to both of us now.

[butyoudidthis4what]

Quiet

Widower!Jack Abbott x Widow Single Mom!Reader

19.9k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: sick baby; sick mom; mentions of needles; inaccurate medical knowledge/descriptions/tests etc.; reference to past pregnancy; reference to past miscarriages but no graphic descriptions, just a mention they occurred (reader does not actively experience one in the fic); Jack was in the army; reader's husband was in the army and died while deployed; discussions of IVs and needle sticks; reader gets an IV and is not afraid of needles; mild description of IV insertion; shy reader; discussion of possible peanut allergy; mentions of covid, influenza a and b and RSV; mom guilt; discussions of loss of spouse; lots of grief and self hate for a bit; Jack is vaguely suicidal and ideating at the beginning; healing; reader and jack are human and not perfect and make mistakes; reader can't cook; baby is a boy but is not named; DOMESTIC JACK

Summary: Widower Jack and widowed single mom Reader meet in the Pitt when Reader's baby gets sick. What follows is healing, patience and becoming ready.

A.N.: Inspired by this ask. This was so inspiring and I went totally off the rails. There will for sure be a part two. I really wanted to do something with Jack being a widower but was unsure of how to. This ask came in and the idea came to me and I felt like it was a good way to work with that piece of him. The beginning is quite emotional, I'm not going to say angst, there's just a lot of emotions and sadness and grief as we define Jack and Reader's reality. I PROMISE that the end gets fluffy and happy and (I hope) funny! Part two will be more fluff with a dash of emotion sprinkled in as we watch their relationship develop and the two get their happily ever after together!

You make it to about ten before you decide to go in. It’s not a long drive and by 10:15 p.m. you’re parked and walking into the ED.

You bite your lip and bounce just a little to help keep him asleep in your arms while the woman behind the plexiglass processes your insurance and co-pay. She gives you a warm smile, says to take a seat and it’ll be just a few minutes and they’ll get you back. 

Thanking her you grab your cards and do as she says. You’re surprised by how quiet it is. There’s a few people in the waiting room but it seems more like they’re waiting on people as opposed to be seen. Small mercies, you suppose. You’ll take what you can get. 

You can only imagine what you must look like right now, how bad you must look. You wish your husband was here. Wish he had been here for it all. He’d reassure you. Tell you that you were doing the right thing by coming in. Better to be safe than sorry. You can hear him telling you it. 

A call of your last name dissolves his voice playing in the back of your head. You follow a nurse back and get settled in a room. All the basics are done, everything you expected. And like you expected the second you set your son down so that his vitals can be taken he starts to cry. It makes you want to cry. 

Bridget reassures you that it’s okay, is quick taking his vitals so you can get him back in your arms and calm him. You know you must look like a mess, hair messed up, eyes reflecting how exhausted you are and the lack of sleep, wrinkled clothes that have at least one stain somewhere, probably more. And you’re sure that your face reflects how you feel inside, how frazzled you are, how guilty, how scared, how upset, how sad, how out of control you feel. 

Bridget dims the lights for you and leaves you to hold your son against you in the hospital bed. “I’ll have a doctor in as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, “and I’m sorry for being kind of a mess. Well, not kind of at this point.” 

She just laughs. “I understand, but trust me, you’re doing just fine.”

You manage to give her a small smile back and nod. She walks out and then it’s just you and your son. Like it always is. Your husband isn’t here, he’s never going to be here. His absence is pronounced as you lay in a hospital bed in an emergency room with your sick nine-month old. You do your best to not think about it because if you do, you’ll lose it.

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

He’s missing her tonight, more than usual. Maybe it’s not so much that he’s missing her more than usual but he’s more aware of how much he always misses her. It’s more acute. Like some flareup of a chronic illness. Thinking in medical terms helps.

He knows he shouldn’t do that, try to understand it like it’s some illness he can study and understand. It’s just grief. It’s just there more than others some days. Sometimes he can articulate why and others he can’t.

Tonight he can’t. 

He bends his thumb inward and puts it on his wedding band, thumbs at it so it rolls around his finger. Nervous habit. That’s what he calls it now. When she was alive it helped ground him, reminded him she was there and he’d be going home to her, could make it through whatever was in front of him. And then she died. So now he tells himself it’s a nervous habit because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to call it. 

To those who don’t know him he still looks like a husband subtly using his wedding band to ground himself or remind himself of his wife or because he’s thinking about her and so he’s subconsciously playing with his ring. 

If only. 

Jack inches a little further and looks down over the ledge of the roof. The ground looks so inviting from the roof sometimes. It would be so simple. He could be reunited with her, if such a thing was real. 

Sometimes though he wants to be selfish and not care how she’d feel about it because she, unlike him, isn’t around anymore to feel fucking anything. Sometimes his grief comes out in anger because she got it fucking easy, she didn’t have to lose him, she doesn’t have to be here, doing all this feeling while alone. He always hates himself after that even though his therapist says it’s normal. But he’s stuck here and has to do the feeling because when he tried to bury the feelings he nearly self-destructed. 

So Jack stands on the roof. Stands and feels. And Jack is tired. Tired of feeling. At least like this anyway. 

He knows she’d hate it, hate him walking off the ledge of the roof so he doesn’t. Not tonight. 

Instead he slips back under the guard rail and leans against it, lets his head fall back and the chill in the air bring him back down. 

It’s too quiet, he realizes. Maybe that’s why his awareness of how much he misses her is so high right now. He likes noise. Keeps his mind quiet. The Pitt is too quiet. Even the City as he stands on the roof. And so his mind is loud. 

It makes him uneasy. There’s always a reason for silence. For quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. Rarely, if ever, is it good.

Jack lets out a heavy sigh and then leaves the roof, heads back down to the Pitt hoping to find something to do. He’ll take anything at this point. “There you are,” Bridget greets him as he walks back in. “Sick nine-month old waiting for you,” she nods at your room, tells him your son’s name, a general overview. “Baby doesn’t seem too bad. Mom is stressed.” 

Jack nods, says a quick “thanks,” as starts walking towards your room. 

He looks in and sees you through the glass and stops. You are beautiful. Strikingly so. And Jack hasn’t even met you yet but feels like he’s known you forever, is drawn to you. It feels like he just understands you, or maybe more like he knows you’re going to understand him. It’s the strangest feeling. 

You start to glance up from looking at your son and Jack quickly resumes moving, knocking slightly on the door since you’ve already seen him and walking in, shutting the door behind him. “Hi, I’m Dr. Abbot,” he introduces himself. 

And god, now that he’s in your space, in here with your energy it’s even more intense. It’s like he’s supposed to know you, supposed to have met you. Like some kind of palpable fate in his brain. He briefly wonders if he’s hallucinating because this is not shit he really believes in, not normally. 

Quiet, Jack thinks. It always brings something. Or maybe someone. 

“I hear we’re not feeling well.” He looks down at your son who is asleep in your arms, head on your chest. “Mom, right?”

You nod, tell him your name. Nearly trip over it because this man is so handsome it is unfair. Then you feel bad the second you have that thought. But then you start to feel pulled to him. He’s just comforting and you struggle to understand how because you don’t know him. It feels like you do, but you don’t. You’re drawn to him. You feel like you actually need to know him. Like he and you are here for a reason. 

You immediately chastise yourself for having those thoughts. Your husband, you remind yourself, your husband. He’d have wanted you to move on, to grieve and then find someone. You don’t even have to assume that or just think it. You knew it. You knew it because of that fucking video he left you that you were never supposed to have to see. 

You bring yourself back into the present. 

“What’s been going on to bring you in?” Jack asks as he logs into the computer and pulls up your son’s chart. He glances over at you and catches a look in your eye. Jack thinks you feel it too. Whatever is between you and him, the connection. It feels like you know it’s there too. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

You tell him what’s been going on, symptoms your son is showing. Jack alternates between typing on the computer and looking at you. “I, um, I called the nurse hotline, you know, on the back of the insurance card before I came in, I really didn’t want to waste your time, I know you guys are so busy. She said that it’s probably okay to wait to get in with the pediatrician, but that if I was concerned I could go to the emergency room and I really tried to wait, I did, but I just, I don’t know. I felt like he sounded more wheezy.” You shrug at him, eyes round and showing how distressed you are, a hint of glass at them that suggests you’re close to tears. “It’s RSV season, you know? I mean I know you know. And god, I don’t want to be like, doctor WebMD or whatever, I trust you and your expertise, it’s just why I came in, they tell you about it so much at all the appointments and I, I don’t want anything to happen to him. But if you think this is too much you can just say and-”

“It’s not too much,” Jack cuts you off, nodding gently. “I promise. Better to be safe than sorry especially if you feel like he’s been a little more wheezy.” You nod at Jack who keeps looking at you intently. It makes you clear your throat and look away. But when he doesn’t say anything after a second you look back up at him. “You did the right thing,” he tells you when he catches your eye contact again. “Can I?” He gestures to your son. 

“Oh! Yes, yes of course! Here, let me get out of bed and lay him down.” You give a breathy laugh that reveals how out of sorts you are. You’re clearly thrumming with nervous energy, frenetic and flustered.

“No, it’s okay. You can stay, I’ll take him and get him on the end of the bed if that’s okay?” He holds his hands out to take your son. 

“Of course, yeah, whatever is easiest for you and best for him!” You gently pull your son from you and he starts to wake and fuss. “I’m sorry, he hates not being held right now and he hates being held by anyone but me it seems like sometimes, so he might not…” you trail your sentence off when Jack takes your son and he settles against Jack as they walk to the end of the bed. “Settle.” You sit up and cross your legs to give Jack more room. “I guess he likes you,” you laugh softly. 

“Good taste in people already,” Jack quips absentmindedly as he lays your son down. You give a soft laugh and the corners of his lips pull up. You get his humor. He likes that. Not everyone does especially when he executes it so stoically sometimes. There really is a draw there. 

Your son starts to fuss again and Jack can see you stiffen a little and start to look like you’re about to apologize. “It’s alright, little guy, I’ll have you back to mom soon.” He keeps a hand gently on your son’s tiny stomach and chest while putting his stethoscope on with one hand and rubbing the chest piece on the side of his scrub top for a few seconds to warm it up before putting it to your son’s skin. “I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs in between listens, gently pulling your son up into a sitting position to listen to the back of his chest. “I’m the worst, I know, you can tell me all about it, won’t be the first or the last.” 

You sit there watching the whole interaction stunned. You don’t know why, you just never expected to get a doctor who would be so good with your son, with you. There’s something about him. Something you could never hope to articulate. You’re just drawn to him, he feels like some sort of kindred spirit which you tell yourself is crazy because you’ve known the man all of four minutes. 

Jack takes his stethoscope out and finishes his exam. “You have his clothes?” He glances up at you as you ask. 

“Hm?” You lean in a little towards him. Before he can repeat himself the words process. “Oh, yes!” You grab them from beside you. You’d taken them off earlier with Bridget so she and eventually the doctor could examine your son. 

“Thanks.” Jack grabs them from you and gets your son dressed again. 

“No, thank you. You… You didn’t have to do that.” The smile you give him almost reads embarrassed. 

“Least I could do for upsetting him so much by laying him down.” Jack picks your son up and brings him the few steps back up to you as you stretch your legs out again. Your son has already started to settle in his arms again. 

“So,” Jack reaches over for the rolling stool in the room and uses the pressure of his fingertips to slide it over to him before sitting down on it and rolling up to be closer to the midpoint of the bed so you can talk. “You’re right, he’s a little wheezy. Nothing terrible, but it’s there. His fever is still pretty low grade and I saw he’s about due for some acetaminophen, so we can recheck after we give him some more in a bit. Is RSV a possibility? Yes. So is a common cold. So is influenza A or B, so is Covid.” Jack can see you getting more panicky. 

“I…” You shake your head and look at Jack. “This is my fault.” Jack furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head a little. “I, I’m a single mom. It’s just him and I and I have to send him to daycare so that I can work and I don’t have any family around to help and I can’t afford a nanny, daycare is expensive as it is and I don’t want to have to send him to day care, even though I know that’s a normal thing and lots of parents do it and are good parents, are great parents, it doesn’t define how good of a parent you are, but I just think in this case, it’s me. I let him get sick. I exposed him. And I never wanted that, I really didn’t I just don’t have other options and it’s so hard and I spent months researching and touring locations to try and find the best one I could afford, but at the end of the day it’s still a cesspool of germs and I don’t know. I know that it’s mom guilt and daycare guilt and I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do and you know, nothing can happen to him.” You hold your son a little closer to you. You know if something happened to him you’d be gone within minutes. “Nothing can happen to him,” you repeat, a murmur. 

There’s a small silence and then you look up. “Oh my god,” you look at Jack horrified. “I just dumped that all on you and said all of that out loud. You’re a doctor. A busy doctor in an emergency room, you so do not have time for this, and god, fuck, it’s not even your job to listen anyway. I am so, so sorry.” You fight back tears because you are not doing this, you are not losing it here in an emergency room with your son in your arms. Because if one tear falls all of them will. 

Jack can see how you’re trembling. He noticed you were a little when he came in the room, noticed how chapped your lips were. 

“Hey, it’s all good.” Jack’s voice is soft and he tries to catch your eye to reassure you more but doesn’t force you when you avoid it. “I have time, you picked a good night, okay? And I know that nothing I can say will help with the guilt and I know you know but this stuff happens. They get sick. You did what you’re supposed to do, brought him in, called the hotline, monitored him closely.” You close your eyes for a second and take in a few breaths. He can tell you need to move on and not dwell here or something will open up that you can’t close and there is nobody who understands that better than Jack. “I don’t think anything is going to happen to him. I’m going to give you some choices, okay?” 

You finally look back up at him and nod, give him an apologetic smile. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

Jack nods. “First option is we give him some acetaminophen here and keep you guys here for a couple hours to monitor him and see how he does. That’s the least intensive option. Second option is the most intensive option. We test for RSV, rhinovirus, influenza A and B, Covid. That would be a swab test, one for all. We draw some blood and run a few tests just to check on everything. And then we do a chest x-ray to see if anything’s going on. Third option is a middleground. We start with the swab test. If it comes back positive for one we discuss more options. If it comes back negative then maybe we decide to do bloodwork. Choice is yours. None of them are wrong.”

You swallow hard. Your mind races as you try to decide. What if you make the wrong choice and something happens? 

“What would you do if he was yours?” You ask Jack, voice so, so small, so scared. Jack barely knows you but his heart aches for you. It’s like he understands you somehow even though he’s not a parent, has no reason to feel such a pull or connection to you. 

“Uh, wow, I… I don’t know,” Jack stutters a little because the question throws him so much. 

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate, you don’t have to answer. I thought maybe you and your wife had kids and maybe that’s inappropriate too, god.” You cringe at yourself. But yeah. You’d noticed the wedding ring when he took your son from you. 

“No, no, it’s not inappropriate and we… I,” Jack looks almost pained. It’s familiar, the expression he wears. You feel like you know it well even if you can’t place it in the moment. “No kids,” he finally settles on, “I don’t have any kids. And I can’t say I’ve thought about… this, what I would do before.” He brings a hand up to his head and runs it through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest for a second before moving them back down to rest on his legs. “It’s hard,” he shrugs, and gives you an apologetic look. “The doctor in me who knows all of the possibilities says option two. But the doctor in me also knows that’s probably a bit overkill and that realistically option one is fine, and that option three is the best, that middleground.” He looks away from you and down at your son, studies your little boy whose small hand clings to your shirt. “I can’t say I’ve ever really tried to access the… paternal side of me,” Jack clears his throat, “not in a long time anyway. But I think I’d have to go option two, even though it’s overkill and involves a needle stick. I’d want the reassurance and to see the numbers and images.” 

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly and look down at your son. “Yeah, I think that’s what I want to do. I just needed, I don’t know. Not permission but… something.” You look back up at Jack and your eyes glaze over a bit. Something he recognizes, something he’s been told happens to him when he talks about his wife. His head tilts slightly at the thought. “Input.” You finally whisper. “I needed input.” 

Jack watches your bottom lip tremble and you bite it to stop it from doing so. 

Because you don’t have input. Your input is in the ground. Six feet in the ground. You never really got to have any input. Not from the one person whose input mattered most. 

And you don’t miss how you feel this connection to Jack and now he’s your input. Guilt and sorrow and grief and some vague flicker of anticipation slam into you. Anticipation is a new feeling, you haven’t had it since you gave birth. Even the way you phrased the question. Not what would he do with his child or if it was his kid here what would he do. No, you’d asked what would he do if your son was his.

You have to stop thinking about it.

Jack leans back a little and runs his palms down his thighs. “Okay, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go ahead and put in the orders for the tests and acetaminophen. You can go to x-ray with him and wait behind the door, the rest we’ll do in here. I can swab,” he says with a small smile as he grabs one of the testing kits they have out of the cabinet in the room. He quickly types an order into the computer.“But I’m going to have one of our nurses come and grab some blood. I’d do it but nobody wants that. They’re the best sticks in the place, I promise.” He gives you a small but reassuring smile. 

You can’t remember the last time you genuinely felt reassured by anyone’s smile. That’s a lie. You can. It was the last time your husband ever smiled at you. The thought makes the smile you give him in return falter a bit. Jack wonders if he did something. Said the wrong thing. 

Your son fusses a bit for the swab, but you’re able to help hold him still so that Jack can get it done as quickly as possible. He settles back easy enough. Bridget walks in with some supplies while Jack continues typing. 

Jack was right, Bridget is a fantastic stick and the needle is so small your son makes just a little whimper before resting on you again. You feel bad when you have to wake him a bit to give him the tylenol. His small hands rub at his eyes and he tries to move his head away but you coax him to it so easily, so naturally, Jack thinks to himself. “Thanks Bridget,” he says quietly as she walks out. 

“Alright,” Jack says through an exhaled breath as he finishes on the computer. “I’m gonna be honest with you,” he starts as he grabs some hand sanitizer, “I’m more worried about you, mom, than I am about the baby.” He turns to look at you as he sits back down on the stool, tilts his head at you. 

You blink at him, like what he said is still processing. “Me?” Jack nods. “I’m fine, I feel fine. I’m just maybe a bit tired because, you know, sick kid but… I’m fine.” 

Jack pushes his bottom lip out a little and pulls down, nods just a little. He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t. “When’s the last time you ate?” 

You look at him again for a moment and for a minute Jack thinks he’s gone too far, overstepped, has been imagining everything he’s felt since he saw you. “Um,” you finally say. He realizes you’ve been trying to think when it was, not that he upset you or anything. “I, I don’t know, probably I had something for lunch, I’m sure.” 

“You’re shaking.” Jack points out. You furrow your brows, unsure if he’s right and if he is how he could possibly know that. “Hold out a hand.” You do as he asks and sure enough, you can’t keep it still. “When’s the last time you drank some water?” He gives you a look as he says it and tilts his head at you. “Your lips are chapped. It’s been a bit, I’d guess. You’re dehydrated.”

You look away from him, can’t decide if you’re uncomfortable with his scrutiny or if you kind of like it. It feels wrong to like it. 

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick, okay?” He goes to continue speaking and stops, what he just said hitting him. “I probably shouldn’t have said dick in front of a patient, so I apologize for that,” you laugh at that and shake your head telling him not to. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be doing this by yourself. But you have to take care of yourself for him, and again, I know you know that,” he holds his hands up, “I just wanted to say because I’m sure it’s easy to lose sight of, especially when he’s sick.”

You nod and let yourself look back at him. “Yeah,” you nod. “It is.” 

“So, game plan for you is to get some food and water in your system. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, wow,” you laugh a little. “Dr. Abbot, that is-”

“Jack,” he interrupts you to tell you, “call me Jack.”

“Uh, okay. Well, Jack, that is very kind of you but I’ll be okay, and I can grab something once we get home. I will grab something.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “Promise.” 

