#especially good for suicidal ideation

[cozy-the-overlord]

I’ve seen several people talking about how it makes them feel weird that Dog Years, a song that is explicitly about suicidal ideation, is something Halsey performs as a sexy song, and while that’s completely fair, I personally think the performance style fits the song really well, even if it’s uncomfortable? (In fact, I think the discomfort is a purposeful, important element of the whole song)

Discussion of suicidal ideation and sex as a unenthusiastic performance below the cut

The first time I heard Dog Years I called it “evil petplay” when explaining it to my friends because that imagery seems so deliberate. Halsey’s voice is getting all husky and low as they croon about what a good dog they’ve been and how they like a tight leash, and especially given their known love of/interest in kink, that takes your mind to a very specific and imo intentional place. But they turn it on its head — if they’re going to be a dog, then they’re an old, tired, weak, sickly one and they want to be put out of their misery and euthanized like you would any pet in that state, and that is very not sexy. It’s a visceral image that can be quite upsetting and uncomfortable, all the more so when paired with the very sexually charged chorus. It makes that chorus feel like more of a reluctant performance — she doesn’t feel sexy, she’s not in the mood, but it’s what’s expected of her and so she’s going along with it and hey, if she’s a good girl maybe she’ll get lucky and they’ll put her down. “I’m not here, I’m somewhere else” — they’re going through the motions of the performance and playing along with what’s expected of them but their heart is not in it, and they feel nothing towards it.

And I feel like that plays into the entire theme of The Great Impersonator as a whole? The whole idea of the expected performance and what that experience does to a person: going through the motions because you’re an entertainer and your job is to entertain and put on a show, but the whole time you’re in the darkest place you’ve ever been both physically and mentally, so sick that you truly expect you aren’t going to survive it. But you still have to do the show, you still have to make it look good, you still have to be appealing to the crowd, and so you have to play the good girl who loves her tight leash because that’s fun and sexy, and the rest of it is something you keep to yourself because people don’t want to hear about that.

I really like the staging of Dog Years on the FMLT tour for that reason. There is something so visceral about Halsey sitting in sexy leather lingerie while literally chained to the stage singing about how much they want someone to just kill them. Sure, it’s sexy, but she is stuck there performing for you, even as she’s voicing some of the darkest thoughts a person can have about themselves. How does that make you feel? Is it hot? Are you enjoying it? Should you be? That just fits the vibe I get from that song so well.

Of course, I could be fully misreading and Halsey could have had completely different intentions for this song, but that’s just how I’ve seen it?

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, hyrbid au, hybrid auction, sex trafficking, suicidal ideations, dystopian laws, subjugation

♡ FEM reader

♡ P2: Clientele

It’s scary being a bunny hybrid—especially in a world where all natural prey is bred and raised like livestock, then handpicked and auctioned off to society's apex predators.

But then again, that’s been reality all your life.

If the choice were up to you, you’d stay at the farm and become a womb for breeders. Granted, they’re a bit intense, but rabbit bucks aren’t so bad. You would spend your days cozy in the hay, barefooted and messy-haired, with other fellow herbivores—all the cows, mares, ewes, and does out on the pasture, kept safe and far removed from the belly of the beast—free to live out your days never once having to lay your round eyes on an apex at all. 

But such wasn’t your luck...

Of course, you could have fought. But fighting back is never a good idea—you never know if and when they could decide to send you to the slaughterhouse to make rabbit stew out of you instead— keep your fur to make a coat or carpet. They’ll have better use of you that way than they will with a misbehaving pet, after all.

You think about ending it yourself once you’re sitting in your cage listening to the speaker announce a heifer. That’s how the auction goes—typical farm animals first, other domestic species, then wilder exotic ones. 

In an ill-thought way, you wish you were an exotic breed—something with wings or something they’d have to keep in an aquarium—all in all, something a little harder to come by than being a rodent. Rabbits are cute, but they’re a dime a dozen and are usually sold to those who don’t feel like spending too much—trigger-happy hunter types who’re looking for cheap toys that are easily broken and just as easily replaced.

You swallow thickly. Better yet, you wish you were a bigger badder herbivore that required respect—like an elephant or a rhino. No one would mess with you then. 

But there’s no point in mulling over what you’re not. You’re prey. That’s just how it is.

But who knows? Maybe it won’t be so bad. You’ve seen someone come back to the farm after being auctioned. She’d lost an ear and could no longer speak, but other than that, she was alive and well…

You reconsider killing yourself. Suppose, the only thing keeping you from going through with it is the option of doing it later if and when it actually proves to be as bad as you imagine. You’ve never been good at making such decisions. Must be that prey mentality.

“Up next, we have a mini lop bunny,” the speaker announces, and you feel your cage move, carrying you into the spotlight where you can only see bright red eyes glaring back at you. You immediately look away.

“Known for their long ears, button nose, and round eyes—not to mention their docile nature. As one of the most popular bunny breeds on the market, mini lops are a house pet staple. Believe it or not, they’re also intelligent and social, thriving on attention, whether that be playing games or cuddling—making them the perfect choice to anyone in want of a domestic companion or a pet toy.”

You sniffle—crying and shivering, curling yourself up in a little ball within your cage, making yourself as small as possible, hiding from the predatory glares you feel surrounding you. You’ve only seen a handful of carnivores before—the shepherd dog that herds the flock back home being the biggest one. You’ve heard wolves are twice the size. Maybe you’ll be lucky and have a heart attack right now before any one of them can make their bids.

But then it starts. One number after the other. It feels over in the blink of an eye.

“Sold!” the speaker calls. “To the fine grizzly gentleman on table nine.”