Jack shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “No, you’re going to be here too long for that to be a deal. Between the x-ray and blood test results and monitoring him. Food and water or I’m going to create a chart for you and give you an IV.” He shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s something he would do for any patient. 

You both know he wouldn’t. 

In part because having this much time is a rarity, beyond a rarity even. In part because any patient isn’t you.

You open your mouth to speak a couple of times and then close it again. “Okay,” you whisper. 

“Great,” Jack smiles at you. “What do you like to eat?”

You look at Jack and you look so overwhelmed he starts to feel bad. “Jack, I, honestly?” you laugh, “I have no fucking idea. Like none. I don’t remember, I don’t have the ability to even pick.” You’re still laughing because it’s so fucking ridiculous. A simple question. And yet you can’t answer it. 

There’s a sorrow to your laugh that resonates with Jack. It sounds familiar. Sounds like his laugh sometimes. 

“Alright, well,” Jack laughs a little with you, keeps it light, “I’d say I can work with that but I think it’s really more like I’m gonna have to work with that.” 

You shake your head and cringe at yourself. “You must think I’m a disaster. God, I’m sure I look like one.” 

Jack presses his lips together and squints a little, shakes his head. “I don’t think either, nor is either true.” 

Jack leans back and it stretches his shirt against his chest, pulls it tauter. The outline of two familiar pieces of metal and rubber silencers becomes visible, just for a second. You’d been feeling a little better. Now you’re about to be sick. About to lose it. 

Your smile falls, and Jack furrows his brows, goes to ask if you’re okay. 

“Do you have dog tags in your pocket?” You glance down at his chest pocket. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah I do.” If Jack had stopped right there you would have been fine. You would have been able to breathe through it, shut yourself down emotionally, and kept it all in. But he doesn’t. And you’re exhausted and your baby is sick and your husband is dead. 

Jack pulls them out of his pocket and flashes them at you. Quickly, but long enough.

Jack knows something is wrong based on the look on your face and the way you stare at his dog tags and then his chest pocket when they’re back away. You start shaking your head, squeeze your eyes closed. “Hey,” Jack starts softly. 

You shake your head faster, try to say something but all that comes out is a soundless sob as you devolve into tears. Quiet ones because your son is asleep in your arms but big wracking ones nonetheless.

It clicks into place. The draw to you. Feeling like he understood you and you him. Recognizing the way your eyes glazed over just slightly. The familiar sorrow to your laugh. 

You’re a widow too. 

And if Jack was a betting man he’d put a whole lot of money on your husband being deployed when you lost him. 

Jack’s up quickly, grabbing the box of tissues and setting them on the bed near you while reaching for your son wordlessly, only a nod and gentle motion of his hands to offer. You’re torn between whether having your son out of your arms will help or hurt, but you know it’s not fair to him and that eventually he’ll wake up because of your sobs, no matter how quiet you are. 

Jack takes him from you and sits back down in one of the chairs this time, pulling it over to be closer to the bed and kicking the stool out of the way. Your son stays asleep as Jack settles him on his chest. He feels a bit cooler too, Jack notes.

“I’m so, sorry,” you choke out quietly between sobs, “you can give him back and go, this is, this is not your problem to deal with.” Jack doesn’t reply, just nudges the tissues closer to you. 

And so you keep crying. And Jack keeps holding your son. 

Eventually you cry yourself out and are so numb you’re left with just shame and embarrassment for doing this here, in front of Jack and your son. 

As the sniffles stop, you try to look at Jack but are too embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat. “I’ll take him back and you can go.”

Jack stands up and hands you your son back. A wave of relief and calm washes over you at having his familiar weight back in your arms and on your chest. But there’s a pang of sadness too, you really thought Jack might stay. You don’t know why you care.

But Jack surprises you, sits back down and pulls his phone out for a second, sends off a couple of messages. He turns his attention back to you. “I’m gonna stay for a bit. The uh,” he struggles to find a word that won’t jinx everything, “patient census,” he makes a face when he says it like he can’t believe he just said those words, “is low tonight. I have time.” He lets out a long breath through his nose. “And you have nothing to apologize for,” he shakes his head slowly as he speaks.

You give him a slight smile at patient census and the look he pulls, a little nod and he doesn’t push for more. He gives you time. 

But after a while he puts it out there so you know that you can. “You wanna talk about it?”

You look at him and see understanding, feel like you’re really being seen for the first time since your husband died and you don’t know why Jack is the one. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Shrug at him with a watery smile. “I don’t know how to.” 

Jack nods slowly. Pauses for a moment and takes in a big breath he lets out, a little shaky. A shaky you feel like you recognize. “My wife died five years ago, so when I say I know what you mean, I promise I really do.” 

You shut your eyes and grimace as it all falls into place. The connection you felt with him. The pull. Why he makes you feel seen. 

“God I am so sorry, when I asked earlier, about kids and if you and your wife had any, I just thought with the ring, god I of all people should know better than that.” You shake your head at yourself. 

“You had no way of knowing,” Jack shakes his head. He looks down at his ring. Then to your ring finger which is empty. That deep set confliction and need to explain starts to rise. “I still wear it because… I think… It’s-”

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to explain. Not to anyone, and certainly not to me.”

Jack nods. You sit in the quiet for a few minutes. 

“I would probably still have mine on, but,” you sigh, “I guess it requires more backstory.” You pause to collect yourself. “Long story short is he was in the army. Scheduled to be deployed. Really short one. He was done after it too. Would have been out.” You take in another shaky breath. “We’d been trying for a baby for a while. I kept miscarrying. Little under two weeks before he was leaving I found out I was five weeks pregnant. And this one felt different. I had morning sickness. There was so much cautious optimism and he hated that he had to leave but he was supposed to be back in time for birth as long as everything went as planned.” You shrug. “He died when I was ten weeks pregnant.” 

Jack closes his eyes at that. His heart aches for you in the way only someone whose heart has been through that same loss can. 

“Yeah, pretty fucking sick of the universe. The one time I keep the pregnancy I lose the husband.” You wipe at your eyes with the tissue in your hand. “Anyway, late pregnancy my hands swelled up. Rings didn’t fit. I had to take them off. And once I had him and knew they would fit again I couldn’t bring myself to slide them back on. He was supposed to be the one to do that, you know?” Jack nods. He gets it. “So I think that’s probably the only reason I’m not still wearing mine.” 

“It’s not been five years though,” Jack points out. 

“There’s no timeline on when to be ready and take them off. I’m the newbie to the widow game here, but even I know that.” You give him a lopsided smile and Jack lets out a little laugh. 

“No timeline to any of it.” Jack offers. You raise your brows and lower them, nod as to wordlessly say true. 

You’re interrupted by Bridget bringing in some water and food for you. It’s obvious something has happened between the two of you and that you’ve been crying. “There’s an incoming,” she says quietly to Jack. “ETA four. We need you.” He nods. 

Bridget steps out and Jack stands up, puts the chair back and looks back at you, rolls his eyes. “Patient census comment coming back to bite me in the ass. Shoulda known better.” 

You let out a small laugh. “I thought it was very Scottish Play of you.” Jack smiles at you. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.” He walks over to the door and puts his hand on the door handle, pauses, thinking.

Jack turns back to look at you. “What’s done cannot be undone,” he says with a little smirk. 

You laugh almost properly at that. It makes you feel, maybe not totally happy, but okay. It’s been a while since you’ve felt either. 

“Oh wow, okay, well go get ‘em Lady Macbeth.” Jack laughs softly, more of just a smile with some air breathed out of his nose as he shakes his head a little at you. 

He doesn’t say to eat and drink the water and that he’ll be back to check on you. He doesn’t need to. You know.

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

A few weeks pass. Your son recovers without incident. You can’t stop thinking about Jack. Jack can’t stop thinking about you. He has to talk himself out of looking up your info in your son’s chart and going to stop by and make sure your son recovered okay. 

You get sick. Really sick. You finally get your son down for a nap and stare at the piece of paper Jack had given you as you left. 

“Here,” Jack hands you a slip of paper with his name and number written on it. “If you ever need anything, call me, okay? If you need help fixing something at home or someone to watch the baby for an hour so you can grab a shower, or for however long it takes you to get your hair done, or whatever. Don’t hesitate to call.” Jack swallows. He doesn’t know how this part is going to go. “Or, you know… just call me.” 

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Oh, wow,” you laugh nervously, “wow Jack, I am so flattered, truly. But I just,” you look away from him, suddenly somehow even more shy, like the man hasn’t seen you sobbing and snotty and is still interested in you. “I’m not ready. I don’t know when-”

“That’s okay,” Jack nods, “I just wanted to put it out there. But still. I want you to call if you need something, okay? I respect your answer and so if you call I’m not going to expect anything or badger you about it or try and force it on you. I just want to help.” He looks to the side for a moment and then back at you. “One vet helping an active.” 

You feel so bad about it, are so conflicted. But you could really, really use some help. So you text him, tell him it’s you. 

You - Are you at work? 

J - No. 

J - Everything okay? 

You - Did you just get off work? 

J - No, string of off days. 

You chew your lip as you pull up his contact and stare at the number. You just tap randomly at your phone and let the universe decide. If it calls him then it calls him, if it doesn’t then it wasn’t meant to be. 

It calls him. 

“Hey,” he picks up on the first ring, sounds concerned, “you okay? Baby okay?”

You clear your throat and he can already hear it, is already standing up to throw on some real clothes and grab supplies. “Baby’s great.” He cringes at how bad you sound. If you feel as bad as you sound he’s genuinely astounded by how you’re taking care of a now ten-month old while being so sick. “Me, not so much. You said to call and I… I didn’t want to and I know this is so unfair, but I don’t have anyone else and I could just really really use an hour to get a shower and tidy a few things up.”

You need more than an hour to shower and tidy up, you need to sleep for as long as you can, Jack thinks to himself. “Text me your address.” 

There’s a beat of silence. “You sure?” You ask him, give him an out. 

“Positive. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Within the hour.” 

“Okay.” It’s so quiet he almost misses it. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Text me, okay?”

“Yeah.” You hang up and do so. 

Jack stops by the hospital before he comes over, grabs a couple bags of saline, a couple of banana bags, and a few IV kits, tosses them in his backpack. Tells a raised eyebrows and confused Robby to tell Gloria to bill him for it and he’ll bill the hospital for the use of his supplies and tech during Pitt Fest before walking out. 

Then he stops by a grocery store, picks up some food and over the counter meds and then he’s on his way to you. 

The knock on your door startles you even though you know it’s just Jack. You open it and his eyebrows raise as he takes you in. You look like death warmed up. Maybe not quite that bad but Jack’s judgment of that is skewed because it’s you and he doesn’t like seeing you sick he has decided. 

“Hi,” you whisper as he walks in. “He’s down in his room, if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the monitor while I shower and then I’d really love to just tidy up a bit.” You move your hand to reference your living room and kitchen, both visible with the open floor plan. “It’s a mess. I’m sorry about that too, it’s normally not this bad.” 

Jack takes the space in. It’s not even that bad. It’s very sick single mom with a baby. Not dirty, just cluttered. He notes the sparse decoration, wonders if you moved after your husband died. “It’s really not that bad,” he tells you softly and takes the baby monitor from you. “Come here.” 

He steps towards you and you freeze, not sure of what to do. He just raises his hand and puts the back of it to your forehead. Jack flashes you a concerned look. “You’re burning up. Easily 102.”

You try to laugh it off but it just triggers a coughing fit. “I’m fine, it’s okay-”

“No,” Jack says firmly. “It’s really not.” He walks over to your couch and sets his bag down, slides the baby monitor into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a forehead thermometer and nods at the couch, asking you to sit down. 

You hesitate for a second, feel like this is too much and he’s doing too much and you should say he can leave, that he should go. But instead you go and sit on the couch. 

Jack scans your forehead and frowns when he looks at it. “102.8.” His eyes flick to yours and he can see you going to say something, and he knows it’ll be something like you’re fine or it’ll come down. “Look,” he turns the thermometer around so you can see the reading. “The light is red. There’s a frowning face. So please don’t say it’s okay and you’re okay.” His words are firm but compassionate and he isn’t condescending at all. 

“Well, once you leave if he’s still asleep, I’ll try to grab some rest.” You give him a weak smile. “Promise.” 

“Oh no,” Jack shakes his head. “No way. If I wasn’t a doctor and didn’t have supplies with me, you’d be going to the ED.” He starts looking through his bag. 

“Jack, this is really nice of you but unnecessary.” His eyes snap back to yours when he hears his name come off your tongue. He likes it. Too much. You said no, that you weren’t ready. But Jack can’t help how he feels, only on how he acts on those feelings. 

He ignores your protests. “Plan of care is to have you shower if you’d like. Cool, please. And then I’m going to give you some meds, get an IV in you and a banana bag going and you’re going to go sleep.”

“I, I really think just a shower and some tidying will help me feel much better.” Another half hearted protest. It feels good to have someone want to take care of you. To have a man want to take care of you. To have Jack want to take care of you. Those are all feelings you haven’t felt in a while, and they’re from Jack Abbot. And a piece of you hates yourself for that, especially when your eyes wander to the folded American flag displayed on a shelf. 

Jack tracks your eyes to it. “I’m not trying to overstep,” he starts to explain, “just, you’re a lot sicker than you think.”

“No, no, I know that, and you’re not, I’m just not used to it.” You try to find the word but it’s hard. “The attention, I guess. Or maybe the help. Pregnancy and labor and birth and coming home with a newborn while recovering were all alone, so it’s just… strange.” 

Jack shuts his eyes and lets out a breath. His heart hurts because he knows what that kind of alone feels like. He knows how hard it can be to survive and live with. And he’s never had to experience alone everything that you have. He hates that you were alone. He’s even more in awe of you, honestly, that you were able to. There’s a sense of pride too, one he knows he has no business having. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I really don’t-”

“I know that, Jack, I promise and you’re not, I’m just.” You shake your head and look away for a second. “A mess,” you laugh softly, manage to not trigger a coughing fit. 

Jack shakes his head a little. “You’re sick.” 

You shrug, take in as deep a breath as you can. “Okay,” you nod. He knows you’re acquiescing in his treatment plan. 

“Good.” Jack pulls his stethoscope out of his bag. “You mind if I listen to your lungs before you shower? Just to have a before and try to get a read on what it might be.” 

You nod at him. Jack places his stethoscope on your chest, is careful to hold it so that his hand doesn’t come into contact with you because he knows he already expressed interest and that you’re not ready and the last thing he wants is for you to think he’s using this as some weird chance to touch you or make you uncomfortable. “Deep breath.” 

Jack walks you through all the deep breaths he needs, frowning to himself a bit and not pressuring you when the deep breaths trigger your cough and he has to wait a minute to continue. The first time it happens his other hand automatically raises to go and rub your back but he catches it in time.

You don’t acknowledge it, don’t want to draw attention to it and in part don’t know how to react to it but you appreciate it more than he’ll ever know. He’s a gentleman. It’s nice and you really try to let yourself have that and let it feel nice without berating yourself over it feeling nice. But something feeling nice is so foreign and somehow feels so wrong. Like nothing should ever feel nice again because your husband isn’t here. 

“Yeah, those are junky,” he mutters as he puts his stethoscope back in his bag. “Wish I had brought a breathing treatment for you.” He looks like he’s thinking about how he could get one here. He pulls his focus back. “Shower?” 

You nod, stand up and start walking towards your room. “Hey Jack?” Jack looks up at you with raised eyebrows, body tensing just slightly like he’s ready to run towards you. “Thank you. And um, make yourself at home and help yourself to anything. I don’t know how much there is, but what’s there is yours.” You give a little nod and turn and walk off before he can say anything. 

Once he hears the shower running Jack takes a better look at the place. He finds it strange how certain parts feel like you but the overall place doesn’t in a way. It feels like someone scared to settle in, scared to make this space their own. It feels like his first apartment after his wife died did for a long time. 

He starts to tidy up, it’s really nothing major. He puts toys in the little toy bin you have, places the baby books on the floor on the bottom storage space of the table. He picks up the baby blankets and onesies laying around that he’s guessing need washed, sets them in a pile on a counter. He does the same kind of stuff in the kitchen, just picks up, wipes down. Again, nothing is dirty. It’s lived in. It’s a sick single mom with a baby who sets down an empty water bottle or paper plate and forgets to throw it away. He loads the dishwasher with the bottles and few plates and utensils in the sink. He’s not sure if what’s in there is clean or dirty but it’s fine, if it’s clean it can just get washed again. He waits to start it though, makes a note to do so later once you’re out of the shower and the hot water has had time to build back up just in case your water heater isn’t great.  

You let yourself stand under the water for longer than you probably should. You try to keep it cool like Jack said, but at some point right before you get out you let it get really, hot, just need to feel it, feel a little sterilized almost. You think about how Jack is here and doing all of this for you and what would your husband think and does this make you a bad wife. You try to get yourself to believe that your husband would be happy you’re getting help, would be happy Jack is a veteran and that you’re not a bad wife because your husband told you he wanted you to move on and find someone and it’s not like it happened yesterday. It’s been over a year. 

Once you’re out you slip on some modest pajamas, deal with your hair and put some lotion on your face, brush your teeth. You feel a little better, only because you feel clean, but still. 

Jack gives you some time once he hears the shower turn off. After a bit he knocks on your door and clears his throat. “Hey, um, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to start the IV out here in the living room or in your room.” 

Your chest clenches for a moment. You hadn’t even really thought about what it would mean for him to start it in here, just kind of assumed he’d come in and do it. But it means there would be another man in your bedroom. A man who is not your husband. 

He gives you a moment to decide because he knows the magnitude of the question he asked. 

You’re at war with yourself, but you know it’ll be better to have him do it here and have him figure out a way to get the bag to hang. “Um, you can do it in here, I guess. Unless you’d prefer to do it out there.” 

“Wherever is best for you.” There’s a pause as Jack waits for you to come over and open the door. You’re so zoned out sitting on the edge of your bed you don’t even realize. “Should I come in?” He finally asks gently. 

“Oh! Oh yes!” The way you breathe in at surprise and almost startle at having your zoned out thoughts interrupted makes you start coughing, so Jack slowly opens the door, trying to give you time to change your mind, walks in and over to you with his supplies just as slowly. 

He sets some stuff out next to you. “Shower help?” He cringes internally the moment he says it, hopes it doesn’t make it seem like he was thinking about you in the shower. 

“Yeah. Feeling clean has helped I think.” You watch as he gets everything ready. He has big hands, long and thick fingers that should make working with small pieces of medical equipment a bit difficult but they’re so dexterous and he has so much control over them that it’s not. Once you catch yourself daydreaming about his hands you look away, shame and guilt washing over you. 

“Take these, please,” Jack says softly, handing you a few pills and holding an open bottle of water. You nod and do as he asks. “Good gi-” He stops before he can finish, some pink flooding his cheeks. It’s adorable, you think. He’s adorable and he’s trying so hard to respect you and just be here as a friend helping you out. You also think about the reaction you know you’d have had if he finished the sentence. More shame and guilt. 

“How do you sleep?” Jack asks as he finishes setting the supplies for an IV up and kneels in front of you. You furrow your brows at him. “So I can put the IV in a good spot!” He rushes to explain. “Like if you sleep on your side I’ll put it on the top arm.” 

“Oh.” You think about it and tell him. 

“Hand please.” He points to the correct one and you offer him it. “Hands hurt more but it’ll be the best for sleeping. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me doing it.” He pulls a pair of gloves on. They fit nice and tight. Once he gets a tourniquet in a slip knot nice and tight around your arm he has you make a fist. 

You shake your head at him as you watch those long and dexterous fingers run over and feel the back of your hand a veins beneath your skin. Satisfied he found a good one he opens the alcohol swab and wipes the back of your hand, lets it dry for ten or so seconds while he grabs the needle introducer. He feels for the vein again and looks up at you. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” You nod at him. 

He’s quick with it. You like the expression of intense focus he gets as he does it. “Okay,” he draws the word out a little, slips off the tourniquet. “Needle is out,” he places a tegaderm dressing over it, “and we’re good.” He looks up at you. “You okay?”

“Barley felt it,” you murmur. 

Jack gives a little laugh. “It’s okay, you can be honest. My pride can take it.” You just give him a look. “I’m gonna flush it. Some burning and maybe a weird taste.” He doesn’t explain much, knows you almost certainly had one when you gave birth. 

He does and then stands up, looks around near the head of your bed. “I think I still have a really old coat rack in the spare room,” you volunteer, knowing he’s looking for a way to hang the bag. 

“That would be perfect,” he nods at you. 

“Second door on the left when you walk out.”

Jack steps out. He already knew that through process of elimination but he doesn’t tell you that. He went to the bathroom while you were in the shower, placing his ear by each door to figure out which room was the nursery. Left one room to be the spare room. 

He brings it in and gets it set up. You offer him a hanger to place the bag on and he smiles at you. You give him a little one back. 

Jack puts on a different pair of gloves and sanitizes everything before spiking the bag and priming the line. He hooks it up to your IV and sets the drip rate, keeps it fast enough to get what you need into you but slow enough so that you hopefully won’t have to wake up to go to the bathroom for a while because he knows you’ll likely fight going back to sleep. 

“You need something to help you sleep?” He asks, a touch of concern in his tone. 

“I think I’ll manage.” You give him another weak smile. 

“Figured,” he nods. He grabs everything off the bed making sure to keep track of where the used needle is and then walks to your door. “Rest well.” He nods at you again and then steps out, closes the door behind him quietly. 

You let yourself settle into bed, feel your heart slam against your chest with every beat as emotions whirl through you. Guilt, for having some kind of feelings towards Jack, for asking Jack to do this, for not being there with your son, shame, grief, embarrassment, anger at yourself for quite literally everything, and the faintest glimmers of hope, happiness, contentedness and a kind of longing which are all new and in turn fill you with fear. 

You’re right though, you do manage to fall asleep. And fast. There are a few times you think you hear your son crying but it stops quickly so you don’t fully wake up. Another few times where you swear you hear someone in the room with you and them whisper “it’s just me, go back to sleep,” when they notice you stirring. If they’re real you let yourself listen to them and drift back asleep. 

Jack is surprised at how long you sleep. He thought for sure with all the fluids he has been giving you that you’d wake up to go to the bathroom, but that must be how tired you are. He lets you sleep. You need it. And for whatever reason he really, really cares about you and doesn’t like seeing you sick. It worries him, if he’s honest with himself. Seeing you sick. He worries about you. 

When you do wake up it is because you have to pee. You turn the lamp on to get there and close your eyes and flinch away from it until they adjust more. It starts to come back. The IV. Jack. Jack watching your son. You grab the bag of saline and go to the bathroom before walking out of your room. You have to stop at the doorway because it’s so fucking bright, let your eyes adjust. 

It makes you realize how fucked up your sense of time is. You have no idea how long you were out and you hope you hadn’t been keeping Jack a prisoner in your place for too long. 

When you walk into the living room Jack is on the floor with your son, some soft blocks knocked over the floor, your son on his back and cooing up at Jack, giggling like babies do at Jack every time Jack leans down over him and tickles his belly with one of Jack’s large hands and makes a funny noise at him. There’s a dirty diaper on the floor next to Jack, empty bottle on the table. 

“You slept well, didn’t you little man?” Jack sits him up and keeps a hand on him, your son pretty good at sitting up by himself but still getting the full hang of it. Small hands reach out for Jack, trying to pull him close. “Oh yeah, and now you’ve had a bottle and have even more energy to burn, huh?” Your son giggles again as Jack takes him into his lap as he straightens his legs and rests your son’s feet on one of his thighs so that he can bounce as Jack supports him to keep him standing. 

It’s the cutest scene. It’s so adorable your heart aches. It’s all you ever wanted for your son. And that’s why your heart shatters at the same time. Because your son doesn’t have it. Not normally. Your son doesn’t have a father. You don’t have a husband, the person you should be doing this with. This scene is a total one-off, a byproduct of you being sick and needing help. You appreciate Jack and all he’s done and how he’s being with your son but that’s supposed to be your husband. 

That’s supposed to be your fucking husband on the floor with your son and it’s not. 

It’s Jack. 

It’s Jack and you don’t hate it. 

Quite the opposite. You like the sight. Would like to see it again. Would like to see Jack again. And that makes you feel a little sick and a lot guilty. But you don’t stop liking it or wanting to see it and Jack again. You tell yourself you don’t though, that you don’t want to see it again and don’t want to see Jack again. You lie to yourself. The turmoil threatens to tear you in two. 

You wipe a few tears away silently and then sniffle to announce your presence. You can get away with it because you’re sick. “Hey,” you say softly, make a face and try to clear your throat. “I’m sorry I feel like I probably slept longer than I meant to.” Clearing your throat didn’t help. You still sound awful, your voice totally going. 

Your son squeals when he sees you, arms reaching for you already. You smile down at him. “Hi baby,” you greet him in the best voice you can manage, grab him from Jack. “How’s my boy?” You tickle his tummy because you don’t want to kiss him and get him sick and it makes him squeal again and babble at you. 

Jack stands up and you notice there’s something off about the way he does, just slightly. You wonder if he suffered a back or hip injury while serving. He clamps the saline bag all the way and removes it from your IV so that you’re free. “What time is it? I hope I haven’t kept you here too long.” 

Jack looks at his watch. “9:17.”

You blink at him for a moment. The sun filtering in through the curtains assures you he means in the morning. You make a face like you’re trying to pour through past memories. “What time did I make you come over? It must have been so early, I, I didn’t even realize I’m so sorry.” 

Jack smiles as he steps around you and goes to set the bag on the counter, throw the diaper away and the bottle in the sink. He turns back around and leans against the counter, holds onto the edge of it with his hands. He already knows you’re going to freak out. 

“First, you didn’t make me come over yesterday. Pretty hard for anyone to make me do something anymore. Second, I got here sometime around 4.” Your confusion deepens. “P.m. Yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” You look at him, stricken. “Oh my god, Jack, I am so so sorry! You should have woken me! I genuinely never meant to steal this much time from you and keep you hostage here, I am so sorry, I-”

“Hey, hey,” he steps closer to you but doesn’t touch you. “It’s okay. You have nothing to be apologizing for. I know I could have woken you and I never felt hostage here. I was okay with it.” He gives you a reassuring smile. 

You shake your head at him a little. “God, where did you even sleep? That awful couch? I know how bad it is, I’m so- I feel terrible.” 

“Don’t,” Jack laughs softly. “I promise you I have slept on much, much worse. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t…” You trail off because you haven’t really stopped to evaluate that. “Better I guess. Still sick but not as bad, at all.” 

“Good.” He takes another step closer and holds his hand up, gestures to your forehead. “Can I?”

You nod, still lost in thought and shocked about how you could have slept that long. “Good, fever’s still down. It broke during the night.” Your son reaches for Jack’s hand, one of his small hands wrapping around one of Jack’s large fingers. Jack lets him keep it and play with it, but steps back a little. “Shit, I promise I only went in there to change your bag and take your temperature with the thermometer.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. You hadn’t even thought to care about him coming into your room when you were asleep, hadn’t even realized that could be a line he might have crossed. “I just feel so bad.”   

“Please try not to.”

“I have to, you have to let me at least make you breakfast or something! You just watched my baby overnight for me.” You nod. “Yeah, let me make you breakfast, please.” 

“I’d like that,” Jack nods slowly, face pulling into a knowing look with a little smile because you’re adorable and going to be upset. “But I don’t think that’s going to work,” he shakes his head and then gently nods at the refrigerator. You know there must be nothing in it.

“Fuck,” you sigh. You turn your head and rest your cheek on the top of your son’s head as you try and think. He continues to coo and babble away, at Jack now, whose finger he still holds on tight to. Jack makes a little face of surprise and noise at him and your son laughs.

“Let me order something then, yeah?” You offer. You watch as Jack argues with himself in his head. Part of him wants to say no, he should get it for you, for no real reason other than he wants to take care of you, and part of him wants to say yes because he knows it’ll make you feel better. “Please.”

“Alright,” he finally nods.

“Okay, great!” You start looking around for your phone and find it plugged in and charging. It hits you then. How clean and tidy the place is. “Oh my god,” you mumble. 

“What?” The alarm in his voice is clear. 

“You cleaned.” You look around more. A laundry basket of folded onesies and blankets and other baby clothes on the loveseat. “You did laundry.” 

The realization sends you over some ledge you didn’t realize you were standing on. Your heart races. Your feelings are too conflicted. There’s too much turmoil. You know this is normal, have read about it, spoken to other widows who described what it was like to start dating again, start falling for someone. And you’re really starting to personally get it now. 

You don’t know what to do with it. And you know you’re not ready for it. But you can’t lie about it to yourself anymore and pretend that Jack doesn’t give you new feelings that you haven’t had in a long time and that you don’t want to let yourself feel them or at least try. Can’t lie to yourself that you don’t want to try and be ready for it. 

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Jack says quietly, unsure of what exactly your reaction means. While he’s also a widow it’s a bit harder for him to put himself in your shoes. He didn’t have a baby to need help with while trying to grieve and find a new normal. 

“No, it’s not that.” Tears hit your eyes and you close them, hate that they’re happening. It’s the emotional overwhelm you tell yourself. The having someone do something nice for you. The having to accept help. The new feelings. So many new feelings from one man. 

But you know yourself well enough to know that it’s also the wanting, despite how much you try to bury it and lie to yourself. The wanting to let yourself give in to those new feelings. Wanting to let yourself enjoy the new feelings. Enjoy Jack. 

“Let me,” you hear Jack whisper, feel his hands get closer to you to grab your son who laughs in excitement at the prospect of being in Jack’s arms. 

You keep your eyes closed and then turn before you open them, walk over to get a tissue and dab at them. “It wasn’t too much.” You’re speaking to Jack but keep your back to him because you’re not sure how you’ll react if you turn around and look at him. “It’s just really hard. Everything is so fucking hard. Every second of every day is an emotion, every second requires feeling.” Jack understands that one too well. “And you get used to that. The emotions, the feelings become familiar. Because they’re constant. You know what they are, what to expect. You know the feelings. They hurt so, so bad, but eventually you realize that not having them would hurt more. Would be scarier. Because they’re your normal, they fill that void in your heart. What would you be without them almost controlling your life? And then one day a new emotion, a new feeling creeps in. And it’s paralyzing. You think it hurts worse in some way than not having the familiar feelings would, but you don’t know because you never get a second to not fucking feel. And it’s because it’s new and you don’t know what to do with this new feeling and it throws everything off and is another change and because it almost always feels so wrong, to let yourself feel something new, especially if it’s a good emotion. And I know you know this Jack, I know you know exactly how I feel, exactly what it’s like. I know you get me. I know you understand. And I like that. I think part of me needs that. To move on or whatever you want to call it.”

Jack’s heart rate ticks up. This is not at all where he thought this conversation was headed. 

You take in a deep breath and squeeze the tissue in your hand before turning to look at the unfairly attractive and smart and funny and caring and playful and stoic and dry humored and witty and kind doctor holding your son. 

“You make me feel so many new things Jack. So many things I never thought I’d feel again. So many things I swore to myself I would never feel again.” You swallow hard. “And I don’t know what to do with them. They paralyze me. Not for long because they send me straight back to guilt and shame and grief, right back to those familiar feelings. I don’t know how to have these new feelings you give me anymore. At some point I lost that. So I don’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Jack’s numb. Frozen. He’s not sure what this means. He understands you because the first time he started dating and was attracted to someone he’d gone through the same thing. It was hard at first. To not feel guilty. To not revert back to the emotions you know well. He’s not sure what to say. He goes to say that he’s sorry and didn’t mean to cause you distress and will go but you start talking again. 

“But fuck Jack, I want to. I didn’t want to admit it to myself because it feels so wrong and because it’s scary and hard and makes me feel like a terrible wife sometimes. But I do. I want to know how to handle you and all the new feelings you give me, Jack.” His eyebrows raise slowly, his focus staying on you as your son starts to mouth on his finger getting saliva all over it, not phased in the slightest. “It’s just going to take time. I don’t know how much time. And I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask to wait for some unknown period of time.” 

“You’re not asking,” Jack says quickly before you can get out another sentence. “You’re not asking me to. I want to. But only if you want me to. You said that you weren’t ready, and I respect that. And you have to know that I didn’t come over here to help, or do laundry or tidy up because I was trying to pressure you or make you feel something or make you be ready or for anything other than just to help as a kind-of friend. You have to promise me that you know that.” 

“I do,” you tell him softly. “I promise.” You give a small laugh and little smile. “I think that’s actually the part that made me realize I couldn’t keep lying to myself that you didn’t give me new feelings and that I didn’t want to feel them. That I know you came here just because you wanted to help, help me, my son and my husband. And I know you did the laundry and tidied and stayed overnight to watch my baby so I could sleep just because you’re kind, and you saw it needed done so you did it, which is so army of you by the way, and not because you wanted it to mean something or make me feel bad for not being ready or pressure me or any other possible reason. You just… wanted to help.”

Jack smiles at that. Really, fully smiles and fuck if it isn’t one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. You smile back at him. It’s clear that nothing more needs to be said. You both know that you’ll work on being ready and learn how to feel and how to handle it all and Jack will wait. 

“I never said I was army.” He smirks at you. 

“Didn’t have to.” You give him a small smile. Even after this you’re still so shy. 

You go and grab your phone. “What does that mean?” He asks, tracking you with his eyes. 

“What would you like to eat?” You ignore him. You know already that it’ll wind him up. 

“No, what does that mean? I have a tell?” You shrug at him. He narrows his eyes at you playfully.

“No,” you say as you hand him your phone so he can pick something and order and take your son from him. “It means you have a recognizable backpack.” 

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

Time goes on. You get better. You and Jack grow closer. You keep going to therapy, keep working on processing and figuring out how to handle the new feelings, how to stop feeling so guilty. Jack waits. Patiently. Never an ounce of pressure on you. He’s always so respectful, goes to great lengths to be so, immediately apologizes if he oversteps. And he does a couple of times because he’s human and nobody is perfect. But it’s okay.  

Jack’s injury comes out over breakfast that morning when he apologizes for having his shoes on in the house. You hadn’t even really noticed, too sick for it to register. He doesn’t tell you much about it which you respect and he’s grateful when you don’t push for more. That’s something he guesses he’s not ready for with you. Isn’t sure why though. He brings it up with his therapist. 

Jack is over more and more often. At first it’s to check on you and make sure you’re getting better because your cough lingers. And then somewhere along the lines it just became a thing. Normal. Normal for you to see him more days than not during the week. Normal for him to put your son down for the night. Normal for him to sleep in the spare room. Normal for him to cook for you and help feed your son. Normal for him to keep spare bottles of toiletries in a bin under the guest bathroom sink. Normal for black scrubs that didn’t get god knows what on them to be washed with onesies and blankets. 

Normal for him to bring five epi pens, multiple vials of epi, syringes with needles, an infant intubation kit and a cric kit to your house when you decide to introduce peanuts to your son. 

That one had gotten him an attempted, and skillfully dodged, third degree interrogation from Dana and Robby. 

You don’t touch. Not at all, save when your fingers brush if you hand each other something or when you take your son from him or vice versa. You’ll sit on the couch and Jack on the loveseat. There’s no flirting. It’s not that the attraction and draw to each other has faded, because it hasn’t. Not at all. It’s that you both know you need time and you both respect that. Jack perhaps more so than yourself, because you get mad at yourself about it sometimes. 

You do talk. A lot. About anything and everything because talking to each other is easy. It’s not work. Neither of you have to think of things to talk about or try and come up with something to keep the conversation going. It just does. And when it dies down the lull is comfortable. Then someone thinks of something or sees something on TV and it’s back. 

Eventually Jack is able to tell you a bit more about his injury, how it happened. The aftermath. He’s able to take his prosthetic off in front of you and leave a pair of crutches at your place for when he doesn’t want to put it back on. 

You talk about your spouses. Your therapist suggested it, thought it may help, to acknowledge both of your spouses and know about them. You approach Jack about it and tell him you don’t want an answer right away, you want him to really think about it and if he’s ready for that and willing to do that, and that he doesn’t have to say yes and that if he says no nothing will change. Both of you are aware it’s in a sense one of the most intimate things you’ll ever do with each other. 

Jack says yes though. And means it. He’s okay with it, comfortable with it. So one night after you get your son down you take the baby monitor, a bottle of wine and sit out on your apartment balcony and talk about them. You tell each other about them, what they were like, things they liked and disliked, funny stories. Jack tells you how he proposed and you tell him how your husband proposed. You talk about your weddings. 

You share photos you have on your phone, of your spouses alone and of the two of you together. You tell Jack his wife was beautiful, seems like an amazing woman who kept him on his toes and mean it. Jack tells you that your husband was handsome and knew how lucky he was to have you, that it’s obvious by the way he looks at you in the photos. You smile wistfully and get misty eyed together. But it’s nice, getting to know the other’s spouse, more about your past lives. It tells you a lot about each other too, as much as it does about your spouses.

You talk about how you each learned your spouse had died. There’s proper tears during that part, from both of you. It’s one time you do touch, and it’s brief, and you’re the one to initiate it, tentatively taking Jack’s hand and giving it a little squeeze when he gets a bit choked up. He squeezes back to let you know he’s okay with it. When you get choked up talking about your husband he holds his hand out over the armrest of his chair, just a little, just enough for you to know it’s there. You move yours over and let him squeeze your hand. 

You talk about moving after your spouses died. Jack tells you he just couldn’t do it. He needed space that was his own, where he couldn’t picture her in it and so he couldn’t expect to walk around a corner and see her. You tell Jack that you had to keep the curtain of the living room window closed all the time because the last time you looked out the window you saw that car pull up and two uniformed officers step out of the car, and just knew. And it made the place so dark it was bad for you so you sold the house and found this place. You admit that you haven’t been able to bring yourself to really unpack completely or decorate but aren’t sure why. The nursery being the only exception. Jack tells you that it actually reminds him a lot of how his apartment he moved into right after his wife died looked for a long time because he was scared to settle in and make a space without her because that wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to have to do that. 

As more weeks pass you start asking Jack to help you hang things. At first it sends you flying backwards in your healing because you just asked another man to help you decorate your apartment. Jack doesn’t say anything for the couple of days you’re off with him because he knows and he knows you’ll work through it. He gives you the space you need without you asking for it. You work through it with your therapist and apologize to Jack who tells you not to, that healing isn’t linear, trust him, he knows. 

Jack watches your son for you sometimes during a string of off days so that he can spend a bit less time at daycare, especially if another kid is sick. Your son loves Jack, is enamored with him. And Jack is just as enamored with him. Is so incredibly good with him. It’s a place where you struggle a lot and that you and you and your therapist discuss frequently, how to cope with seeing Jack in that kind of fatherly role and acknowledge all the feelings it stirs up for you. 

One Monday, a holiday that you were supposed to have off, something comes up and you need to go into the office, but daycare is closed. You hesitate calling Jack because you feel bad asking him to do this, especially knowing he’ll be getting off shift and you’re asking him to stay awake even longer. You don’t even know if he’ll be able to, he might not get off on time, or he might have plans. But you call him much quicker and more decisively than you did when you were sick. 

Jack’s talking to Robby when he feels his phone vibrate. He thinks it’s weird to be getting called at 6:45 a.m. so he pulls it out to check. His heart drops when he sees it’s you and he walks away from Robby mid sentence. 