Your eyes peel from being sealed shut, staring intently at your lap where you sit with your knees tucked to your chest—frozen and tense and teetering on passing out from lack of breath. Grizzly? You gulp with a swallowed whimper. Did you hear that right? As in bear? 

“No-” You suddenly understand the point of the chains that had been fixed around your ankles and wrists—given they were the only thing keeping you from thrashing against the bars—breaths hitching as you felt the cage being reeled away to make space for the next one up.

A blanket is thrown over your enclosure, engulfing you in pitch dark before you’re carried off and placed down somewhere. The floor shakes beneath you after a small moment. Something purring underfoot. It feels a little different from the carriage you’re used to but you think you’re being moved.

It’s an hour or so until you feel it come to a halt, at which point your cage is picked up and carried off again, then placed down a few moments later.

You can’t see it, but you can smell it in the air—something dangerous. It must be him. The bear that bought you.

You shield yourself once the drape is lifted and you’re exposed to the light again, squealing, “Please, mister—please don’t eat me. I only eat grass—I wouldn't taste good. And- and—I wouldn’t be very filling anyway–” while trembling underneath the shadow of the apex predator before you.

Your jumping heart was expecting nothing short of instant death, though that’s not what ensued. Instead, there’s an unfamiliar sound. A rumbling. Almost like a growl. It takes a while before you recognize it as laughter. 

“Shh, bunny,” the bear chuckles. “Don’t worry—I have no intention of eating you.”

He crouches down before your cage, though still big enough to tower over it. 

“After all,” he says. “There would be little point in spending so much on something only so bite-sized.”

Your eyes flicker to his paw, where it jingles with something. 

It’s a key.

“How about we get you out of that cage? Those shackles don’t look pleasant. I’ll remove them for you.” He unlocks the gate and swings it open, leaving you room to crawl out.

You don’t know if you should. On the one hand, the cage is keeping you safe, but on the other hand, you doubt you can stay in it forever. And who knows what might happen to his seemingly gracious mood if you refuse him.

“D’you—” It’s a silly question, but you don’t know what else to say. “You promise?”

He makes that sound again. Humored by you, it would seem. “Yes, Bunny, I promise.”

You decide to come out and only feel smaller for it, now exposed. But he keeps his promise, removing your shackles. Your eyes are peeled as he does, watching his claws be so close to you. Thick, long, curled, and black. They would puncture your skin and tear into your meat like it were nothing. You go goosefleshed at the thought.

“They always do these so tight…” he sighs. “Utterly unnecessary for domestic species such as yourself.”

You look up at him at that. He’s done this before, which must mean… “Do you—do you have others?” Or has he had others? Meaning… he doesn’t plan on keeping you around for long. 

It’s funny how that overwhelming urge to run makes you go completely numb.

Meanwhile, he looks at you in silence. Surprised at your observation, perhaps, but then he smiles, fangs and all, and you nearly skitter back into your cage.

“You’re quite astute.” Again, he rumbles with a laugh. Then he stands and walks off, setting your cuffs down on a dresser.

You only now realize you’re in a bedroom, of all places.

“I suppose there’s no use in beating around the bush.” He turns around again and leans back against the drawers, arms folded upon his broad chest as he starts explaining, “I run an entertainment business—a fun house of sorts—you might call it a burrow, as my staff is exclusively made up of bunny rabbits such as yourself.”

A burrow? Like back home? Why would a bear be doing that?

“From now on, you’ll work for me. You’ll be trained in the arts of hospitality and pleasure and cater to a clientele of sophisticated apex predators such as myself.”

Hospitality and pleasure? It almost sounds like he means for carnivores to breed with you… But that would be ridiculous. What would be the point? It’s not as if you can carry other litters but kits anyway.

“You look confused,” he chuckles again. “Allow me to explain.” He pushes himself off the dresser. “Unlike most other mammals, bunnies don’t go into heat. No, instead, bunnies are, in many ways, in a state of permanent mating season—which makes you ideal for my intents and purposes.”

You’re not sure you understand what he’s implying. But you’re growing more certain you don’t like it…

“Moreover, bunnies are any hunter’s natural prey,” he continues while walking back toward you. “Making you the perfect meal to fulfill any customer's appetite.”

He pushes the gate of the cage closed, and it clicks back in place, now locked for good and no longer an option of escape, however poor.

“Not to mention…” He smiles again, and this time, you really wish you had a place to hide. “Bunnies are natural sluts.” He crouches back down, closer now, and curls his black claw up under your chin. “All you want is to be fed and bred all day, then fall sound asleep come night.”

You swallow thickly. Your question answered. 

“And since you seem to be a smart cookie. I suppose there’d be little point in waiting."

He removes his tie.

"So, let’s start your training right away.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Aiku ♡ DS – Doma ♡ HxH – Chrollo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[draftbeerbibi]

FOR ME, IT WILL ALWAYS BE YOU - Sylus x Non MC! ( Part 4 )

Summery: you find yourself in lads universe after a particularly close interaction with truck kun. How does life go from here after arriving in the N109 zone leaders backyard when MC hasn’t arrived yet?

Disclaimer, Sylus might be OOC, since i’m not very good at writing so bear with me. This will be multiple parts!

TW: Angst, talk of suicidal ideation, talk of ed(?)

a/n at the end!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Every gaze was tantalizing.

Every word was like honey on your tongue.

Truly, you knew better then to entertain these delusions, but something in the back of your mind gnaws at you. What if your not delusional. What if MC just never shows up? After all, Sylus hasn't mentioned her once in the whole 4,5 months you were now here.

You guys hadn't dared to step further. You were already in the danger zone, and neither had felt particularly inclined to change that. However, once again, things were different.

His eyes would drop just a tad bit further down then they usually would. His tone was different, softer around the edges, but only when it was just the two of you. The banter never stopped ofcourse, but even that had evolved into something cataclysmic.

You were sure you were going to perish. You weren't meant for such deep, raw tension. It felt like you were going to cut yourself on it. You wanted to.

The two of you were in a dance, constantly holding eachother close enough to feel, smell, see, hear. But never close enough to truly taste.

It felt like you were starving yourself, taking just enough to survive. You were becoming bolder though.

Every day you tipped just a tad bit closer to him, and to your surprise, he reciprocated the notion. It felt like you were dancing around death, teetering on the edge off a cliff, but if you were with him. You wouldn't even care if you fell anymore. Your carefully constructed rules started crumbling piece by piece every single day. And he saw.

Untill one day, you guys had just finished your day of work. It was fine, nothing new really. People thinking they had bigger balls then Sylus, trying to outsmart him, not succeeding obviously, and the mundane acts of answering emails, picking up the phone yada yada. You had grown accustomed to the work and everyday became easier, especially now that Sylus had grown 'closer' to you.

You turned off the computer. It had become routine for Sylus and you to eat after dinner. Usually it was with the twins. It was almost domestic, and you soaked in every moment, unsure of if it would stay this way.

Better something then nothing right? wrong

This time was no different. The four of you are eating, though the twins are doing something more akin to stuffing the food down their throat. You giggle at the mess they are making. Truly, it was a sight to behold, the almighty ruler of the N109 zone, docile at the dinnertable, with 2 boys closer to sons though he would never admit it himself, and, well, whatever you were. You didn't even know what your place was right now.

You would like to say it didn't bother you, but that would be a lie. The uncertainty of where you stood was starting to chip at your resolve day by day. You knew there was something between you two. It was undeniable. It's like saying the sun was cold. A blatant lie.

You steal a glance at him from across the table, and my oh my. Immaculate is the first word that pops into your head. It makes you chuckle, which in turn makes him raise his eyes to you in question.

You shake your head softly as the four of you engage in playful banter, with the occasional cawing from Mephisto chiming in. The clattering of dishes, the soft moonlight creeping in through the dining room windows, the soft melody of a violin all blend together into a symphony that tugs at your heartstrings. Maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself indulge, just a bit more...

~~~

You knew it would happen.

You knew...

You had prepared yourself.

Or so you thought.

But nothing, literally nothing, could have prepared you for the impact of seeing MC in your the base.

It had been a normal start to your day, really, Sylus had been out doing who knows what, and you had settled behind your desk to start with your tasks. To your surprise though, the front door had opened with enough force to shake the walls, so naturally, you became curious.

You wish you hadn't been.

Sylus was sitting on a chair with MC on the floor below him, just like how it happened in the storyline of the game.

The sight of it felt worse then a punch to the gut. Your heart clenched in protest as the fear of abandonment and the grief of loosing something that was never yours to have flood your entire being.

You didn't know what you wanted to do more, cry, because quite frankly, you could feel your heart breaking right where you stood, or laugh because you thought you ever had a chance, because despite everything you've told yourself, you had hoped for a different outcome.

You were a fool.

You were just a glorious distraction in a lovestory already written in the stars. There was no place for you here. You didn't belong here. No matter how much you blended in, you were still an anomaly. Wrong.

You willed yourself away from the room, away from the house, away from them. It felt like you were breathing through a straw, too shallow, it hurt. God, what didn't hurt? Your own footsteps sounded too loud in the corridor. You walked past the office. Past the living room, straight to the front door. You had no idea where you were going. Anywhere but here really. You didn't realize you had been crying till you felt your tears fall on your hand.

You make a weak effort to dry your face but the tears were streaming harder then you could keep up with.

Truly, what did you expect? You laughed at yourself, grieving a relationship that hadn't even begun yet. It was for the best. You don't think you could have survived it if had it progressed any further then this.

But reality dawns on you, you have nowhere to go. You had put down roots in the N109 zone, particularly at Sylus's side, and leaving it would be an immediate ticket to the afterlife. So despite it all, you try to make yourself look presentable and turn back.

The walk is daunting, every step settles a weight in your chest heavier then the step before. Fate truely was cruel, was this your destiny? Always on the sidelines, never in the spotlight, fated to die alone.

You picked up an invoice from a business partner, something the twins could have done just fine, but you wanted, no, needed an excuse for when you came back in the house.

You softly close the door behind you, and unfortunately for you, Sylus was waiting in the hall. You put on the best fake smile you could and pretended. It was all you could do right now to not fall apart.

"Where did you go?" His voice is low, with a twinge of something you couldn't quite decipher.

"I picked up this." You held out the invoice of his latest business endeavor. Signed and ready to be processed.

"You could've let Luke and Kieran handle that, no?" You don't meet his gaze. Though your very being ached to look at him, to see if maybe, just maybe, the softness was still there, maybe, just maybe, the story would rewrite itself.

But you couldn't bring yourself to look up, dread gnawing at every fiber of your being. You were afraid. Because, if that softness had faded, you would probaply fade along with it.

"Yeah, well, i needed some fresh air, so y'know, i decided to pick it up myself."

He hums, clearly not believing you, but he doesn't pry. Your eyes flicker up, despite your best efforts, and his face is unreadable. You immediatly excuse yourself to your room. The work day isn't over. He knows. You know he knows. Yet he still doesn't pry.

You close the door to your room behind you. It felt like you were suffocating, drowning in the tsunami of emotions washing over you. This is why you didn't want to fall in love. But you were weak, unlike MC, grief gnaws at you. It's all consuming. Never ending.