“Hey,” he answers on the second ring, “what’s up? Everyone okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah we’re fine. It’s just, work needs me to come in, not for too long, just a couple of hours, but I can’t bring him and daycare is closed with the holiday and I know this is such a huge ask because you’re getting off shift and will be so tired and I don’t even know if you’re getting off on time-” 

“Woah, woah,” Jack stops you. “Take a breath.” He can hear you do as he says. “I can watch him, okay? I’ll make sure I get off on time. And I often stay late so being up a few hours after my shift before he goes down is not going to be anything new.” 

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” You let out a breath. “You still have to let me cook or something for you.” 

“You don’t have to repay me.” 

“No I know, but still.” 

“Can I be honest with you?” Jack asks. 

“Of course.” Your heart races because you have no idea what he’s about to say. 

“You can buy me takeout. But you can’t cook.” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

You make a noise of offence. “I can’t believe you just said that! I’m offended. Genuinely offended.” But Jack can hear the smile you’re trying to hide in your voice and it just makes him smile harder to himself. 

“That I said it or that it’s true?” He’s smirking now. 

You huff and then there’s a pause. “That it’s true,” you admit begrudgingly, making Jack laugh. 

Robby has blindly swatted at Dana’s arm to get her to pay attention so that he doesn’t have to stop watching and so now both of them are staring and watching Jack go from extreme concern to laughing and smiling. It’s almost disconcerting. 

“I’m going to have to drop him off at the hospital to make it on time. Is that okay?” You’ve gotten quiet again. 

“Yeah.” Jack sounds a little unsure but not because of you, because of the two he can feel staring at him. “I’ll need a key. And I’ll give it back, I promise.” 

“Oh! Yes. You will need that, okay I’ll have to find the spare. And yeah, that’s fine, whatever is fine, I know you’re not going to use it randomly.” You breathe a laugh. “You’ll be okay with holding him on the subway? I wasn’t going to lug around the stroller, if that’s okay.” 

“We will be more than okay,” Jack assures you. 

“Okay.” You let out another breath in that way you do when you’re stressed but coming down Jack has learned. “Thank you Jack.” 

“Not a problem, you know that.” 

“Yeah, but still.”

“Text me when you’re here and come wait by the doors, I’ll open them for you, okay?” You’re thankful he doesn’t dwell. 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

“Bye.” Jack hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket then turns and walks back over to Robby and Dana. 

“Everything okay?” Dana asks. 

Jack looks between the both of them. “Yeah. I’m leaving on time though.” 

“Ohhh,” Robby laughs. “Are you now? You just decided?” 

“Yeah. Did you notice how it wasn’t a question Michael?” Jack deadpans. “Just a statement of fact. I know these are big distinctions for you to make before you’ve had enough coffee.” 

“Deflection,” Robby hums, leaning forward a bit and still smiling like he can’t believe any of this even when he doesn’t know what this really is. 

Jack rolls his eyes at him and walks to a different computer to finish charting. Dana and Robby share a look but don’t push him. For now. 

Jack’s phone vibrates fifteen minutes later. You, saying you’re here. He walks over to the doors and pushes the button to open them, walks in with you a few steps, your son already happily squealing and babbling at Jack, reaching for him. Jack makes a surprised happy face at your son like he’s shocked to see him and takes him from you. 

Back at the desk Robby slowly removes his glasses as he watches the scene unfold, Dana peering over the top of hers like she does, everyone else slowly freezing once they follow Dana and Robby’s eyes to you and Jack.

“God, thank you so much Jack, I’m so so sorry.” You look stressed, frenetic and full of nervous energy that makes you even more unsure of yourself, not unlike the last time he saw you in here. He finds it adorable, so endearing.

“It’s okay. Truly. You’re going to have to believe me one day.” Jack gives you a small but reassuring smile. 

“No I know,” you breathe out. “I just… This is your work, I know. And I know you’re going to get a million questions based on the entire desk of people staring at us.” You shake your head a little as you try to find words. “And I know it’s hard to explain.” 

“Good job I don’t feel the need to explain it to any of them, then.” 

You laugh a little at that. “Yeah. Um, here.” You slide the backpack baby bag you have off and help put it on one of Jack’s shoulders. “There’s a key in the front pocket. He went down late last night and then I had to get him up early to get him ready to come here. Seeing you is the first time he’s smiled all morning. So he should probably nap earlier for you if I’m not home before then, and probably be pretty chill until he does.” 

“He’s always chill,” Jack smirks at you. “You know that.” 

“Let me make myself feel better, please,” you huff at him, clearly still flooded with nervous energy. 

“Alright,” he nods for you to continue but doesn’t lose his smirk. 

“He’s had a bottle, but that’s it, so he might be hungry when you get home, if he’s a little fussy.” You reach out and run your fingers through his soft baby fine hair to push it out of his eyes. “God he needs a haircut doesn’t he?” 

“Probably,” Jack nods. “But I’m sure-”

“That the thought of my baby needing his first haircut makes me want to sob because he’s growing up way too fast?” 

“Something like that,” he nods. 

“Yeah.” You run your hands through it and sweep it out of his eyes one last time, trying to calm some of the nervous energy that’s making you feel like you’re shaking. “Alright, I should go.” 

You lean up and kiss Jack on the cheek. By the time your feet return to the floor you’ve realized what you just did. 

Jack freezes, stunned, but not upset, not by any means.

“Oh my god,” you gasp quietly, holding your hands up in front of you to the side. “I just did that. Right here.” You close your hands into fists decisively, incredulous at yourself. “Okay, well,” you titter, “I’ve gotta go now, so thank you again so much, and let me know you guys make it home okay, and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back.” You nod at a still stunned Jack, who then finally starts to relax a bit and lets a smile start to pull up. “Great. Okay.” You lean in and kiss your son’s face. “Bye baby, be good for Jack okay?” You give your son another kiss and pull back, immediately back to your nervous and incredulous demeanor. You pat Jack on the side of the arm holding your son and then cringe at the action. “Right,” you let out a breathy nervous laugh. “Bye.” You spin and walk to the doors and hit the button to be let out.

“Bye,” Jack calls back, still sounding a bit dazed. He takes a second and then looks down at your son who’s looking around the busy room and then looks up at him and smiles, grabs at his face. Jack laughs. “Yeah, bud,” Jack sighs, leans down and kisses the top of his head quickly, doesn’t even really realize he’s doing it, “you’re about to be the talk of the Pitt. We both are. And your mom.” He takes a deep breath in and looks down at your son and makes eye contact. “God help us all.” 

Jack turns and starts walking to the breakroom. He’d go to the lockers but he already knows what’s about to happen. “Not a word,” he says to Dana and Robby as he walks by. 

“Oh be for fuckin’ real Jack,” Dana laughs under her breath, already starting to follow him. 

“No, he’s right Dana, not a word,” Robby says as he starts to follow, “so, so many words.” 

Bridget walks up to the desk and looks at everyone quizzically. 

“A woman just came and dropped off a baby to Jack,” Princess tells her. 

After the words process a large smirk grows on Bridget’s face. “Oh did she now?” 

Jack sighs to himself as Robby and Dana follow him into the breakroom. He doesn’t want to do this but it’s borderline inescapable now and he’d rather it be here than out by the lockers. He slides the baby bag onto a chair. 

“First,” Dana says as she walks in, “let me see him!” She walks over holding her arms out to take your son from Jack. He leans into Jack for a couple of seconds, unsure, but then lets Dana take him. “Hello cutie! What’s your name?” Robby walks over to her and says a soft hi, gives your son his finger to hold onto while Robby looks him over, smiling at him as your son babbles some.

Jack tells her his name. “God, Jack, he is gorgeous. Look at that hair and those eyes!” 

She turns back to the baby in her arms. “Yeah, you’re handsome and you know it, don’t you? I bet you use it to get out of trouble sometimes, huh?” She winks at him. It makes him smile and giggle a little, as he drops Robby’s finger and brings a hand up to chew on. “Gettin’ more teeth in, are we?” Dana smiles at Jack as she rocks your son a little. 

“Yeah, I think so, he’s been real chewy and drooly the last two days,” Jack nods. 

“He yours?” Robby asks.

Jack’s head snaps to him. “What the fuck man?”

“Oh come on Jack, a random woman just showed up, gave you a baby, kissed your cheek and left. It’s not a far stretch. Nor is it a bad thing.” Dana looks at your son. “No it isn’t at all,” she says in a bit of a baby voice.

“And you’ve been different the last couple of months. I think you’ve only been up on the roof twice and even then you didn’t look like you were seriously considering jumping.” Robby points out.

“Oh my god,” Jack mutters under his breath. “No, he’s not mine.”

They both accept that. But it doesn’t quell their curiosity in the slightest. There’s a longer pause though, your son really the only one making noise as all three adults watch him. 

“Who is she?” Robby finally asks, looking up at Jack.

“Does it matter?” Jack shoots back quickly.

“I mean…” Robby laughs a little incredulously, “yeah, a little.” 

“Why?”

“Oh come on, Jack,” Robby draws out as he takes your son from Dana. “You’re telling me if a woman showed up and handed me a baby and kissed my cheek before walking out you wouldn’t have questions and want to know who she is? Or feel like who she is doesn’t matter?”

“Of course I would want to know, but who she was wouldn’t matter and if you didn’t want to say anything yet to keep things private I would respect that.” Jack raises his eyebrows at Robby and gives him a pointed look. 

“Jack, it doesn’t matter who she is really, if she’s in your life we’d just like to know. We want to support you and see you happy. And you clearly know and spend time with the kid, enough for mom to feel comfortable leaving him with you and to know he’s been teething for the last couple of days. You spending time at her house?”

Jack doesn’t answer for a moment but then finally gives in. “Yeah.” Dana’s eyebrows raise in an invitation for more. “Yes, I spend time at her house. I help her out. I sleep in her guest room sometimes, watch him some days. So what?”

“So she matters,” Dana smirks at him a little. “She matters and she kissed your cheek so clearly there’s something.” Jack grows a little more serious and Dana and Robby both know she just hit some sort of nerve there. “Who is she? Please. Let us be happy for you.” 

Jack takes in a big breath and looks at them for a second before resting his hands on his hips, slightly cocking one and looking down at the ground like he’s about to admit something. “My therapist.” He says it deadly serious and just loudly enough for them to hear. 

He doesn’t need to look up to know the expressions they’re wearing, but he does anyway because Robby’s face of incredulity and concern is too funny to miss. “Really?” Dana asks. 

“No!” Jack emphasizes the word with his head and a little brow furrow as he moves from his position to pace a little. “Of fucking course not! But thank you for this little exposé into what you think of me.”

“Hey, that’s why I asked,” Dana puts her hands up in defense. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t,” Jack looks over at Robby, “but he sure the fuck could. And he knows my therapist is a man, we go to the same god damn one!”

“Well I didn’t know if you found a new one!” Robby says in his own defense. Jack rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna tell us? Anything? Or are we really wasting our time here?”

Jack stops pacing and sighs, looks at the baby boy in Robby’s arms. “It’s complicated,” he offers. 

“We deal with a lotta complicated here.” Dana reminds him. 

“Yeah well you’re not going to believe the truth,” he mutters. 

“Try us.” Robby looks at Jack with a little knowing smile and tilts his head before looking back down at your son and making faces at him to keep him entertained. 

Jack shakes his head a little and looks away as he tries to think about how to explain without giving away too much because he doesn’t want to totally destroy your privacy. “She’s a friend. Seriously. Just a friend who I help out because she’s a single mom with nobody in the area and she needs help sometimes. Her…” Jack debates on whether this reveals too much but it would explain to them why he’s so reticent to talk about you. “Her husband died while deployed. So, we have the widower widow thing in common and there was a kind of connection there, and yeah maybe it leads to more one day and maybe it doesn’t.” He shrugs at them. That’s all he’s going to say. 

There’s another moment of silence as everybody takes in what Jack just said, himself included.

“So this is what the five epi pens and vials of epi and infant intubation and cric kit were about. He’s who they were about.” Robby looks down at your son. “Yes. They were about you, weren’t they?”

“Oh, peanuts,” Dana nods, looking from your son to Jack, “you introduced peanuts after you brought it all home.” 

Jack just looks at the two of them and shakes his head. Some part of him wants to laugh at the way they went from pushing for information, to getting a little bit, to leaving it and not pushing for more and instead bringing up the supplies he took and fucking peanuts. He’s grateful for it. 

“Yeah, we did.” Robby and Dana’s eyes flash up at him and they both have little smirks. It hits him. “She did. She did, she introduced peanuts. To her son.” 

“With you there.” Robby’s smirk grows a little bit. “Ready to intubate.” 

“I think it’s very sweet,” Dana says, smiling at him. 

“I think we need to get home before his mom calls in a panic. I said I’d leave on time and text her when we’re home, so.” He walks over to Robby and opens his arms, your son all but launching himself at Jack, making all three laugh. 

“He’s certainly a big fan,” Robby smirks. 

“Of course he is, he has excellent taste already. Though he liked you, so we might have to have a chat when we get home about why our standards are falling.” He says it in his typical deadpan demeanor. 

“I was being nice and then you ruined it.” Robby throws a hand up at him. 

Jack picks up the baby bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I didn’t ruin it, I spoke the truth.”

“You’re so mean to me.” Robby looks over at Dana as they all move towards the door. “He’s so mean to me.” 

“I am not mean to you.” Jack replies, stepping out of the door. 

“A little bit,” Dana agrees with Robby. 

“Thank you!”

“But he’s a little bit mean to you too, so it all evens out.” 

Robby scoffs. “I’m not mean to him!” 

“Just like I’m not mean to you.” Jack walks towards the lockers with your son. Robby and Dana stop at the desk, giving looks to everyone to tell them to go back to work. 

Jack swings by his locker and grabs his backpack. He pins it against the lockers with one hip so he can open it enough to shove the baby bag in it and zip it back up. “Alright bud, you ready?” He glances down to check on your son. Your son gives a little smile and then lets his head fall against the front of Jack’s shoulder, almost like he’s shy. Jack has to laugh a little as he walks back by the desk. 

“We’re out,” he announces to everyone, finding the way they all glance up and try not to look shocked or stare funny. “Say bye!” He says to your son, picks his little hand up and waves it. Your son smiles for a second before turning his head away, shying away from the attention. 

Jack looks at Robby and Dana. “Thank you.” He doesn’t have to elaborate. They know what he’s thanking them for. 

The two make it home easily and without incident. Jack texts you to let you know. 

J - Made it home and are having breakfast. 

He includes a picture of your son in his highchair eating some pancakes Jack made for him. When you get it the photo makes your heart squeeze, your boys. 

The world stops for a second and you get a little dizzy when you realize what you just thought. Your boys. 

Jack is not your boy. He’s not yours in any capacity. And that thought is one you know you would have had about your husband and son. That panic comes back, the intense shame and guilt. You try to think back on all you and your therapist have talked about, try to convince yourself that it’s okay. That it’s okay to have that thought. 

That it’s okay to like the thought and even to want the thought. 

You’re able to handle it much better than you were before and you know that means something. That you’re closer to being ready.

Once you’re not so lightheaded from all the emotions you reply. 

You - Thank you.

It’s odd, Jack thinks as he reads it. Almost clipped. Three dots appear. 

You - I’m sorry about this morning and the cheek thing. I know we haven’t discussed anything like that and I don’t really know what happened for me there in the moment, so I’m sorry. And I hope you can forgive me. 

He’s quick to respond. 

J - You have nothing to apologize for, so there’s nothing to forgive. I didn’t mind it at all 

He smiles to himself a little, especially once three dots appear. But then they go away only to reappear a couple of seconds later to disappear again. Shit, he thinks to himself, was that wrong? Did it cross a line? Fuck, was it suggestive? 

He tries to think of what he can say to apologize and let you know that he really didn’t mean for it to be suggestive or pressuring or weird. But then a message from you. 

You - Well good. I didn’t either

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

A couple of nights later you sit on the couch next to Jack. It’s the first time you’ve sat next to each other like this. Jack was not the one to instigate it of course. 

You decided to watch a movie together. It’s not the first time you’ve done that. Not the first time you’ve made popcorn without asking if he wanted any. It’s the first time you don’t split it into two bowls, though. Instead you pour it all in one and come sit next to him on the couch. Not touching. But close enough to share the popcorn between you. 

He almost expects you to move once the bowl is empty and you set it on the table but you don’t. You just stay there, curled up in your blanket next to him as you watch, commenting to each other at times. He notices you comment less and less, are less responsive to his and are leaning closer and closer to him. 

He can see you falling asleep and when you blink back awake he points it out. “You wanna go to bed? We can finish later.” 

“No, no, I’m good.” You look at him and give him a smile so he knows you know how close you are to him. 

He nods and you keep watching. But twenty or so minutes later you slide a bit and your head rests against his tricep. 

Jack freezes. He doesn’t know what to do. Does he let you sleep? Does he wake you? Is it wrong if he doesn’t wake you? When he knows you might not be ready? But then the sleepiest, “s’okay,” comes from you like you knew what he was thinking. You’re out again so fast he wonders if he made it up. 

He knows you have trouble sleeping sometimes. Trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. So he’s hesitant to wake you from it when you’re getting it. You’d been so in and out of it with the movie he decides to just wait a bit, see if you wake up. 

But then Jack falls asleep on the couch with you resting on his arm. He wakes when he feels you stirring. “Shit,” you whisper, sit up and off him. “We fell asleep.” 

“Yeah,” he yawns. “I meant to wake you but must have fallen asleep before I could,” Jack says slowly as he wakes back up. “I wasn’t sure if you were okay with…”

“Oh.” You blink at him like the thought hadn’t occurred to you. “Yeah. No, yeah, it was okay, I’m okay. I, I hope you were. You definitely could have woken me if you weren’t!” 

Jack nods. “I know.”

You nod back, the magnitude of falling asleep on him hitting you even though you’re not sure it should really hold any particular magnitude. “Okay. Good.” You look around and check the monitor, chuckle a little and show it to Jack. He chuckles with you at the silly position your son is sleeping in. “Probably best to get to bed.” You give him a small smile. 

“Yeah, probably.” You stand up off the couch and toss the blanket onto it, grab the bowl and put it in the sink to deal with tomorrow. Jack stands too and stretches a little. “Are you going?” You ask, almost sound a little sad at the thought. You are a little sad at the thought. 

“I wasn’t going to,” he shakes his head. “I was just going to head to the spare, but I can if you’d prefer.”

“No! No.” You shake your head. “No, I was going to say it’s late and so you should stay and not try and get home at this hour. It’s not safe.” 

Jack gives you a little smirk and you have to look away. “After you,” Jack calls your attention back, sweeps his hand at the entry to the hallway leading to the rooms. “You want me to take him in the morning?” Jack asks as he follows you. You know he’s talking about the monitor. 

“Oh, no. You have to work tomorrow so you should sleep as much as you can.” You’ve learned his schedule. The reality of that hits you both at the same time. You clear your throat. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good night,” Jack replies, smiling to himself as he walks into your spare room. You know his schedule. Jack realizes he knows yours too.

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

A week or so later you ask Jack if he has a certain day off, as if you don’t already know that he does. And he knows you know. 

“Yeah,” he answers, looking up from the floor where he’s playing with your son. 

You nod. “Well, so.” You try to start but stumble. You’re nervous. Flustered in that way you get. Like both times you were at the hospital. “That’s his birthday,” you look at your son with a smile, “and I was wondering if you’d um, if you’d like to, you know, spend the day with us?”

Jack doesn’t realize he’s doing it but he stares at you for a few seconds. You just asked him to spend the day with you and your son on your son’s first birthday. 

He nods. “Yeah.” He nods a little faster. “I would love that. If you’re sure. I know it’s a special day and-”

“No, I’m sure. And I know he’ll love it.” You look at your son fondly and then back at Jack. The fondness in your eyes doesn’t go away. “He loves you.” 

Jack flushes a little at that and it makes you get butterflies. Jack Abbot is blushing in front of you. Doesn’t matter why or what you said. He’s blushing and you’re swooning like you’re a teenager. And, you realize, you don’t hate yourself or feel guilty about it. You just feel it.