~~~

The following days were a blur, you kept doing your job, but your mind was not there. There was a persistant ache in your chest where your heart was supposed to be. It felt ridiculous to grieve something that wasn't yours, but you couldn't help it. Love is a fickle thing, it does what it pleases, and always managed leaves you in shambles.

The dinners go sparse. For the past few nights you have excused yourself to your room with your dinnerplate only to leave it untouched. The hunger you felt overruled by the hole the grief had shaped in your very soul.

You had started rising from your bed later everyday, not because you felt like screwing up your work intentionally, but because your body physically felt like it was crumbling under the weight of gravity. You knew you were too weak for love, yet hope was your biggest enemy friend. Naively trusting again and again.

He still went out with MC, trying to resonate with her, exactly according to the storyline, and everytime he returned after meeting with her, you could feel yourself loosing yourself more and more.

He stopped calling you by your nicknames, instead reserving them for 'miss hunter' as he so liked to call her.

He came home less frequently. Even mephisto who would occasionally check in on you while Sylus was out stopped appearing, now constantly monitoring his other half. His sorceress.

The house felt even colder then before. All but you had left the house for business. The only noises were your shallow breathing and the incessant ticking of an antique grandfather clock breaking the hollow silence of the base.

You tried to focus on the work at hand, but your eyes were glazing over your monitor, cursor roaming the screen with no real destination. Why were you transported here if you were going to be killed from the inside out. Why be kept alive somewhere where you almost start yearning for death.

The silence felt too loud, and your skin felt like sandpaper on your nerves. You will yourself back to work. In all honesty, you wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn't with you. a lie. But your heart betrayed you, logic had lost and you were paying the price.

Ring

You look down at your phone to see his name lighting up your screen. You don't move. The harsh ringing hurts your ears untill it stops. You stare at the now dark screen, till it lights up with a message.

Bossman: Why did you lie?

You blink at the screen, not sure what he meant by that, but as if sensing your confusion your screen lights up with another message.

Bossman: You said you would stop avoiding me.

You scoff, not out of anger, you could honestly never be angry at him. This was his destiny, his fate. Even the almighty Sylus couldn't outrun fate. Could he?

Your eyes burn with tears rising to your line of sight. Everytime you thought, it can't get any worse then this, it did.

Why did he still care? Or why did he pretend? No, Sylus doesn't pull stunts like that, so then why? You curse yourself as you feel yourself hope, a fragile, fleeting emotion, that brings destruction along in its wake.

You ignore him. You don't even open the message. You couldn't. He needs to fulfill his destiny, and you'll help him to the best of your abilities.

Even if it breaks you in the process.

~~~

Part 5!

A/N: Holy smokes y'all, thank you so much for the overwhelming support i've been getting lately! I'm uploading this one a bit sooner because of the delay so enjoy! I know this chapter was a bit heavy but if i'm honest, this is how i think i would react to something like this. Not everyone is as strong and unbreaking as MC, and life and love can be cruel, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Have a great day everyone!💕

Taglist:

@jeondyy @animegamerfox @nm4565natty @famouschopshopgalaxy @supershygirl @justpassingdontworry @madam8 @babygirl-panda19 @sleepykittyenergy @corvid007 @bubera974 @t0rchknight @z3vl @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @dysphxriaii @strxw-bxrri @sillyfreakfanparty @cordidy @rynnpersonal @maria-elite @dana-nite @misselysia

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land Part 3

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here!

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

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

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

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

Things get harder though.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s day four. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A compromise?” Jack echoes.

“Yes. A compromise.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all too much. 

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

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

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

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

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

You simply wouldn’t be. 

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

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

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

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

He’s looking for your pulse. 

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

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

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

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

The rhythmic beating of your heart in your chest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only you.

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

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

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

Letting him take solace from every part of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whattt? I can’t want that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chin trembles a little. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bed? Or you wanna shower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doll, I didn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Text me when you get there, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J - Finally have a second. You doing okay?

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

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

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

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

Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack squeezes your hand. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t try to stop me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until they aren’t.

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

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

Part 4 is out now!

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

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[suevi-if]

Suevi is an interactive fiction WIP - Chapter 1 out now!

This story is about finding love and surviving in Ancient Rome... as a Germanic slave.

[Demo Link]

Prologue - 5.5k words (without code)

Chapter 1 - 21.5k words (without code) - added June 8th 2025

[genres: romance, historical fiction, low fantasy, dark]

This book is for mature audience only (18+). It's currently still in early development and everything released is subject to possible change. The book will contain mature themes like slavery, abuse of any kind, sexual content (mostly optional), death of people and animals (the latter for food and sacrificial purposes), diseases, suicidal ideations, homophobia, transphobia, body dysmorphia, possible self mutilation, swearing, attempted non consensual intercourse (this is not a definitive list of triggers!).

There will be trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

This is a work of fiction. Wherever possible and plausible, I incorporate information that is available about how Germanic tribes lived, how Germanic slaves were treated, what life in a Roman city looked like etc.

However, especially about the Germanic tribes, and about the timeframe I chose, there is only very little information. They did have runes but only used them for ritualistic purposes, never to write anything down; they had no written languages. Because of that, actual legitimate information is extremely scarce, and the information that we have is mostly written from an "enemy" point of view - the Romans.

I might somewhat substitute with things we know about the vikings, which technically also were Germanic tribes, but they lived quite some hundred years after the timespan I aim for the main story of this IF to be set in (which is essentially shortly after/around 14 CE).

Other choices and possible changes of actual facts/information about the historical times and people are made for flavour and for the readers' comfort.

After a skirmish close to the Roman border, you are captured and transported to a city. Your capturer forces you into slavery and sells you off to a patrician family — wealthy Romans, in social and political standings only underneath the Emperor.

Desperately you try to adapt to these new circumstances — you don't even speak their language, know nothing about their culture... It's a whole different world for you. At first, you struggle to even communicate with the people that call themselves your "familia". Will you manage to live amongst them, or will you refuse to obey the rules and orders you are unfamiliar with?

What will your fate be? Will you stay with your new family, will you try to escape to your old family, or will you look for a better future elsewhere?

Will you try to abandon old beliefs and adapt to new ones? Or is the hold of the old Gods too strong on you to let go?

And what role does the person who enslaved you really play in all of this?

Customize your own Suevi — choose your sex, gender, sexuality, looks, the God you mainly pray to and your former occupation (depending on the tribe you are from).

Pick one of five love interests (includes one poly option):

Ing (Ingunn/Ingram), the quiet and angry Cherusci servant (m/f) [Tropes: Friends (to Enemies) to Lovers // Clueless Love // REDACTED]

Aquila (always named Aquila), the cheerful, friendly Roman artist (m/f/nb) [Trope: Sex first, feelings later — Fast burn fling, Slow burn romance]

D (Dewognata/Dagomaros), the Gaul weaver with a tragic backstory (m/f) [Tropes: Rescue Romance // (Not so) Secret Admirer]

Nefer (Nefertari/Neferkare), the chronically tired, sarcastic Nubian merchant (m/f) [Trope: Secret identity/Dark secret]

Xen (Xeno/Xenon), the gentle and wise Greek teacher (m/f) [Tropes: Single Parent // Child as matchmaker // Age gap]

Poly option: MC x Ing x Aquila

Find love, have a good time with no strings attached (flings!) or just do your own thing (and hopefully escape slavery).

FAQ

Support me on Patreon (extra content and early access!)

Support me on Ko-Fi (extra content and early access!)

Buy me a coffee (and have my eternal gratitude <3)

Popular tags (for each RO, RO reactions etc.)

Physical description RO's

RO Moodboards

Play the demo here!

Immersive playlist (Youtube Music)

Also, this is my first IF and I haven't written anything major really for the past 10 years — so I might be somewhat rusty in some parts and completely new to other parts (namely, ChoiceScript). If you have tips, tricks, resources to learn/get better and constructive criticism, or you found any bugs or mistakes in my demo, I'd love to hear from you!

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you'll enjoy my story!

[ovaryacted]

OFF THE LEDGE