“Well,” Jack laughs a little, looks down at your son and brushes some hair out of his face. You still haven’t brought yourself to get it cut but you really are going to have to here soon. “I lo-” Jack stops himself. You can see him trying to think of what to say instead. 

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, understandingly. “You can say it, Jack.” 

Jack nods and swallows. “I love him too,” he says just as softly as he looks back down at your son. 

When Jack finally builds up the courage to look at you he’s greeted by your smile. The one that really meets your eyes and makes them sparkle a bit. The one that he’s seen more and more recently. The one that gives him butterflies. 

Jack Abbot blushes again. 

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

The three of you spend all day together. Your son is one, so the day is more for you than anything. 

You decide on the zoo. Your son loves animals, it’s a weekday so it’s not super busy, the weather is perfect. And you can take it at your own pace. 

Lots of pictures get taken. Of your son. Of you and your son. Of your son and Jack. Of you, your son and Jack. That one threw him a little when you first brought it up and asked a stranger to take a photo of the three of you. 

Jack is patient and would never pressure you and very deliberately does not ask where you’re at in healing or if you’re feeling like you’re closer to ready or anything of the sort. He lets you lead, lets you set the tone and the pace. He knows if and when you’re ready you’ll communicate that. 

You and Jack sit in the aquarium when your son needs a nap and falls asleep in his stroller. You talk about your upcoming weeks and Jack tells you stories of patients he’s had recently that he hasn’t had the chance to tell you about. 

“Have you… had to explain anything about him and I? At work.” 

Jack’s eyebrows lift slightly and he shakes his head. “No. I’m sure they’re all dying to know but like I said, I don’t feel the need to explain anything to them.” He shrugs. “Well, actually,” he lets out a little breath. “The day you came in I told Robby and Dana. Not a lot. Just that you’re a friend I’m helping out because you’re a single mom and don’t have anyone here.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “I told them that you lost your husband while he was deployed, so we had the widower widow connection. I’m sorry if that was too much.” 

You laugh a little and shake your head. Jack has talked to you enough about Dana and Robby to know that Robby is his best friend and effective brother and Dana is his second best friend and like the Pitt mom. “It’s not.” 

“Dana said he’s gorgeous.” Jack doesn’t know why all of this didn’t come out once you got home that day but he was asleep when you did and then life was just busy and moved on. And now you’re talking about it. “He actually liked Robby, so he and I had a little conversation when we got home about bringing his standards back up.” 

That makes you laugh, properly. Jack thinks he could get lost in the sound forever. Spend the rest of his life chasing it. He tells himself to get a grip. You’re just friends. Nothing more. 

“Well,” you smile at him before looking away and shrugging. “Maybe one day I can meet them. Judge for myself.” 

Jack pauses for a second only because he wasn’t expecting it. “Uh, I mean yeah. Of course. Dana will lose it if she gets to see him again.”

“He is the cutest and best if I do say so myself.” You smile down at your sleeping one year old. “God, I can’t believe it’s been a year.” It’s been over a year and a half now since your husband. “He’s so big,” you whisper. “He was so tiny, fit on my chest so nicely. And I love watching him grow up and see him do new things and learn and thrive, but damn it’s hard.” 

Jack gives you a little hum of empathy, not entirely sure what to say. He notices how big your son has gotten and he’s only been in your lives for three months. 

“Will you come with us when I get his hair cut finally?” 

Jack looks over at you, a little confused. “Yeah, course.” He presses his lips together and shakes his head once. “Any particular reason why?” 

“To be my shoulder to cry on.” You say it so simply, like it means nothing when you both know it means something. You both know you’re inviting him to another thing your husband and your son’s dad would probably go to with you. 

And Jack gets stuck on it a little. To be my, you had said, you want him to be your something, even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on right now. “I suppose I can manage that.”

You share a little laugh about it. “Thanks, Jack,” you murmur. 

“Any time.” 

Once your son wakes back up you finish walking around the zoo. Jack buys him too many toys at the gift shop, all the stuffed animals he so much as glances at, much to his delight. You make your way back home together in Jack’s truck. Jack’s truck that now has a carseat in it. 

But you don’t go inside, instead you decide to leave the stroller and walk around the City. You find a place to eat and it’s weird to think about. To all the people walking by and seeing the three of you, you probably look like a family. And even though you feel some guilt, especially on your son’s birthday, you don’t completely hate yourself or let that guilt consume you. You like the idea. A lot. So you let yourself feel it.

After dinner at dusk you decide to take your son to the park for some swinging before heading back and getting him to bed. He loves to swing. You take photos of him and Jack and Jack takes them of the two of you. 

You’re so involved with your son and swinging and making him laugh that you don’t notice Jack slip away for just a second. Your son yawns. “Aw,” you give him a little sad laugh. “Tired baby? You’ve had a big day.” He reaches up for you and you pull him out of the swing, hug him close to you and kiss his head. 

When you turn around Jack is back and standing where you assumed he would be but he’s holding a single rose. You stay where you’re at, almost frozen but not in a tense way. And Jack is just as nervous that this is crossing a line when he doesn’t mean for it to be.  

“Day’s about you as much as it’s about him,” he calls to you. He starts walking towards you and you meet him halfway. “You did all the work a year ago today, mom.” He offers you the rose. “We should acknowledge that.” 

You look at the rose and then back up at him again, a bit stunned still. It’s so incredibly sweet and kind. It’s so incredibly Jack. And you know for sure then. 

You take the rose from him and give him a sappy smile. “Thank you, Jack. For everything. The rose and today and the last three months.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gives you a small smile. 

“Accept the thanks.” You give him a pointed one in return. 

“Alright, alright.” Your son has started to fall asleep in your arms. “Want me to take him?” 

You nod. “Sure, yeah. You only need one arm to carry him still. I need two now.”  You bring the rose up to your nose and smell it, smile to yourself about it. Let you and the butterflies in your stomach swoon. 

The three of you start walking home, your son fully out on Jack’s shoulder within a couple minutes. You walk back in silence. It’s a comfortable silence, a comfortable quiet. And while quiet hasn’t been as foreboding to Jack since he’s met you sometimes it still is. Like now. 

This quiet, while comfortable, is thick. There’s something about it that feels anticipatory. Last time the quiet felt like this, made him feel like this, this uneasy, it brought Jack you. 

Something about that makes him even more uneasy. Because Jack knows there’s always a reason for quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. Rarely, if ever, is it good. And he got good last time and Jack doesn’t trust the world or lightning to strike twice. 

He worries this time the quiet will bring something else. Something worse, like it always does. 

But before he can completely spiral and become even more hypervigilant than he always is, Jack feels your fingers brush against his for a second before they disappear and then come back, your fingers playing with his like it’s nothing, and then, in the quiet as you walk back to your place, you lace your fingers together and you’re holding hands and you give him a little squeeze that tells him you mean it. That you’re ready.   

Quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. 

This time it meant you were working up the courage. Is bringing the start of something more than just friends. 

Lightning strikes twice. 

Jack stops walking when you squeeze his hand and you stop with him, looking up concerned and a bit panicked, ready to draw your hand back. 

“You ready for this?” Jack asks, genuine concern in his voice as his eyes dart around your face, looking for the slightest sign of hesitation. But you can see it there too, the excitement, the happiness. The hope. “And by this I mean this,” he squeezes your hand. “Nothing more. Not until you’re ready for more. Not until you tell me you’re ready for more.”  

You bite your lip as he talks because he’s so cute when he’s concerned and he’s such a good man, wanting to make sure you’re ready and know he doesn’t expect more. And the smile that’s slowly pulling up on his face as you look at him and nod is so adorable you could scream. “Yeah. I’m ready for this.” You squeeze his hand back. “And maybe a little more.” You pull on his hand and start walking again, lean into him a little. “But only with you.” 

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

If you made it this far thank you so much for reading and I hope it was okay and got fluffy and funny!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack! Requests are open!

Taglist: @moonshooter @whiskeyhowlett-writes @smallcarbigwheels @hawkswildfireheart @blackwidownat2814 @yxtkiwiyxt @viridian-dagger @generalstarlightobject @andabuttonnose @beebeechaos @pear-1206 @starkgaryan @travelingmypassion @marvelcasey05 @daydreamingallthetime-world @millenialcatlady @iamcryingonceagain @loveyhoneydovey @a-stari-night @acn87 @moonpascal @lostfleurs @thelightnessofthebeing @beltzboys2015-blog @pouges-world @tinyharrypotterkpopfriend @roseanddaggerlarry @pearlofthepitt @niamhmbt @thefangirllife10 @star017 @marvelousmissmaggie @misartymis @clem9216 @distantsighs @rocker-chick-7 @mayabbot @taylorswifts-cardigan @sammiib444 @livinthevidaloca-ish @morallygreymaniac @woodxtock @shaydawgsblog @deadneverlander @imonlyhereformemes14-blog @sleepingalways @generalstarlightobject @dudewithastick @thatoneawesomechicka @rebeccasaurusrex

[teaboot]

Feel free to ignore if this is too personal of a question but like

What did your mom see in him? Like how you describe your mom they sound very incompatible.

Straight up HER parents sucked ASS like a million times worse. He wasn’t an alcoholic had a solid job and we didn’t get BEAT beat so I imagine when he proposed she was like “holy shit a normal human being”. And like a lot of abusive situations, it wasn’t bad ALL the time, so it was easy to justify the bad things as one-offs, mistakes, frustration, and our own fault. I literally only figured out something was wrong as a kid because I had no other context but books, and I LOVED to read, so I noticed pretty quick that the only people who acted like him were bad guys.

Then back in like 2014 or something I went to my mom and was like “I just learned about something called gaslighting” and she was like “what was that?” So I told her and was like “that’s what Dad’s been doing to me.” she goes OH MY GOD. And I go RIGHT? And then she goes “THAT’S WHAT YOUR GRANDMA DID TO ME.” And I was like. Oh. Okay

But then SHE started doing research into it and eventually realized that shit was SO NOT NORMAL and after a lot of failed attempts to fix things they broke up lol

Anyhow I’d like to sincerely thank Childhood Reading and The Internet

[kayharrisons]

Will you go, lassie, go? [Remmick x fem!Reader] [18+] [1 of 11]

Remmick has been drifting for a decade now, aimlessly passing from one town to the next as he hunts and feeds and fucks and-

And. And. And.

One could go mad after a while with all those ands.

Loneliness threatens to consume him, to pull him right over the brink and into insanity.

Until, that is, he hears a voice sweeter than a nightingale's and with a haunting, melodic pain that buries itself deep in his chest and takes root there.

Until, that is, he meets you.

A/N: hey guys!! My first attempt at a Sinners fic o o p I LOVED the movie sm and Remmick was just 😩 😩 Jack O'Connell the man that you are fr!! Anyway, idk if I'll write a LOT for Sinners, my brain rot is still very much Romulus focused BUT HEY have this lil two shot for now! Scottish Reader x Remmick oh no oh DEAAAAAAR!!! I'm not a native Gaelic speaker by any means (I know a couple basic words lol), so any future Gaelic sentences will be in italics! This fic is set some time in the 20s before Sinners! Next chapter will be up soon hopefully!! Apologies if there's any mistakes we rock and roll buckaroo over here ✌️

Series warnings: younger woman (19-21) x older man (literal vampire), blood, biting, sexual acts, mentions of immigration and racist/xenophobic attitudes towards Scottish and Irish communities, colonisation mentions (Ireland in Remmick's past), manipulative Remmick, naive Reader, Remmick was at one point Jack the Ripper 💀

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Time.

It's a funny thing. Especially to someone like him, to someone with this affliction.

It both passes in the blink of an eye and goes by slower than those snails that used to infest his mother's garden when he was a boy. He can't remember her face much, but he remembers how she used to rant and rave over the little creatures as they ruined vegetables and plants she'd oh so painstakingly grown.

He's had many families over the centuries. Many mothers, many brothers, sisters.

The faces blend, sometimes, when you're as old as he.

His birth mother had eyes like his, he thinks. She had his laugh.

He recalls having been told, frequently, that he takes after his father.

He wonders if that was before or after his skull was cleaved in two. He can't recall his father's face before it was split in half like a log for the fire.

Fire. Warmth.

He misses that.

Misses sitting with his brothers and sisters around the hearth as their mother hummed lullabies in their native tongue. Síthmaith had been his favourite of the bunch, his precious sister only nine when her throat had been cut to the bone.

Remmick had been the oldest of the bunch.

He'd failed them, and this, he thinks, is retribution.

He's never done well without people to care for, could never cope knowing people were sad. His mother used to smile and call him her mo mhuirnin whenever she'd catch him being kind.

The last time in his human life that he'd been kind, he had invited a sobbing stranger inside of his home, a frail woman begging for shelter against Protestant brutes, could he please help her?

The children hadn't survived the turning. They never did, according to the woman.

His mother had taken one look at her dead children and screamed an almighty roar of agony before walking out into the sunlight.

Remmick can't remember his mother's voice anymore, but he remembers that scream.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The centuries passed. He spent it learning, teaching himself.

He occupied himself with hobbies, with history, and eventually with song.

That was the one thing he'd never allowed himself to forget over the years. The act of putting pen to paper and letting pain spill out as ink, of taking the time to sit back and think of melodies, of chords and notes.

He loves to sing.

Sometimes, he can still hear his mother when he sings, can hear his siblings laughter around the fire.

There is rarely anyone around to hear him, however.

New families come and go; not everyone is suited to this way of life, a lot lack survival instinct he's found. Lovers are there for an hour or two or three, the ones that linger end up drained upon the bed, his songs still lingering in their dead ears.

Perhaps one time he'd been overzealous in Whitechapel, had earned himself a nasty moniker and had had to hastily retreat to the countryside for a few years all while the public pondered over the identity of this Ripper fellow.

Animal blood wasn't quite the same as a human's, it must be said.

It's rather like drinking tar, he's come to find. Unpleasant and thick down his throat. Only worth doing in a pinch.

He hasn't met anyone else who's even tried it.

The others he'd been with on the ship, the ones who had burnt brighter than the sun, had rolled their eyes at him for that admission.

Lions were not expected to eat plants and nothing more, so why should they?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He hasn't eaten in weeks.

He could. Easily. Easy pickings don't even begin to describe half of the people he's come across as he wanders the earth.

New York had been ripe with bodies, and he'd indulged himself more than necessary during the ten years he had spent there.

But his legs were leading him south. And who was he to go against them? Taken him this far, hadn't they?

He is curious to see the rest of the continent, to meet people, hear stories, to rebuild that which he's lost time and time again.

He can help people, like he used to, he can give them a family, can take all their petty human squabbles and differences and turn it into something good, can't he?

He hums to himself, a melody he has hazy memories of his mother singing. The words are lost to him now, taken from him by time, but he recalls the melody, at least.

Over and over, he hums, his fingers brushing over brick and stone and cold hard suburbia, before eventually his fingers run over trees and leaves and life itself.

He never did like cities much.

Remmick hums into the dimming light of the night, with no expectations of a response, an answer, of divine intervention.

He gets one anyway.

A little miracle in its own right.

"-the blooming heather, will ye go, lassie, go?"

His blood ignites in his veins just as brightly and fiery as it had the day he'd been turned into this.

If he had a pulse, he is sure it would be racing in his cold dead chest. If he could blush, he's sure the tips of his ears would be a burning red.

Your voice creeps through the trees like that of a fine mist, and it settles over him like dew on grass during a summer's morning. Refreshing, soothing, anchoring.

When was the last time he had felt anchored?

Voices, he's found, have a way of carrying stories, of harbouring emotions in a way that sometimes merely speaking doesn't even begin to encompass.

Sadness, anger, love, lust, loss-

It all sounded beautiful, in song.

Your voice reaches out like that of a beautiful plant, wraps around his soul like vines in the forest, takes root upon his very being like that of the strongest of trees.

Nature personified.

His pace quickens, the damp grass and dirt cliging to his bare feet, his hair sticking to his forehead.

He only wishes he was more presentable for you. Remmick is far from vain, but he's certain he's about to waltz into the den of perfection, an alter of beauty that would put Aphrodite herself to shame.

And he finds it.

Your back is to him, your hair is down loose around your shoulders. Your blouse is a few sizes too big and clings to your shoulders, your waist cinched by your skirt. You sway softly, like that of a flower in the breeze. Your fingers move effortlessly over the strings of your guitar, your voice having lowered to that of an airy hum.

He damn near almost collapses at the sight before him. Of such beauty here before him, untouched by the world outside of this forest. He's not a religious man, hasn't been in centuries, but Remmick is struck by the urge to collapse by your feet and cling to your skirts as if you were a Saint of utmost divinity, one he would swear his life and soul to.

Such natural, effortless beauty, and he hasn't even seen your face yet. Persephone can weep for all he cares.

A branch snaps beneath his feet, and your hair whips your face as you whirl around to face him.

Oh.

Oh.

Remmick staggers back a step, unusual for someone with supernatural grace on their side.

You're more radiant than a sunrise on a winter's day, more beautiful than poetry itself.

He could weep in your presence.

"Can I help you, sir?" you ask, pausing your guitar strumming and setting the instrument aside, leaning it against the tree beside you.

Your accent isn't from here. Scottish, the highlands, he thinks. He smiles at the sound, at the knowledge that he won't have to use that goddamn ridiculous Yank accent that helps him blend in.

"Aye, lass'," he nods, hands in his pockets as he steps closer. You watch him with a furrowed brow, with complete and utter confusion across your radiant face.

He stops short of you, leaning back against a tree, crossing his legs at the ankles as he studies you.

His eyes...

You straighten a hairs breadth, the same way one does when they spy a wolf in the distance, when you know a predator is watching you.

Remmick merely hums, unbothered at your reaction, even as his eyes gleam unnaturally in the darkness of the night.

"You can help me somethin' fierce, darlin'."

You smile, a touch uncertainly, your head cocked as you patiently wait for him to explain whatever it is he needs help with.

Remmick can only smile.

[cutehoons02]

Make be mine

*pairing: frat emo-boy hybrid deer Heeseug x popolar girl

*trope: Roomates to hates to lovers

*synopsis: When you, a bright but impulsive student, agree to share the apartment with a dark-eyed and gloomy-looking hybrid deer, Heeseung, you know it’s going to be an intense experience. But you can’t imagine how. He is introverted, controlled, with an animal instinct that desperately tries to keep at bay. You're the opposite: human, daring, stubborn… and curiously attracted by that mysterious aura that Hee carries with her. Between daily squabbles, shared nights, growing jealousies and an imprinting that risks to bind them forever, the boundary between play and desire becomes ever thinner.

*tags: A lot of tension, the protagonist is curious and cheeky with Heeseung, they have to share the bed, Heeseung is an innocent fake a little shy and grumpy at first, fluffy moments, lots of kisses, pacifiers, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) First time Heeseung knot, statement, pet names (small) (Hee, good boy) +18

(English is not my native language)

12.2k (🦌)

'You’ll be sharing the room with a human.'

Hee had squinted when they’d told him that at the admin office. He’d thought it was a joke. Or a mistake. Why on earth would they put a hybrid—a deer, no less—in the same room as a human girl?

But the housing clerk hadn’t even looked up from her papers. She just shrugged.

'There’s a shortage of single rooms. It’s temporary. Deal with it.'

So he’d dealt with it. More or less.

He had arrived the night before, tossed a hoodie on the bed (yes, just one bed), and put his headphones on, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the ridiculous number of things that could go wrong.

But he hadn’t expected you.

You, bursting through the door all theatrical, mouth already forming a complaint, eyes sweeping dramatically across the room, widening as you spotted the single bed.

And then—bam. You bumped right into him.

The contact. Your scent. Your warm skin.

He looked down at you. Liquid, mischievous eyes. Furrowed brows, soft lips, backpack still slung over one shoulder, and a suitcase bigger than you. And an expression... confused, but intrigued.