─ Dr. Jack Abbot x fem! reader || WC: 4.6k

SYNOPSIS: Surviving is hard. You've become exhausted with the current circumstances of your life. When the pressure finally gets to be too much, you fall apart at the seams. Luckily, Jack is there to put you back together.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST. Hurt/Comfort. Age Gap implied [Jack is late 40s, reader is late 20s/early 30s]. Power imbalances [Attending/Resident]. Established “secret” relationship. Mentions of a drug overdose & medical treatment (patient in ED). Mental health triggers & descriptions of depression, suicidal ideation, and a mental breakdown. Reader is passively turned actively suicidal. Injury from self-harm/self-infliction using a razor that results in bleeding & stitches. Brief references to past sh attempts from reader. Mentions of Jack struggling w/his mental health in the past. Jack being a good partner and providing support.

NOTE: This fic contains explicit descriptions of self harm, depression, and mental health issues that may be triggering for some readers. If you or a loved one are experiencing this, please reach out to someone or call the corresponding crisis lifeline in your state/country. For the U.S. - Dial 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

A/N: I usually don't write things like this, and a part of me was scared to even upload this, but I’m gonna take the risk and do it anyway. I initially wrote this when I was going through something, especially this week, and just needed to release all of these built up emotions somehow and I created this, which was cathartic to write & read. We all deserve reassurance that we are still loved after our mistakes, and I hope those who are going through a hard time know that you are deserving of a long and joyful life and that you are loved. Thank you to @ozarkthedog for proofreading this and the constant encouragement, love you hun. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’d think by now things would get easier. That the ringing in your head would become more manageable; the noise would fade away, and the voices would quiet their chattering for once.

You thought wrong.

A part of you thinks you never should’ve taken the time to go through high school, undergrad, and medical school to enter a field where you were frequently reminded of how fleeting life was. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, the grim reaper was always there, breathing down your neck, watching the sand in the hourglass run out for those bound to leave the mortal coil. The emergency department was their personal hell, and you served as the angel of death, guiding them into the afterlife, witnessing the lights dim from their eyes and declaring the time they crossed the bridge like it was second nature.

It reminds you that it could’ve been you. Sometimes you think it should be.

Of course, that wasn’t rational thinking, was it? The constant nagging voice drilling into your head that you don’t belong here, you don’t deserve to be walking the earth alongside everyone else. It was painfully ironic working in a field where your hands were capable of saving lives, all while you constantly battled to validate your own existence.

A walking contradiction you were.

You hid it well from everyone around you, continuing with business as usual during your night shifts at the Pitt, working doubles just to get through the day, regardless of your body begging for rest. It wasn’t a problem; in fact, the staff were more than glad to have someone reliable to provide more support without asking, and with someone as capable as you, they had no qualms about adding overtime hours to your payroll.

But Dr. Abbot? He saw right through it, right through you.

He knows because he gets it.

You’re good at your job, almost too good, and nobody would dare say otherwise. Despite your talents under pressure and your quick reflexes, there was a darkness that hung over your head like a shadow everywhere you went. Your eyes were clouded over, trying to hide something; the curl of your smile was subtle—never too wide; and your laugh was too tight to be considered a chuckle but enough for an exhale.

Jack knows, because it’s him.

The next time he goes up to the roof for some fresh air, he isn’t entirely surprised to find you already there. You stood on the other end of the ledge, leaning against the railing, hands in your pockets as you stood straight, head held high to admire the Pittsburgh skyline. Jack doesn’t make a sound as he steps closer to you, discreet in his footing, careful not to disturb your moment of reflection.

“You’re in my spot.”

Looking back, he thinks his comment could pass off as reprimanding, spotting the same cues from you that recalls a version of himself he often tries to forget. The version of him that saw more men die than he can count, his past self that buried a piece of him along with his wife, the part of him that didn’t care to see another day in spite of how long he’s fought to be here anyway.

You don’t flinch when you hear Jack’s voice from behind you, tilting your head in acknowledgement and returning your focus to the buildings in front of you.

“Had to borrow it for a second. Wanted to take in the view.”

He only hums, arms reaching over the railing and clasping his hands. Leaning forward on the opposite side of you, he keeps his attention on the side of your face, observing you with keen eyes.

“Next time you’re up here, bring a drink. Really adds to the ambiance.” That got you to laugh dryly, and for a second, Jack considered it an accomplishment.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Unless you plan on joining me for that drink, considering this is your spot and all.” You turn to face him then, and the twitch of a smirk tugs at his lips, taking in your features before glancing down to the floor.

“I’ll put a pin in that for our next meet-up, kid.”

Jack was only half-serious when he said that, but your uncoordinated meetings became more consistent, the sight of Jack growing to be a welcoming one. Amongst the chaos of the Pitt, above all of the death and carnage that came through the ambulance bay every day, Jack was always there to keep you grounded in ways you didn’t know you needed. A pat on the shoulder, a hand on your lower back, a squeeze on your arm, and an expression that inaudibly asks, “You’re good?” To anyone else, they’d think he’s just being a good mentor and doctor as he always was, but you knew there was a secondary motive, not that it wasn’t reciprocated.

He made you stronger, better, and for the longest time you were okay, happy even. In a professional sense, he kept you on a tight self-care regimen, making sure you ate proper meals, slept a full 7 hours at minimum, and took supplements you wouldn’t admit made you feel better even after being more energetic and clear-headed throughout your shifts. He did you the favor of setting you up to get connected to his therapist, at least for a consultation before being referred to someone who was better equipped to handle your needs, going as far as being your sponsor if necessary.

You knew he was only looking out for you, but when the concern transitioned to desire along the way, it felt natural, comforting, safe. Jack welcomed you into his reality, made room for you in his home and his heart, told you his nightmares and the memories that haunted him while making new ones with you. He let you weave yourself around his very being and made you promise to never let go, whispering those three words without issue to cite that you belonged with him, that he wanted you here where he could love you the way you deserved.

But even Dr. Abbot couldn’t keep you safe from yourself.

He can always tell when your worst habits start to make a reappearance, when you have trouble sleeping and he finds you on the couch in the middle of the day, aimlessly watching something on the TV. You pick at your food more, no longer enthusiastic about your favorite lasagna he’s cooked for dinner, saying you’d save it for lunch at work and going to bed with a dwindling appetite.

You hide yourself from him, less receptive of his touch and affections; the kisses you returned were superficial at best, but it was better than nothing. The spark he adored was slowly dimming from your eyes, giving him a sad smile when he said he loved you, the words muted when they tumbled from your lips as if you were afraid of repeating it.