She’s cute, was his first thought. Cute in that dangerous way. The kind of girl who looks innocent, but knows exactly what she’s doing.

You looked up at him and froze, like you’d just seen some rare, beautiful animal. Which, technically, was true.

“Oh. Sorry. I... I didn’t see you.”

Hee gave a small nod, already feeling the heat rising to his ears. Those damn spotted ears always gave him away.

“It’s fine. Uh... there’s only one bed, but I’ll get another this week. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Didn’t mean to make myself uncomfortable either, he thought. But it’s too late now.

You nodded, but seemed more interested in him than in the logistics. And when you kept staring—too long—he exhaled through his nose and turned to face you.

“Want a photo?”

Your little smirk was a knife disguised as a caress. “Nah. Don’t need one. I’ll see you every day anyway, right?”

He dropped onto the beanbag with a what-kind-of-human-did-I-get expression and started chewing on his hoodie string—a nervous habit that kicked in whenever he tried to play it cool.

And as he watched you, he realized he’d been right: there was nothing innocent about you.

The way you looked at him. The way you moved. The way you smiled with just one side of your mouth.

There was something about you... shameless, but well-disguised. And that drove him crazy.

“If you’ve got questions, just ask. I can read expressions—even human ones. And yours... is full of question marks.”

You pretended not to hear, adjusting the beanbag like you weren’t mentally jumping on him. Then, suddenly, you spun around, dramatic as ever:

“I’ve decided. I want to ask five questions!”

He laughed quietly, from the gut. And felt the knot of tension loosen a little.

There was something so ridiculous and funny about you that, for the first time, he almost felt... comfortable.

“You didn’t have any questions a second ago.”

“White lie. For a good cause.”

He sank deeper into the beanbag, one leg bent, the other stretched out. Hoodie string still between his teeth, faking nonchalance, eyes sharp and alert. Then he motioned with his hand.

“Go on. Shoot.”

"How do those ears stay upright? Are you controlling them right now?" you asked, staring at the white-and-brown-speckled ears.

Hee narrowed his eyes. “They’re muscles. And no, I’m not. They’re on natural alert.”

"So are you, like, wild in the woods, or do you feel okay around humans?" you asked, watching him chew on the hoodie string, thinking he looked pretty uncomfortable, or maybe just not used to human spaces.

“Depends. Around certain humans... I’m starting to relax.”

"Earlier, were you staring because you were looking for flaws or because you liked what you saw?"

Heeseung’s eyes widened. Silence. Long silence. Then:

“I was staring because you seemed dangerous. And I’m not very disciplined when it comes to dangerous things.”

Your heart did a messy little somersault. You no longer knew if you wanted to test him... or just let him bite you.

He went back to chewing the string. Slower now. But still watching you.

You’re the kind of trouble I’ve always avoided, Hee thought. But if you’re my mistake... I might just let it happen.

It had only been two days.

Two. Days and Heeseung already felt at his limit. You were… too much.

Too bold, too loud, too unpredictable.

A miniature storm, a human creature seemingly born to irritate him to perfection.

She doesn’t do anything like the others.She doesn’t walk—she floats. She doesn’t talk—she teases. And she looks at me like she already knows everything, like she can read beneath my skin.

And then there were your habits. Tidying up the bathroom while he was still in it. Humming quietly while reading your obscene novels. Eating strawberries on the bed with your fingers, leaving them sticky.

And at night? You moved like you were dancing in the sheets. Your scent—soft, feminine, dangerous—clung to the pillow. He’d slept with a hoodie over his head just to block you out. This room is a minefield with pink walls and the scent of peach and vanilla.

That evening, he went out to play basketball just to let off steam.

He ran harder than usual, sweated more than necessary, and pushed his breath until his thoughts finally shut up.

He came back with damp temples, a soaked shirt, and jumped straight into a hot shower. He needed to calm down.

Water. Silence. No sexy, chaotic girl one meter away and that’s exactly when it happened.

While he was pulling on his grey sweatpants—boxers still visible, skin still damp—the door clicked open.

“Hey, have you seen my—”

You. Standing in the doorway. Hair a mess and curious eyes.

“What the—!” Heeseung barked, jumping to the side, heart racing. His tail shot straight up, then froze in a weirdly stiff position.

His ears? Total alert mode.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!” he growled, covering his chest in a mechanical, panicked gesture.

You raised your eyebrows and stared at him like you were watching a particularly interesting scene from a movie you didn’t want to pause.

Golden abs. Sculpted lines. Warm, still-damp skin. Black boxers just peeking above his waistband. A necklace stuck to the hollow of his chest.

And that tail? A perfect mix of tenderness and disaster.

Delightfully awkward. But so sexy, my knees are shaking.

“Do humans not knock anymore? That is something they teach at school, right?” he snapped, his voice rough and a bit unsteady.

You feigned innocence, with that familiar glint of mischief that drove him crazy.

“I just needed one thing. My skincare. Chill.”

You walked past him slowly, deliberately, and while you grabbed the bottle from the shelf, you leaned in. Way too close on purpose.

You inhaled quietly, almost silently—but he noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed.

“Mmmh… you smell like musk, amber, and… rain.” Your eyes sparkled. “Animalistic and sweet. Like you stepped out of a wild fairytale.”

Heeseung froze.

Your voice was low. Your gaze locked on his a flash of a predator disguised as a good girl.

“Out,” he said sharply. But his red ears, frozen tail, and eyes drifting toward your lips told a very different story.

You winked. “Sure, boss.”And giggled on your way out.

Half an hour later.

Heeseung left the room in silence. He had changed—but it was too composed. Too controlled. The problem was, he wasn’t calm at all.

This makes no sense. She’s human. She’s not even my type. But… the way she looks at me. The way she moves. The way she breathes.

She touches me without ever touching me. She’s like a scent that gets into my brain and won’t leave.

And then he saw you. Sitting on the bed, legs crossed, striped pink shorts. Short. Too short and oversized sleep shirt, but it lifted slightly at the sides, revealing smooth skin underneath. And in your hands? A book. One of those pastel-covered ones with scandalous titles.

No. No. No. You’re ruining me, Hee thought. And I’m already falling apart.

You looked up from your book. And caught him instantly, the way you looked at him. Like you were reading him, not the pages. Like you knew exactly how much you were driving him insane.

The room was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp left on.

The bed was just big enough for two people pretending they didn’t want each other.

You were leaning back against the headboard, The Deal open in your lap, bare legs stretched out—one bent carelessly, causing your sleep shirt to ride up just enough to reveal the soft curve of your hip.

Heeseung was lying beside you, wearing nothing but a wrinkled black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair still damp from the shower, ears drooping a little from exhaustion, tail relaxed… but alert.

He couldn’t take it anymore, it had only been two days. Two, but this girl was chaos incarnate and that morning… that cursed moment in the bathroom…

Flashback.

He’d just finished his shower, towel over his head, boxers under gray sweats. He’d left the mirror fogged, feeling oddly vulnerable but strangely calm, when the door clicked open innocently.

It was you.

Your eyes locked on his still-wet abs, the droplets sliding down his chest.

Your gaze drifted down the golden skin, the waistband of his sweats hinting at Calvin Klein boxers underneath, and his tail frozen mid-lift.

He shot you a glare.

“Did no one ever teach you to knock? Or are you straight out of the Middle Ages?!”

“I just needed my night cream,” you answered, unfazed. “Also… oh my God, Hee. You smell like musk and rain. I swear, you could bottle that scent and sell it.”

You stepped closer. Brushed your fingers along his arm. Inhaled, softly.

Then, with a playful giggle: “Very… bedroom animal.”

Heeseung froze.

Was she flirting? Or is she just a completely unfiltered menace?

Why is my tail trembling?

Why did I dream of her curled up against me last night?

Back to now.

Hee couldn’t even focus on his phone. Your voice always distracted him—but tonight, especially…

“So, The Deal, huh?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

He was scrolling through TikTok, but every spicy fan art he saw made his brows furrow.

“You know it?”

“Saw it on the feed. Says it has… like, eight spicy chapters?”

“At least,” you answered proudly. “Wanna read it with me?”

“No thanks. I prefer sports anatomy textbooks.”

You laughed.

“You’ve already got the muscles, baby deer. Now you just need the emotional intelligence.”

He stared at you.

“Did you just say… baby deer?”

“Does it offend you?”

Hee nervously bit down on his hoodie string. A reflex. His thing.

Baby deer?! Who does she think she is? And yet… he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, onto his side.

“Show me those fanarts. People really post that online?”

You scrolled until you found one—an overly passionate illustration.

The couple tangled on a bed. Hands everywhere. Half-dressed. Eyes closed, tongues—

Hee frowned.

“Their… tongues. Are out. What exactly do you like about this?!”

“Everything. The contact, the tension, the repressed desire… the things left unsaid.”

“You’re all insane.” You moved even closer, book in hand.

“Want me to read you a part?”

“No.” You did it anyway. Your voice was a slow whisper. Hypnotic.

“He kissed her with a hunger that couldn’t be hidden. His body, all muscle and want, pressed into hers as his hands lifted her. Their mouths fit together like keys and locks.”

Heeseung blushed, he sat up, shooting you a sharp look.

“This isn’t healthy. Reading stuff like that isn’t healthy.”

“And yet you like it. I can see it. Your tail’s giving you away.”

He turned away, muttering something under his breath. You giggled and, in a velvet-soft voice:

“Want me to tie you up, Hee?”

Time stopped. He spun around, eyes wide. His tail thumped against the mattress. Ears alert.

“WHAT?!”

“You heard me. You. Me. Knot.” Silence. A deep breath.

“You’re not my type.” You clutched your chest dramatically.

“Oh no. My ego. Shattered. A divine creature with pointy ears just broke my heart.” You flopped back with a theatrical sigh.

He glanced at you sideways—and in his eyes, a flicker. A crack in the armor.

She’s not my type. But when she talks like that… when she looks at me like that… why does it feel like I’m already hers?

He moved closer. Slowly. Positioned himself over you, arms bracing his weight. His knees on either side of your hips. His eyes locked on yours.

“You want to be tied up?”

“Only if you do it.”

His hands settled on your waist.

“You’re… soft,” he whispered.

“Wanna touch more?”

“…Yeah.”

He only realized he’d said it out loud after the words slipped. He leaned down. Nuzzled into your neck. A slow inhale. A gentle lick. His hips pressed to yours.

“You smell like peaches. And… danger.”

You laughed softly. “And you smell like: I’m losing control but pretending I’m fine.”

Hee buried his face in your neck, his hair tickling your skin.

If you tease me one more time… I’m not responsible for what happens.

It had been almost two months since classes started.

Two months of sharing a room with Heeseung — the moodiest, messiest, and unintentionally sexy deer hybrid on campus.

Two beds. One fate.

The second bed had arrived after a week.

You’d argued, like literal children, over which one was “your” bed.

You insisted on keeping the one you’d shared during the first nights.

Heeseung had growled through clenched teeth (a ridiculous sound for a half-deer, honestly), and ended up dragging himself to the new bed, shooting you a dark glare as he curled up under the covers.

“You’re insane. Sleep over there. Don’t invade my side tonight.”

And yet… he slept.

You didn’t, six nights out of seven, you waited until his breathing slowed.

Then you’d sneak into his bed, cold legs sliding under his. Curling up and in his sleep… he’d always pull you close.

Of course, mornings came with consequences.

“This is a full-on violation of personal space,” he’d grumble, trying to peel your arm off him.

“Do you think I’m your personal heating pad just because I’m half-cervid?!” And while you got up with a smug little smile, he’d add, grumpily:

“You claim to be independent. Pretend to be a femme fatale. But at night, you cling like some overly affectionate leech.”

You’d laugh. Always. You loved teasing him. All day long: you tickled him with your pencil during study sessions, hid his beloved emo rings, and stole his oversized hoodies just to force him to stay in a t-shirt while you blatantly stared at those golden abs that never got to touch you.

Why not? Why didn’t he touch you? He’d said you weren’t his type.

That phrase had lodged itself in your brain like a pushpin.

But you knew you were the right type for anyone with a pulse.

Even for an emo deer-boy who gnawed on his hoodie strings and acted too cool for spicy books.

So that night, you had a plan. If Hee wouldn’t look at you the way you deserved, then you’d make sure he had no choice but to look.

You’d been in the bathroom for over an hour. Perfume. Light makeup.

That tiny black skirt barely brushing your thighs, a white camisole with a little bow — sweet enough, but just suggestive enough. A cropped leather jacket that framed your shoulders.

Shiny black boots. Hair long. Perfect.

When you opened the door, Hee was sitting at the desk. A muscle anatomy textbook was open in front of him. Glasses on. Ears drooped. Tail still. But as soon as the scent of cherries and amber filled the air, he froze.

His nose twitched. Nostrils flared. A subtle shiver ran down his spine.

God. That perfume. The one she wears when… she wants attention. And I… I’m a damn fool because I love it.

When he turned around, he saw you. Admiring yourself in the mirror by the door, adjusting the hem of your skirt. You were a vision. Sensual, free, in complete control. You caught his gaze for a second. Eyes locked. That wicked little smile.

“Well? Do I look good?”

Hee blinked. Mumbled something.

“Hmm? Didn’t hear you, Hee.” He dropped his eyes.

“I said… You look like a fanfiction protagonist. The kind who always ends up heartbroken.”

You laughed — delightfully bold.

“Oh, really? And here I was, heading out on a date.”

He stiffened. Slowly turned from his chair. His tail—motionless a second ago — started wagging. Gently. Then harder. You bit your lip. Perfect.

“With whom?”

His voice was flat. Too flat.

“A guy from the swim team.”

Heeseung scoffed and turned back to his book.

“Wow. How original. One of those puffed-up pecs, zero-braincell types.”

A pause. Then: “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will.” You stepped toward the door. “And don’t wait up. I might not come back tonight.”

Silence. Then, a sharp grunt. Low. Animal. Frustrated. As the door clicked shut behind you, Hee slammed the book closed, ran a hand down his face, and muttered through clenched teeth:

“Stupid… tease… with that tiny little skirt… if anyone puts their hands on her, I swear I’ll—” His tail was still wagging—a chaotic, jealous, panicked mess.

She’s not my type… so why do I dream of her every night? Why do I reach for her when she’s not there? Why do I miss her scent before she’s even gone?

Heeseung was still awake.

He was “studying,” at least on paper.

In reality, he’d spent the past two hours chewing on his hoodie string, those oversized glasses slipping down his nose, sweatshirt sleeves pulled over his hands, killing evil creatures online with Jake and Jungwon.

The only things filling the room were curses and the occasional burst of laughter and, every now and then, those too-long silences, when Hee would stare blankly into space, fingers resting on the controller, your scent still burned into his brain.

Cherry. And amber. Damn it.

Where the hell did you think you were going, dressed like that?

When you’d said “I might not come back tonight,” he’d laughed.

A little.

Faked it.

Now it was 1:30 a.m. and you still weren’t back. He’d cracked. Looked you up on Instagram. Just one story. A mediocre dish, a corner of the Han River, and then… You. Sitting, eyes downcast. Too beautiful. Too close to that idiot with the damp hair, trying to look sporty.

Did he touch her? Put a hand on her thigh? Try to kiss her?

He bit his cheek. Hard enough to taste blood.

Then — finally — the door opened and that scent came back.

Sweet. Intoxicating.

You.

He pretended not to notice. Kept laughing with Jake. Scoffed a half-hearted, “Come on, just hit him in the head, Jungwon,” even though he wasn’t even looking at the screen.

You saw him instantly. Legs crossed on the swivel chair, oversized hoodie, giant headphones, half-eaten ramen by the keyboard. Eyes sparkling, like nothing was wrong.

Pfft. Still awake. And then he lectures me, huh.

You walked over, arms crossed. Tired smile, sharp gaze.

“Not in bed yet?” you asked, tilting your head.

He didn’t answer.

Without warning, you pulled off his headphones — way too big for his deer-like head. Hee flinched, looked at you… and in those eyes was that mix of anxiety, relief, irritation — and something much deeper.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

You stared back. One brow raised.

Arms crossed, standing just inches from him.

“Does this look like the time to still be livestreaming while your brain cells evaporate? You know what’ll happen if you sleep through anatomy again tomorrow? More notes on your record. And I won’t let you copy mine.”

Jake and Jungwon chuckled through the headphones.

Hee mumbled something, but he wasn’t really listening to you.

He leaned in a little.

Too close. Too quiet. Then, barely brushing your ear:

“You stink.” You whipped your head toward him, face close, eyebrow raised, voice like a blade:

“Excuse me? Want to say that again?”

He smiled. That classic fake-innocent smile, the faint dimple, eyes lowering to hide how intense they were. He brought a hand to his nose. Inhaled. Slowly.

“You smell like something that isn’t you.”

A sudden, razor-sharp silence. Jake and Jungwon went quiet a click, like someone turned the emotional volume of the room all the way down.

Heeseung turned fully toward you, eyes glistening. Dark.

“Did he touch you?”

Your eyes widened. Disbelief.

“Sorry, what?”

“That swimmer guy.” His voice was commanding, but cracked with insecurity. “Did he touch you?” You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. Caught between confusion and something deeper.

And then he stood. Slowly. Not all the way, but just enough to seem taller, heavier, more… predatory. He leaned in slightly and in a low, guttural voice, almost a growl:

“Go change. Now.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to smell that anymore. Not on you. Not in this room. Not in that bed. Got it?”

For the first time, you felt small.

Not weak — but diminished. Dwarfed by something bigger. Raw tension, feral and unfiltered. That tail that wasn’t wagging anymore. Dilated pupils. Tight jaw.

You swallowed. Slowly. Then turned, a sly smirk curling your lips.

“Mmh. What’s wrong, Hee? I’m not your type… but my scent only bothers you when it’s mixed with someone else’s?”

He bit his lip but said nothing because yeah — he’d just marked you.

With words.

Without even realizing it.

Or maybe, finally… on purpose.

He had won.

You admitted it with a dramatic sigh as you tossed your clothes into the washing machine and slipped into your pajamas.

The light tank top — the one that clung just enough to your chest.

The tiny shorts — barely there and then… his wrinkled grey shirt, still holding the scent of his pillow and the softness of too many nights spent sleeping too close.

If he’d won… why did it still feel like you were holding all the cards?

When you stepped out, bare feet on the wooden floor, the room was half-dark, lit only by the glow of the monitor. Hee was still turned toward the screen, headphones hanging around his neck, eyes dark and unfocused.

You approached. Gently rotated his chair and when he saw you — wearing his shirt, your scent beneath his, your bare legs, your gaze calm but daring...He shook his head.

Serious. Almost angry his voice low and rough: “Go. To. Bed.”

You smiled. Fearless and started walking… toward his bed. Slow, theatrical steps he didn’t react right away but as soon as your knee touched the sheets, he stopped you. His hand wrapped around your arm — instinctively.

“Your bed.” His voice was tenser now. Controlled. But fragile.

You giggled. His touch was light, but it burned on your skin.

“Oh, come on, Hee…” you whispered, a teasing smile on your lips.

You turned to face him, eyes wide and gleaming.

“You know I haven’t undressed for another guy in months, right?”

He clenched his jaw.

Let you go. But stayed there, standing, like you were some kind of threat.

“I… still feel everything.”

The words came out barely audible — a confession laced with frustration and truth.You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong, Bambi?” you teased. “Jealous?” That one word: Jealous.

It was enough, Heeseung took a step toward you then another. Now he was too close, towering over you — tall, broad-shouldered, ears alert, tail still. He leaned down, his face inches from yours.

“Stop acting like a brat,” he murmured. The tone was sharp but his eyes… were chaos. You looked up at him. rose to your tiptoes.

Your hands slid under the hem of his hoodie.

“Then stop me.”

And before he could even process it, you pulled him toward you and kissed him. At first, it was just a touch. Your lips on his — soft, tentative a game but then…You felt him freeze.

Then give in.

His hands found your waist, his mouth trembled for a second then, slowly, moved with yours. His lips were soft, but uncertain you gave his lower lip a gentle nibble and he let out a low, muffled sound — almost a growl.

Then finally…His tongue he kissed you for real a deep, slow, consuming kiss. His hands slid just beneath the shirt — his shirt — and you could feel it: he was there.

Fully. Completely. Lost. You played with each other. You pulled him even closer. He pinned you against the edge of the bed, tongues exploring, testing, tangling like they never wanted to let go and then…He pulled away.

Stayed there. Breathing hard. Lips damp. Eyes dark as midnight.

“Don’t sleep with me,” he said, quietly.

You looked at him. Still breathless. Hands trembling.

“Heeseung…”

“Don’t sleep with me tonight.”

He said it, looking straight into your eyes, like an open wound he didn’t know how to hide.

Then, he turned away, switched off the light and you were left there.

Heart pounding.

Wearing his shirt.

And waiting for all the answers… that still wouldn’t come.

You were sitting on a blanket under a wooden gazebo on campus.

A cup of herbal tea in your hand, legs crossed, and the cool afternoon air carrying the scent of freshly cut grass.

T/l had her hair pinned up messily, a strawberry lollipop in her mouth, an oversized sweater that showed off her bare shoulders, a white skirt, and the faint scent of Sunghoon that somehow you could almost smell too.

“So you’re telling me… he hasn’t looked at her in a week?” she asked with a laugh.

You nodded, frustrated. “Nada. Not even a single insult about the human race or a passive-aggressive jab. He’s ice cold.”

T/l licked her lollipop. “Classic. He kissed you, so now he’s panicking.”

“But why? He likes me, it’s obvious. And anyway… it was a kiss, not a lifetime contract.”

She looked at you over the rim of her cup. Then lowered her voice:

“For a hybrid, it can be.”

Your eyebrow rose. You leaned in a little. “Wait. Explain. What’s this imprinting thing?”

T/l gave a softer smile. “Imprinting is… how to put it… the moment a hybrid’s body recognizes someone as theirs. Usually it happens between hybrids, because there’s instinctive compatibility. But sometimes… rarely, it happens with humans too.”

“And if it happens with a human?”

“It’s a mess. But also beautiful. Sunghoon imprinted on me.”

She showed you her wrist: a faint mark, like a pink shadow. “It’s like their body saying: this one is mine, I can’t ignore her anymore. And when it happens, often… comes the knotting.”

You swallowed slowly. “Okay. T/l. Now you have to explain this knotting thing properly.”

She laughed, then blushed a little. “I thought you’d heard about it from someone…”

“Never. Go all in. No mercy.”

She bit her candy and got comfortable, lowering her voice.

“Knotting is… a biological mechanism some hybrids have, especially those with stronger instincts. During sex, if the emotional bond is strong… and the instinct takes over… the hybrid’s penis can swell at the base, forming a knot. It’s meant to mark their partner. And to literally hold her together with him. You can’t separate for minutes. Sometimes for half an hour.”

Your legs involuntarily stuck together.

“You and Hoon…?”

She nodded, a bit embarrassed but smiling. “More than once. When it happens… it’s not like normal sex. It’s rougher. More intense. You hear the sounds, feel the vibrations in your chest, the need to stay inside even after it’s all over. It’s… like their bodies are repeating mine, mine, mine.”

You touched your lips, both uneasy and fascinated.

“Does it hurt?”

“The first time can sting a bit. But the body adapts in a weird way. Hybrids secrete a kind of natural lubricant during knotting. It’s a mix of pleasure and dizziness. You feel invaded. But you never want it to stop. Ever.”

“And them?”

“For them it’s a need. When they imprint… and knot… it’s like a drug. If you deny it, they suffer. But if you give in… they get addicted.”

“Wow.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. The thought of Heeseung in that situation hit you like a punch in the stomach.

“So if he knots me… I’m his.”

T/l looked at you seriously. “Yeah. Not just in bed. In your heart, too. You couldn’t touch anyone else. Not even he could. It would be like betraying each other physically. It’s primitive, but… it’s beautiful, if you trust him.”

Then she smiled again.

“Anyway… practical advice.”

“Tell me everything.”

“If you don’t want to end up with a mini-deer to take care of in nine months… take the anti-hybrid pill.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s a real thing?!”

“Oh yes. And trust me, it works. Hoon’s obsessed with knotting every chance he gets. I’m basically his human sedative.”

“Holy hell…” you sighed.

She laughed, then grabbed your hand.

“But if it scares you… don’t do it. Knotting isn’t a joke. If Heeseung did it, it’d be instinct. But also because he’s already decided you’re his.”

You stayed quiet for a moment.

Then whispered:

“I think I want it. But… I’m scared.”

T/l winked at you. “Then you’re already in trouble, sister.”

The rain drummed against the windows like nervous fingers. The thunder sounded like the beating of a heart too strong to stay in its place. You had just dried your hair and put on that gray hoodie of Heeseung’s—the one that smelled exactly like him: cherries, musk, skin, and something rough, primal.

When you came out of the bathroom, you found him there: hunched over the desk, pencil strokes sharp and restless. He was still studying muscles—a recent obsession—and had his glasses slid down his nose, hair falling to partly cover his speckled ears.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Mhm. Hey,” he mumbled without turning around.

You bit your lip. There was a whole world you wanted to tell him, but you held back. It wasn’t the night for teasing. Or maybe it was, but not the way you usually did.

You settled on your bed, legs tucked under you, looking for something to watch, but your eyes kept drifting back to him every couple of minutes. To his broad back, the way his shoulder blades moved under his black hoodie, as if they held some restrained anger.

Then, without warning, you heard a “Fuck.”

Not too loud, but loaded.

You watched him get up, the chair scraping the floor. He went to the bathroom, washed his face—you could hear it—and came back. When he stepped out, his eyes fell on you. Or rather, on that hoodie.

“You’re officially stealing my entire wardrobe, huh?” he commented sarcastically, rubbing his neck.

You smiled faintly. “I like your style. And I love your scent… you stubborn hybrid.”

Heeseung grimaced but said nothing. He took a few steps, as if to head to his own bed, but stopped. That “fuck” still hovered on his lips, like he was battling something inside.

Then he turned and came to you.

He threw himself onto your bed.

Yours.

His hands gripped your thighs with confidence, spreading them with a single, natural, firm motion. He placed one of your legs on each side of his body, then let himself fall, his head resting on your belly, warm and heavy, as if it were his home. He set his laptop on your lower abdomen and opened Netflix.

You didn’t breathe for a few seconds. Your thighs were open, his face between your belly button and your chest, and his body stretched between your legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. He said nothing. But his tail—that damned tail—tapped softly, happily.

Like a moth, your hand moved. You touched his hair. Smooth, dark. Then his speckled ears, soft, trembling under your touch. You felt him relax beneath your fingers.

“Keep going,” he murmured, his voice muffled in his chest.

“You think I’m a mobile massage parlor now?” you teased him with a sweet, almost lullaby tone.

He laughed. A light, thin, human laugh. Then he moved up even closer, his face near your heart. One hand scratching the nape of his neck, the other caressing his cheek.

His skin was warm. Too warm.

For a moment, you thought he had fallen asleep, but his tail moved, alive, and his chest trembled when he spoke.

“I’m scared.”

Your hand froze. “Of what?” you asked softly.

A heartbeat of silence.

“Of myself. Of my hybrid side. Of you.”

Your eyes widened. “Of me?”

“Of your scent. It lingers on me. Burns my chest. And every night… every damn night… I just want to…” he stopped, clenching his jaw.

You brushed his ear with your nose, whispering: “Want to what, Hee?”

He lifted his face, his doe-like eyes dark and shiny. “I want to forget that you’re not one of us. That you’re human. That if I knot you… I’ll lose you. Or ruin you.”

Thunder exploded outside. But inside the room, the only things that echoed were your breath and his.

And you, with your head spinning and your belly warm, answered him with nothing more than a soft kiss on the forehead.

Heeseung looked confused. Sitting between your legs, his chest rising and falling too fast, his ears trembling forward, tense, and his tail moving frantically jerky behind him. He stared at you as if you were shining, as if he could not decide whether to adore you or run away. But then he took a step. Literal. He knelt between your hips and leaned over you, his nose touching your skin, and began to smell you. Plane. Hungry.

"Hee… What are you doing?" you whispered, with a smile. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, his face getting lost in your neck.

"I remember you. I hear you everywhere … on the neck, between the thighs, you are… you're so hot…" He kissed you softly under the ear, then further down, along the collarbone.

"Do you have any idea how crazy you are driving me? I hear everything. Even your smell changes when you get excited… " His hands rested trembling on your thighs, but it was his body that betrayed him: the veins under the skin, the nails little sharper, the muscles tense under that puppy shyness.

You shoved your fingers through his hair, and his ears lowered slowly, trembling. "You have no idea, right?" murmur. "Than you are when you're good … but also when you seem to be on the verge of losing control."

He stiffened. He looked at you with those dark, shiny eyes. "I never… knotted. Never made love like that. But with you, I hear things I don't understand. I want… I want to be inside you. But not only that. I want to let myself in, brand you with my perfume. Make you mine."

The tone was deeper. Crude. Wild. You gasped. He was talking to you in that rough voice that came from an instinct rather than a technique. You grabbed his sweatshirt and lifted it a little, letting a glimpse of the pale skin of his belly. "And what are you waiting for?" you murmur.

"Make me yours. Brand me. Fill me up, Hee. I want to be your first … and your favorite." He almost moaned, his tail wagged. He made you lie down with firm pressure on your belly, then he put himself on top of you, one knee sticking between your already hot legs. His sweatshirt still covered you, but you felt his erection press against you. His hands trembled, but he managed to slip under the fabric and meet your bare breasts. His fingers were cold, a contrast that made you wince.

"Fuck … even without a bra… these are all for me?" he whispered, his voice cracked. Then he stared into your eyes, more authoritarian. "Raise your arms. And no whims." You obeyed, giggling. "But how much you like to command, Hee…"

"Shut up." He took off your sweatshirt, sniffed it before throwing it away. "I want to hear from you tomorrow. You and your smell … mix with mine. No one else can touch you. Never."

Then he ducked. The tongue settled on your breast, the muzzle rubbed like a puppy seeking comfort and desire simultaneously. He began to suck you, lick you, play with his nipples with a rough tongue and delicate teeth, alternating worship and light bites. You grabbed him by the ears — soft, vibrating- and pulled them slowly, making him emit a downward, almost a gentle growl. "Still…" whisper. "Show me how much you want me, Hee."

Heeseung kept kissing your breasts with increasing hunger. He licked, sucked, nibbled at your turgid nipples as if they were nectar for him, while his hands caressed your hips with almost desperate impatience. His breathing became more labored, and every now and then he let out a choked groan, a downward, throaty sound — an animal sound, vibrating directly from his ribs. You instinctively rubbed against his knee, seeking clutch, and that gesture made him growl. Literally. A low, rough, deep sound that made his chest vibrate against yours.

"Little doe in heat…" he hissed, and his eyes became darker, shinier. "Do you know how cheeky you are? I don't know if it turns me on or if I want to put you in your place." "Why not both?" you giggled, and looked at him from below up, his eyes defiant. "It's so good to see you lose control…"

He bit his lip, his ears lowered with desire, his tail waving furiously behind him. His vehement, veinous hands slipped on your sides and squeezed you hard, as if to punish you. Then he ducked down, pulled down your pajama pants, and made a theatrical pout. "Panties already wet?" he laughed softly.

"Then, while pretending to look at the PC… were you thinking of me? Huh? Maybe already ready for my knot…" "Hee!" you admonished him, but the tone trembled, too excited to be credible. "Shut up…" he whispered, and with a firm gesture, he pulled off your panties, holding them for a moment between his fingers before throwing them aside. Then he lowered his face between your thighs. Its odoriferous glands, hidden behind your neck and near your temples-activated as soon as you smell your natural scent. That pure, excited smell of yours drove him crazy. A low sound escaped him, like a starving verse. His hands opened your legs, and he dived on you with his tongue as if he had found the center of his world.

"Mmmh… You're sweet…" he muttered between licks. "I want you… all…" His tongue became more precise, sharper. He sucked your clit hard, with rhythm. You screamed, arching your back as his hair tickled your belly and inner thighs, while her hot breath drove you as crazy as her lips.

"Hee! Oh God, yes… more! Want… I want more!" He barely lifted, his lips moist, his ears flickering. "You want everything? You want me to get bored?" He looked at you with that scary, sweet intensity. "Then get ready. You have to take my fingers. If you can… then maybe you can take my knot too. And become mine. Mine." You nodded, breathless, and spread your legs even more. When you felt his first finger come in, hot and thick, you moaned loudly. He looked at you as if you were revealing a secret, his mouth ajar, while his finger explored you slowly, and then with more pace.

"Feel how tight you are…" he whispered in a low, dark tone. "God, you are perfect. So wet for me…" He added a second finger and then began to pump into you with deep and decisive movements. You clung to the sheet, screaming his name as the pleasure overwhelmed you. And he degraded you with animalistic sweetness, kissing you between the legs and whispering to you: "Be good… I want to see you all shake before I give you everything. I want to hear you squeeze me, suck me inside you. Are you ready for me, baby?"

Without saying anything, he pushed a third finger into you. The enlargement was intense, his hot and thick fingers filled you with firm pressure that made you moan loudly. Your body instinctively arched, your thighs trembling under the growing pleasure. " I'm coming!" you gasped, clutching the sheet between your fingers. He giggled, lowering his face between your legs again. "Let me see. I want to watch you come for me. I want to feel your essence on my tongue…"

With his tongue, he began to lick you greedily, then gently bit your clitoris, making you wince. You grabbed his hair, pulling it, but he did not stop. He kept sucking on you, pushing his fingers inside you, until your body stretched all over and you moaned loudly, trembling as you came between his lips.

He did not stop even then. He licked you as if he wanted to dry you up, savor you to the last drop, his nose sunk against you, his ears trembling with pleasure. When he finally retracted, he slid his fingers out of your cunt and looked at them, wet, shiny.

He slowly brought them to your mouth, tasting you with a deep sigh. "God … you are my favorite flavor." You stared at him with wide eyes, still panting, while he picked up a handkerchief, and you both cleaned up with small, thoughtful gestures. Then, with almost tender attention, he put his pajama pants back on you, his fingers touching your skin with respect, and you threw a questioning, somewhat spoiled look at him.

"Not tonight …" he muttered, his voice broken by a thousand emotions. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to get to know you better. Inside, outside. Every part." "Hee … you look like a good boy now," you teased him sweetly, with a smile. He just laughed and hugged you from behind. He wrapped you with strong arms and then took off his sweatshirt, letting you feel the heat of his naked body against your back. His chest was solid, the warm breath caressing the nape of your neck. A shudder passed through you.

"I want you. Always, " he whispered. "But if I annoy you… I won't be able to stop anymore. I'm not a good guy. I'm just a guy who wants to protect you from himself." Then he began to move slowly against you. His pelvis rubbed your butt in a slow, painful petting. His hands gripped your hips with force, holding you still as his breathing became heavier, almost animalistic.

"Do you feel it?" he murmured in your ear, pressing his groin against you. Its member, hard and pulsating, pressed against your thin pants. "This is my control. But it's ending. And when that happens, you'll be mine." You giggled, barely turning your face to brush his cheek with your lips. "Then train yourself to lose it, Hee. Because I want you to take… all of me." His groan was smothered against your shoulder, and for a moment he trembled. The tail wagged loudly behind him, as he continued to move against you with maddening slowness.

It had been a few weeks since you had discovered each other. Since you had stopped holding back your desire. Now, every evening ended with the two of you wrapped up in the same comforter, with Hee curling up against your back, his tail occasionally brushing your thigh as he slept. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and hold you tighter, whispering things half-asleep. And you would smile, even in your sleep.

One evening, with soft light filling your room and a fine rain tapping against the windows, he looked at you with a different kind of attention. Quiet. Then, as if facing a small fear of his own, he stood up and transformed.

His figure became leaner, muscles more elongated, his skin dappled with pale spots, ears larger, eyes even deeper and sweeter. And that tail... soft, alive, trembling.

"You're... beautiful," you whispered. "You look like something out of a poem. Something that shouldn't even exist. And yet here you are. With me."

Hee lowered his ears a little, as if shy. "I've never shown this to anyone like this... not for this long. I was always afraid of looking too different."

"But you are different… and that’s what makes you special," you replied, moving closer to caress his cheek, tracing the pattern of his spots with a finger. "And besides... I’m different too. Maybe too outspoken sometimes. Spoiled. But..."

You sat down next to him, legs crossed, eyes lowered. "Sometimes I act that way because... I didn’t get much love. Not at home, not anywhere. It’s easier to be loud than to let myself be seen as fragile."

He didn’t answer right away. He took your hand in his, fingers knotted and full of rings you had come to know well, and placed it over his chest.

"I, on the other hand, received a lot of love. A big, loud, affectionate family. But also full of expectations. They wanted me to stay an animal more often. They wanted me... wilder. But I wanted to try living like humans. I wanted to know what it’s like to have friends, to play, to study, to laugh."

He paused, then smiled. "And I’m glad I did. Because that’s how I met Jake, Hoon, Jay, Jungwon, Sunoo, Ni-Ki… and you."

Your throat tightened, but in a good way. You looked at him tenderly.

"Do you remember our first date?" you asked, breaking the emotion with a sly little smile.

He laughed, his ears twitching slightly. "The ramen by the Han River? And you burning your tongue on the first bite?"

"And you ordering extra spicy and then crying silently for five minutes!" you shot back, laughing.

"I wasn’t crying… they were controlled tears!" he said in a mock-serious tone, but then he laughed too.

"And then you taught me to play basketball..." you continued, raising an eyebrow. "If you can call it ‘teaching’ to throw a ball at the hoop while I clung to your arm laughing like a maniac."

"I knew you were a lost cause," he murmured, leaning in to brush your lips with a tender kiss. "But you were so happy that... I wanted to teach you just to see you laugh."

He held you tightly in his arms. You stayed there, in the silence of the moment, with the sound of rain and the beating of your hearts.

"You’re good for me, Hee," you whispered. "You make me feel like, for the first time… I’m truly seen."

"And you... make me feel free to be who I am. Whether that’s an awkward deer... or a boy who wants you so much, he’s afraid he won’t know how to stop."

You were there, in front of the mirror, the warm light of the room caressing your skin. A black skirt that hugged your hips, a white top that highlighted your curves, your usual brown leather jacket draped over your shoulders, and boots that softly clicked on the floor with every step. You snapped a few photos with your phone, partly for fun, partly to tease him.

Behind you, Hee was sitting on the bed. An oversized black hoodie with some unreadable writing, loose jeans hanging on his hips in that way only he could pull off, messy hair, and shiny rings on his fingers. He looked up at you with those long, glossy eyes—like a lovestruck and frustrated fawn.

“Are you… taking pictures of yourself for me?” he asked, half ironic, half serious. “I’m documenting how irresistible I am,” you replied, winking at him. “Because tonight, Hee, we’re going to our first university party. And you’re coming with me.”

He got up slowly, letting out a half-exasperated sigh. He went to his chair, grabbed a black coat with some emo details, and twisted it between his hands. “You know I’m embarrassed… there will be other hybrids. And humans. Who will be looking at you.”

“It’s just a party,” you murmured, fixing your hair. “And besides… you’ll be there. There’s nothing to look at that isn’t already yours.” That’s when he came closer to you. His hands slid behind you, slipping under your skirt, pressing firmly on your buttocks. He pulled you against him, his pelvis already hard, warm, nervous.

“I’d have much more fun… if we stayed home,” he whispered against your neck, his voice hoarse. “Just you and me. No other eyes on you.” You could feel him vibrating. His ears trembled slightly, his tail flicking behind. He was tense, sweet and sharp pheromones starting to wrap around you like an invisible veil.