Back at the Pitt, your mask began to crack. Your laughs were minimal, your face permanently frozen and devoid of emotion, and your head tormenting itself as you strained to suppress your mood. You spend much longer on the roof during your shifts, and though he trusts you enough, he still keeps track of the number of times he spots you sneaking away and heading for the stairs. He’s told you so many times before—

“If you’re not back in 5 minutes, I’m coming up to get you.”

And Jack sticks to his word, running up to the roof and hoping he’d still find you on the other side. He always does, approaching you cautiously, talking to you in the same passive authority he uses in the ED. It does the job, bringing you into his chest and cradling the back of your head, feeling you grip onto him like he’s the only thing you had left. It does little to quell his own anxieties about your fraying state of mind when he finds you closer to the ledge every time he comes to get you.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before you fall apart, or worse.

Your shift at the Pitt was manageable for the most part until a case of a self-inflicted drug overdose came in at the wee hours of the night. An unresponsive teenager around the age of 17 came in through the ambulance bay with his parents, suspected of an extreme intake of Xanax, no reaction to pain or light, blown pupils, and weak pulse. Everyone knew there was limited time to bring them back from the brink, and the first attempt using Narcan was already unsuccessful.

The teen crashed in Trauma 1, you called for the crash cart and ordered two shocks before attempting compressions. You pumped the kid’s body full of atropine and epinephrine, cracked a few of their ribs and worked up a sweat giving compressions, but his overworked heart wouldn’t restart on its own. You kept going for another 30 minutes before Jack called it, and you noted the flatline on the heart monitor, spacing out as your ears rang and the walls closed in on you.

Jack took the responsibility of notifying the parents, suggesting you take five to cool off. When he found you in your spot, you were sitting down on the edge of the roof, feet dangling on the edge and looking down to the ground.

That was the closest he found you to the ledge.

The drive back home was quiet, the air rigid between you, but he knew well enough it wasn’t directed towards him. You didn’t bother to look at him for the entire commute, staring out into the window, counting the streetlights passing you by. Rolling into the driveway, you grabbed your work bag and made your way to the front door, Jack matching your pace behind you, reading your body language like a hawk. After unlocking the door, you were quick to walk past him and march to the bedroom, but he was faster than you, grabbing your arm and bringing you back into the foyer.

“Hey, hey. Talk to me.” He turns you to face him, one hand rubbing over your wrist and the other cupping your cheek. “I know today was hard, you don’t have to hide it from me, you know that. But please, just talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

“I just want to rinse off the day, Jack. It’s been… I’m tired, okay? Can we talk later when I’ve slept a bit? Please?” You held his gaze, his touches only unnerving you more, confused and struggling to focus. He didn’t believe you; he knew you weren’t okay, but the last thing he wanted to do was smother you when you couldn’t give him a straightforward answer.

“Alright, we’ll talk later. Go shower, I’ll make you something to eat before you sleep.” He planted a light kiss by your temple, breathing you in as if it were for the last time. “I love you.”

“I know.” It was the only thing you said, and he apprehensively let you go without hearing the sentiment returned to him, letting your silhouette disappear into the master bathroom.

It had been 40 minutes since he last saw you, and it was eerily too quiet for him to be tranquil. The hairs on the back of his neck stick up once he’s done packing away the food he made for you in hopes you’d be able to keep it down before heading off to bed. The danger senses that always protected him were firing off, and he knew you needed your space, but the urge to check up on you pestered him to the point of suffocation.

Stepping into the shared bedroom, you were nowhere to be found. The lights in the bathroom were still on, and the shower had long stopped running, but he heard the muffled sniffles, probably stifled with your hand covering your mouth.

Something wasn’t right.

“Sweetheart?” He knocks on the door, trying to get your attention. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, he thinks. He knows the answer is no, but when you don’t give him a response, his worry deepens.

He instantly thinks of the worse-case scenario, compartmentalizing what could be happening in the small room closed off to him. He knew from the moment you lost that patient a switch had gone off, that your subconscious roamed into the abyss you’ve been fighting to avoid. You’ve gone off the deep end, and he had to try to bring you back.

His trained ears pick up on the sound of something clinking in the sink, sharp and metallic, a hiss emitting from you followed by a restrained groan. You were in pain; something had caused you to react that way, and from the way you started to hyperventilate and cry, he can only imagine what happened.

“Baby, please. Let me in.” Jack calls out to you, reaching for the doorknob and twisting it open, but finds the door locked. He calls your name again, knocking on the door harder without trying to startle you further. “I won’t be upset with you, I promise, but I need you to open this door. You gotta let me in, or so help me, I will break it down to get to you.”

Your name tumbled out of his mouth in a plea, knuckles rasping harder against the wooden door, the knob rattling under his grip as he cursed to himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to help, of being kept in the dark while you do God knows what to yourself. Silence on the other end made his blood run cold, shoulder and head now pressed to the door, trying to find any sign of your presence on the opposite side.

Already in position to ram into the door, the click of the lock registers in his ears. Wasting no time to swing it open, his heart pounded in his ears at the display before him.

There you stood, tears streaking your face and eyes empty from the mess that was your psyche. His sight trailed lower, nostrils flaring at the sight of crimson pooling in the sink, surrounding a bloody razor. Your trembling hand swathed your wrist, the red liquid staining your palm and your fingers digging into your tainted skin in a poor attempt to manage the flow.

“I’m sorry…” You mumbled, your bottom lip wobbling as you refused to meet his eye.

He didn’t react or think about anything else; his sole focus was on you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but he stayed collected for your sake. Coming into the bathroom, he held you by the hips, eyes anchored to your face because he knows he’ll lose his shit the instant he looks at your arm. “I’m going to sit you down for a second, alright? Just breathe with me, I’m right here.”

As much as your body could in its state of shock, Jack maneuvered you to sit on the toilet seat, keeping your eyes stuck on the tile. You could hear him moving around you, grabbing a boxed item from the cabinet and running the sink for a bit. Your breath lumped in your throat, lungs tight and wheezing on every exhale. It was a blur how you got to the kitchen, your feet moving on their own as you floated outside of your body, your cognizance wandering to anywhere but here. 

“Let me see your wrist, honey.” Jack advised, his voice unwavering despite the constriction of his pupils disclosed his panicked nature.

Carefully, you revealed your injuries to the veteran, blood streaming down onto the sterile procedure underpad he placed your arm on. He sighed in slight relief, thankful the two wounds were horizontal like the rest of the faded scars instead of the opposite, not deep enough for immediate concern, but you’d still need stitches.

“They’re not too deep, but I need to stitch you up so they heal, okay?” He was talking, you think he was, and despite not fully processing his mouth moving, you nodded anyway.