“You’re so territorial, Hee…” you whispered, barely turning your head to look at him. “And you haven’t even knotted me yet.” He growled softly, just a little, against your skin. “Not yet. But I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

Then he pushed you against the wall next to the mirror. His hands grabbed you firmly, and he kissed you. A long, warm, open, hungry kiss. His tongue searching for yours, his teeth gently nibbling your lip with an animalistic delicacy.

“Mmh… I want more attention, Hee. I want tongue. I want those kisses of yours that make me forget where I am,” you whispered between breaths, with a bold tone. “Bold,” he muttered, burying his face in your neck. He licked you gently, then bit you right at the most sensitive spot, marking you with firm pressure. He couldn’t mark you with his scent from the knot… yet, but he still wanted everyone to know. You almost laughed, excited. “Are you afraid someone else will ask me before you do?” “I’m just… protecting what’s mine.”

You looked at him with a smirk. “Then do it well. Put me in my place, if you can.” He stared at you with those eyes that seemed darker, almost feral, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. He wasn’t ready to push you all the way yet, but he wanted it with all his being. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” he murmured, stroking your inner thigh. “When I knot you… it won’t be for fun. It will be to keep you mine. Forever.”

The music pulsed through the walls of the house, a sensual electronic mix that made the floor vibrate. The strobe lights reflected off the glasses and the slightly tipsy smiles of the students. You, stunning in your little skirt and white top that accentuated your curves, were dancing with Hoon’s girlfriend, who was already swaying lightly with you, laughing and sipping from a plastic cup.

On the opposite side of the room, Hee stood with his hands in his pockets, his dark hoodie a bit too warm for the crowded space, his deer ears trembling faintly.

Sunghoon watched him from above the rim of his glass, then raised an eyebrow. 'Brother… if you keep looking at her that way, you’ll tie her up with your gaze.'

Hee didn’t laugh. “It’s not funny.”

'Oh, but it is.' Sunghoon patted his shoulder. 'Look at my girl. Bored with me, but knotted. No idiot can try anything. But you…' He turned to stare at the dance floor. 'You left the door wide open. It’s obvious some other curious male wants to come in.'

Hee growled softly but said nothing.

Meanwhile, a boy approached you. Tall, with feline eyes—a hybrid, probably wolf or tiger. His scent was spicy, different from Hee’s sweet and woody perfume.

-Are you new around here?- he asked, coming close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath.

You smiled politely. “No, just not very interested in parties.”

-Well, then it’s lucky you’re here tonight. You know… you’re incredibly beautiful. You have a special energy. I can’t take my eyes off you.- He leaned in, his mouth a breath away from your ear. -I’d like to find out if beneath that good-girl act there’s someone who knows how to have fun… even off the dance floor.-

You were about to reply with a sharp comment when you felt something familiar: a firm hand pressing on your lower back, cold with rings. A second later, your body was yanked back against a warm, tense chest.

Heeseung.

His scent enveloped you immediately—sweet, musky, intense, with an animal undertone that made your head spin. His breath was deep, tense.

“She’s mine,” he said quietly, without even looking at the other boy. His eyes were only for you. The other hybrid took a half-step back, hands raised.

-Hey… okay. Chill, bro.- He disappeared right after.

You turned, still with your hands on Hee’s chest. “Hey,” you gently scolded. “What’s all this?”

“Stop acting like a brat.” His ears twitched slightly, and his tail flicked.

“Brat? I was just dancing. He was the one flirting with me.”

“And the only guy allowed to flirt with you… is me.”

You looked him straight in the eyes. “But you don’t know how to flirt with me, Hee.”

He frowned. “What?”

“You don’t know how to tease me. You don’t know how to play. You’re just a jealous deer.”

His face stiffened, then he turned abruptly. “Then watch and learn.”

He took a step toward a group of girls, but you didn’t give him even a second. You grabbed his wrist and pulled him back hard. Then you kissed him.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was yours. Tongue, teeth, hands in hair. His breath caught against your mouth, and you heard him moan softly, trembling under your fingers.

His pheromones exploded like an invisible wave, mixing with yours. Some people turned to look. Sunghoon, from afar, raised his hands as if to say “finally.”

When you broke apart, your eyes sought his, your forehead against his.

“I kissed you in front of everyone,” you whispered. “That means I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

Hee looked shaken, his mouth reddened, ears lowered. He looked at you as if he couldn’t believe he had you.

Then you added, in a softer voice against his ear: “And I want to be knotted. By you.”

It was like flipping a switch. The low, animalistic growl that came from his chest made your legs tremble. His fingers squeezed your hips as his breathing became more uneven.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“I want to go home too,” you replied.

He grabbed your wrist urgently, never taking his eyes off you. And without another word, you left the party behind, amid glances and whispers.

When you returned home, the door hadn’t even closed behind you.

Hee gently but firmly pushed you against the wall. His hands, ringed and strong, grabbed your hips as if he needed to make sure you were real, that you were there—his. His breath was warm, restless, his forehead pressed against yours.

“It’s your fault,” he growled in a low, rough tone that almost vibrated in his throat. His deer ears trembled slightly, and his tail flicked nervously behind him. His pheromones were everywhere, enveloping, thick in the air. “My aura... my hybrid part... is exploding. And there you are, all perfect, with your little red panties, like a cheeky brat...”

You lightly pulled his hair, lifting your chin, eyes sparkling, voice cheeky. “Are you really sure that’s a problem?”

“Stop it...” he whispered, but it wasn’t a real warning. It was a plea.

His hand quickly slid under your skirt and stopped just beneath the waistband of your panties. He could feel how wet you were. His gaze darkened, deepened. He smiled crookedly, dangerously.

“So fragile down here, and so cheeky with your mouth...” he murmured.

He yanked your skirt off, ignoring your fake protests. When he saw the red lingerie set, his eyes widened and he whispered as if discovering a secret: “You wore this for me, didn’t you? You know red drives me crazy…”

He knelt before you, his nose just inches from your warm skin, and his face rested against the fabric of your panties. He took a deep, slow breath, like an animal that found its place. His scent glands pulsed against your bare thighs, and he trembled slightly.

“God, your scent... it destroys me. It’s only yours and mine now. No one else’s.”

With his teeth, he took the edge of your panties and slowly slid them down, with almost ferocious patience. He kissed your inner thigh, leaving small bites, occasionally murmuring something that sounded like half a prayer, half a threat.

He stroked you lightly with one finger, just on your clitoris, and you looked at him, moaning softly, grabbing your top and pulling it down yourself, revealing the matching bra.

“Good girl...” he whispered. “You’re all mine tonight. Actually, from now on.”

He picked you up in his arms, with a strength you’d never felt from him before, and carried you to the bed. He laid you down, his knees on either side of your thighs. His tongue made slow fiery circles on your body. When he reached your center, his fingers moved with confident patience.

“You’re so hot... so ready. And I...” He raised his gaze, his ears trembling wildly. “...I can’t stop anymore.”

“Hee...” you gasped. “Keep going...”

“You deserve it... every inch of my control you’re destroying.”

He penetrated you with two fingers, strong and slow, while licking you fiercely and attentively. Your hips moved on their own against him, and every time you moaned, he moaned with you.

His breath was warm, rough, and when he rose over you, finally shirtless, bringing your forehead to his, he whispered against your lips:

“I want you... I want you madly. I want to sink inside you. Tie you. Fill you. Make you mine in every way. Inside. Outside. Forever.”

You grabbed his hips, naked beneath him, looking at him with watery eyes and short breath. And you whispered:

“Then do it. Take me. Tie me. Make me yours.”

And that’s when Hee stopped holding back.

He moaned loudly, biting his lip, as his hybrid form fully manifested—trembling ears, wild tail, and a primal desire pushing him closer and closer to losing control.

You pulled down his pants, then his boxers, leaving him naked and hard, his erection taut and throbbing. You looked at him as if savoring the most anticipated feast of your life.

“Are you ready, Hee?” you whispered in a sweet but sharp tone. “Ready to get dirty for me? To lose control? Because I’m ready to take all of you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly nervous but no longer awkward. It was as if he was standing at the edge of a cliff he wanted to jump off.

“This is the first time that… that I want to tie someone,” he said softly. “And the first time that… I feel like I can’t hold back. Did you take the anti-hybrid pill?”

You nodded, looking him straight in the eyes. “Yes. And I want you to do it. All of it.”

He trembled visibly. His gaze flickered between adoration and need. But he still didn’t move, as if he needed one last confirmation, or maybe… reassurance.

You brushed his side gently, then placed a light kiss on his swollen, warm, pulsing “grip.” “Everything will be fine, Hee. I want you just as you are. Wild, tender, dirty. Mine.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to lose control, with me. You don’t have to hold back.”

His body trembled with emotion, but his gaze was steady, intense. He moved closer to you, aligning his body with yours, and for a moment you stayed there, skin against skin, hearts beating like tribal drums.

“Then let me… lose myself in you.”

Your fingers wrapped around his hard, throbbing member, guiding it slowly toward your wet center. You dragged it just over your clitoris, rubbing it with slow, deliberate strokes. He moaned softly the moment he felt it, breath broken, ears trembling. The heat of your skin was burning him.

“Tease my lips… slowly…” you murmured, eyes fixed on his.

Hee obeyed, pushing only the mushroom tip between your vaginal lips, brushing against you, letting his pearly fluid mix with your already warm juices. Then he made small thrusts, brief but loaded with tension, as if every movement was a whispered prayer through clenched teeth.

“Ah… Hee…” you gasped, your hands rising to grab his chubby, sensitive ears. You tugged them gently.

He moaned but immediately warned you with a muffled growl: “Stop it, or I’ll show you how dangerous a deer can be.”

His voice was hoarse, dark, a thread of control about to snap. But you didn’t stop. You smiled mischievously, and it was that smile that made him lose balance.

With one fluid, hungry motion, he pushed fully inside you.

You screamed, pleasure crashing over you like a sudden warm wave. Your legs tightened around his hips, as if never wanting to let him go.

“Hee... you’re… all in…” you gasped, your head falling back.

You felt him swollen, hard, warm, already filling you with his pulsing excitement inside your pussy. It was so deep you could feel yourself trembling inside. He gasped with his forehead resting against your neck.

“You’re so tight…” he murmured, voice broken by ecstasy. “My beautiful girl... you’re all mine, right?”

You nodded, scratching the nape of his neck with your nails. “All yours. Move inside me. I want to feel every part of you.”

At first, he moved slowly, with short, shy thrusts, as if making sure you were okay.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, voice thin and tense.

“No… I want more,” you whispered, then louder: “Give me everything, Hee. Push hard. I want to come again. Tie me. Break me.”

Something in him ignited. His ears pricked up, tail whipped fast, sharp. His eyes darkened, and in an instant he was no longer the clumsy, shy deer. He was a hybrid—feromones and instinct, flesh and desire.

He grabbed your hips and started thrusting hard, pounding into you, hitting deep, deeper and deeper.

“Yes… yes… fuck, Hee, there…” you screamed, voice broken, strangled. “You’re driving me crazy… you’re filling me up, damn it, don’t stop…”

He moaned with every thrust, breath ragged, animalistic, as he leaned over you, hips smashing into yours with growing force.

“You’re so hot…” he growled, “so wet… I’m losing it… I want to fill you, tie myself inside you, want no one else to ever have you…”

And then—with a deeper thrust than the others—he hit your G-spot. You screamed his name, trembling, eyes wide open.

“Yes… there… Hee… there! I’m… I’m gonna—fuck, yes!”

“What’s this, my good girl feeling heat inside, hmm?” he whispered with an emo-boy smirk, voice thick, as he kept pounding you with slow but powerful strokes. “Can’t think anymore, huh? Did I melt your brain, baby?”

“Yes… yes, damn it… you melted me completely. Keep going. Never stop.”

The heat you felt inside wasn’t just desire: it was something primal. Alive. Pulsing. It was Hee’s body heat claiming you, inch by inch, as if he was writing his name inside you with every thrust.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his hoarse voice in your ear. “It’s my heat… my cock making you mine.”

And you felt it. You felt his member sliding deeper and deeper, as if it would never end. You felt your belly react, stretching slightly with every hit, every thrust that hit you full on. And then you felt it: the knot. That living, sensitive mass swelling slowly, at first like a gentle pressure, then increasingly invasive, visceral.

“Hee…” you gasped, breath broken. “I-it’s happening… I feel it… it’s swelling…”

“Shh… let it in,” he whispered with that fake bad boy tone, just cracked by a tremor of animal emotion. “Let me tie every part of you.”

His thrusts grew faster, deeper. His hips hammered you with growing force, and as he moved, he degraded you in that way only he could: sweet voice but loaded with lust, sharp as a thin blade.

“Look how you take it… so tight. A good girl, but with a pussy begging to be filled. What is it, do you like being so full?”

You stammered, heat rising to your throat. “It’s… too much… it’s hot, Hee, you’re… you’re stretching me… inside…”

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” he murmured, taking one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder. Deeper now, tighter.

“Let’s see if you really can be… my good girl,” he growled softly, “the one who takes it all, even the knot. All the way in.”

You felt his knot pulse more and more firmly, alive inside you. It was locking you, nailing you, binding you. And his cock kept filling you, slow but relentless, in a gesture that meant more possession than sex.

Then he took your hand in his and brought it to your belly. The skin tight. Warm. Vibrant.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered with a small smirk. “It’s right there inside. My knot. It’s binding you to me… and you want it, you want it bad.”

“Yes…” you almost shouted, breath broken by rising pleasure. “I want to come… I want to come with you inside… I want to come on your cock…”

He looked at you with dark, feverish eyes. And that crooked emo boy smile spread across his lips.

“Look how you’re trembling. You’re so beautiful when you lose control. So good when you let me fuck you.”

Then he lowered his free hand, and with his thumb he started torturing your clitoris, slow but firm circles, wet with your own juices. His hip thrusts grew rougher, hungrier, while the knot swelled more and more.

“Come for me, damn it. I want to feel you gush on my cock. Fill me, baby. Dirty the sheets for me.”

It was too much. You melted against him with a scream that almost emptied your lungs. Your juices flowed hot and liquid around his cock trapped inside you, and you felt every contraction, every spasm, as his knot pulsed, swollen inside your belly. He was binding you, marking you, loving you in the most animal and true way.

Hee trembled, panting over you, then looked at you as if he couldn’t believe what he was experiencing.

“You’re amazing… so full…” he murmured, kissing you fiercely. “Your belly is swelling thanks to me. You’re mine.”

His thrusts, initially chaotic, grew slower… but so deep they tore a broken moan from you. It was as if Hee was learning your body step by step, discovering where to press, how to sink in to make you truly tremble.

“It’s too much…” you gasped, clutching him, “…but I want to feel full of you.”

He lowered his gaze, dark eyes framed by long lashes, and smiled with that typical fake-innocent look. Then he shook his head, scattering your thoughts with a few softly whispered words:

“So good when you beg. You’re my dirty girl, the one who knows what she wants… and now she wants me.”

He cupped your face in his hands, looking at you with a tenderness that only fueled your excitement more. But behind that sweetness, there was a wild desire breaking every dam. He leaned toward you, voice hoarse:

“You don’t know how much I dreamed of seeing you like this. Open for me, ready to take everything… even my wildest side.”

His thrusts grew hungrier, breath heavier. And when he slid one of your legs over his shoulder, you felt completely exposed, vulnerable and powerful at the same time. He moaned softly, almost choking on his words:

“I want you… all of you. I can’t hold back anymore.”

Then, with a decisive movement, he pushed all the way in. A low moan escaped his lips as his body trembled and the knot locked inside you, filling you completely. You moaned, your head thrown back, while a warm wave coursed through your entire belly.

It was as if he was writing his name inside you.

Hee bent over you, his sweaty forehead brushing yours, and whispered, voice breaking:

“You’re… incredible. So tight… so mine. I never want to let you go.”

Your body trembled, skin on fire, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You clung to him, to his shoulders, to his voice.

“Hee… you’re tying me to you… I can feel it… inside.”

“You are,” he whispered, kissing you through your gasps of pleasure. “And you couldn’t be more beautiful.”

He stayed there, still inside you, while the knot pulsed slowly, marking every beat of his bond with you. His forehead rested on your shoulder, and he kissed your collarbone with adoration. No rush. No distance. Just the two of you, entwined in a silence that said everything.

Then, when his breath steadied and the knot slowly loosened, he stroked the inside of your thigh gently, almost worshipfully. He looked at you, pupils still dilated, and whispered in a soft voice:

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched.”

He smiled tiredly, eyes sweet but still burning.

“Now sleep, love. I’ll take care of you.”

And as he held you tight, you truly felt there was nothing to fear. He was there. With you. For you. And, for the first time, completely yours.

The morning light filtered through the poorly drawn curtains, and it was the gentle tickle of his nose against your neck that fully woke you up. Hee was curled up against your back, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist as if he truly feared you might disappear at any moment.

His deer ears trembled softly against the pillow, still sensitive and damp from that hybrid part that had exploded in intensity the night before. You could feel his warm, close breath. And when you slowly turned around, with a small smile on your still-tired lips, you found his eyes waiting for you.

Big, liquid eyes, with that shy Bambi-like reflection — but inside shone something more: adoration. And a little fear.

His cheeks immediately flushed red, as if the perfectionist Hee had returned — the one who remade the bed twice and blushed from a prolonged look. But you ruffled his hair gently, and he pouted adorably, shrugging.

“How are you?” he asked in a low voice, almost a whisper.

You giggled, still nestled under his arm. “I’m good... actually, great. It was wonderful to see you like that... lost. So yours. Feeling your knot inside me that... kept tightening more and more...”

The look you gave him made him almost moan from embarrassment, but also from the memory that phrase had awakened in his senses.

Hee held you tighter, if possible, and sighed. “Maybe the administration was right to pair us for the dorm.”

You turned, eyes half-closed and one eyebrow raised. “Really? Because, excuse me, you hated me at first.”

He lowered his gaze, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “You were cheeky. Curious. Always in the middle of my things...”

“But?”

“But now...” He bit his lip, his ears trembling again. “...deep down, I love you.”

You were momentarily speechless, then poked him with a finger on his bare chest. “Hey, are you serious?”

“Yes.” Hee’s voice was more confident, deeper. He was letting go of the more courageous part of himself. “And you? Do you feel something for me, or were you just curious to... test a hybrid?”

“Ah!” you burst out laughing. “That time I went out with that guy? It was just to make you jealous. It worked. But then... little by little, I fell in love with you. With your pout. Your trembling ears. How you blushed if someone said something dirty to you...”

He laughed softly, ran a hand through his messy hair, and teased you: “So you’re a manipulator. A good girl with the soul of a sentimental criminal.”

“Maybe.” You leaned in and kissed him at the base of his neck, where the night before you had left more than one mark. “But now I’m your manipulator, right?”

Hee sniffed the air near you, with that hybrid instinct he still couldn’t fully control. He looked at you with slow, glossy eyes, his voice lower, rougher, almost primal:

“It’s nice... to feel my scent on your body.”

The way he said it, with animal innocence but a possessive tone, made you squeeze your thighs a little from the shiver that ran down your spine.

You smiled. “And you... you’re so sweet when you become wild. You can’t hide anymore, Hee. You’re mine.”

He blushed again, but instead of answering, he slid slowly on top of you, his fingers already curious on your side. But that... was another story. Or maybe, another morning.

OMG, I hope you like it :) Only Ni-Ki and Sunoo are left to complete this series of Enhypen as hybrids!! I don’t know when I’ll have time for the others because I’ll have university exams, so I won’t have much time to post two one-shots a week :(

Enhypen hybird series!

taglist: @ourshin @7789995323567322 @tunafishyfishylike @kkamismom12 @stwrlightt @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwni @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @xylatox @ikeulove @nishikio soulreaper05-blog