Placing the lightest kiss on your forehead, Jack promptly got to work. Opening the tactical first aid kit he kept in the bathroom, stacked to the brim with medical supplies, he found some gloves and got his station ready. He treated you like any other case in the ED, holding off on everything else going on in his head until you weren’t hurt anymore.

As serious as he can be, he numbed out the area for your comfort and flushed out the cuts for better visibility, taking hold of the suture and piercing the curved end to your skin. You didn’t jerk your arm away as he did so, looping the metal hook into your flesh a few more times before neatly tying the end and cutting the rest off. He double-checked to make sure the wound would heal properly with minimal issues and wrapped your wrist up in some gauze and a medical-grade bandage.

You were silent the entire time, the tension thick enough to cut through. He was figuring out the best approach to this conversation, to make sure he wouldn’t push you farther away.

“How’s the wrapping?” He started off with that, something easy for you to answer.

“It’s fine.” You shrugged, thumbing over the bandage. “Can’t feel anything.”

“Good, that’s good.” He replies, maintaining his analytical gaze on you. He plotted what exactly he could say, the right sequence of words that would put you at ease, but you got to it before he could.

“Jack…” He scanned your distressed features, never taking his eyes off of you. “Are you upset with me?”

“Why would I be upset with you?” The thought of your priority being his reaction to your behavior in such a high-stress environment ached him. “I couldn’t be upset at you. Not for this, not for anything. You understand that, right?”

“I just… I feel so fucking stupid. For doing this, after being clean for so damn long.” You stared down at your wrists with sunken eyes, the self-deprecating thoughts banging around in your skull doing nothing to calm you down, eyes stinging with residual tears that never seemed to stop falling.

He uttered your name softly, reaching out to hold your hands as if you were made of porcelain, making an effort to dodge the new bandages covering your wrist.

“You’re not weak, or any less deserving of a life worth living for repeating old patterns. We’re not perfect, and when your mind is your worst enemy, it’s a constant battlefield up there. You think I didn’t struggle the same way before? I still do sometimes, and I’m sure if there was a remedy to get rid of all of the bullshit in our heads, we would��ve taken it a long time ago. What matters is you’re still here, breathing, talking. You’re still here.”

A pregnant pause followed his words, your grip tightening around his, blankly looking at his digits and mindlessly rubbing over his skin.

“I’m tired, Jack. I’m tired of it all, of the noise, of constantly needing to fight everything, to find a reason to keep going.” The tears still pebbled at the corner of your eye, lids lined with red and irritated from the emotional turmoil you’ve been working through. “It’s all becoming too much, and nothing was working, so I just…needed something to release the pressure. I don’t know how much more of this I can take, and that scares me. I’m at my limit, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

It killed him to know you’ve been carrying so much pain. He already knows of your background, of your prior attempts, and the skeletons hidden in your closet. Jack understands the cards that have been stacked against you from the very beginning of your existence, chasing a calm reality you’ll never experience; the closest you got to that was being in a partnership with him. Jack loved you with every part of his soul, he’s told you countless times. He hoped his love was enough to nullify your suffering, but even he knew there was no remedy for being your worst enemy.

“You don’t need to have it all figured out right now, and you don’t have to tell me everything you’re thinking or are choosing to forget. But just know, I love you, and I want to be able to love you in any capacity while you’re here with me.” His voice grew taut as he spoke, the faintest tell that he was being strong for your sake.

“This doesn’t change that, and whatever comes, I will help you through it. You’re worth the fight, you always have been, and you’ve been fighting for your place here for so long. I’m not letting you go, not that easily, and I won’t let you give up on yourself either. You don’t have to do this alone, not anymore.”

His words struck a chord with you, feeling them reverberate through your body, shuddering as he said everything you needed to hear. You sat together in the kitchen, letting his declaration to you hang in the air and marinate, breaking the silence after some time.

“Thank you.” Your gratitude for Jack’s selflessness goes without saying, the hazel eyes that had been drawn to you from the start were kind as they always were, warm and full of adoration you’ve never felt with or from anyone else.

“Always.” His head tilts behind him, gesturing to the fridge. “Made something in case you still wanted a bite.”

“I don’t think I can stomach anything right now, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, I already wrapped it up in case you changed your mind.” Jack stayed quiet, pondering for a beat before talking again. “I’ll ask the other residents to cover your shifts for the rest of the week, and I’ll switch out with Robby so I can stay here with you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You didn’t want to be any more of a burden than you already were.

“I know I don’t, but I want to, I feel like I need to. We’ll just take a few days, recuperate, get you out of the house for some fresh air and do something together, maybe coordinate next steps. How does that sound?”

For the first time in what felt like weeks, that spark that slipped away appeared in your eyes again. It was faint and fleeting, but you were still there underneath all of that baggage.

“It’s much better than being in the Pitt. I don’t want Robby on my ass for not showing up for a while.” He chuckles dryly, shaking his head in agreement.

“He’ll understand, trust me, and he loves being there with all of the rookies. Plus, the old man owes me, he won’t mind.”

Your shoulders dropped from their stiff position the entire night, your body language now more relaxed than before as the exhaustion from everything started to kick in.

“I think I want to go to bed now, sleep all of this off.”

“I’m right behind you.” He didn’t debate with you or ask for more answers to his questions; there was no need if he knew you'd come to him when you were ready to talk.

Packing away the rest of his medical gear and disposing of the hazardous material properly, he made sure the rest of the kitchen was cleared before meeting you in the bedroom. You stood awkwardly in front of the bathroom, the same place where the offense took place, losing yourself in the constricting tiled room.

“Do you want me to help you?” He lingered, as he usually did, and you’ve never been more grateful for his consistent support.

“Please.”

He put the first aid kit back where he found it and searched around the bedroom, finding his overworn Army shirt you claimed was your favorite. He approached you with a cool and collected attitude, gently asking for permission before he slipped your current t-shirt off of your head and dressed you in the olive green cotton, caressing the side of your jaw affectionately.

Letting you go to slip under the sheets and claim your side of the bed, he sat on the edge of the mattress to take off his prosthetic, placing it against the bedside table for when he woke up. Tossing the duvet cover over him and filling the empty space beside you, he angled his body towards you, head digging into the pillow under him.

You shifted to him in an instant, nestling your face into his chest. The scent of him hit your nose, overpowering your senses and soothing your nerves, leaning against him with your full body weight and seeking out his warmth. A thick arm shielded you from the rest of the world, winding around your waist and bringing you closer, resting comfortably on your backside. Your breathing matched pace with his, mimicking his inhales and exhales as he coached you to fully settle.

“Jack?” The hum he gave you vibrated underneath your cheek. “I love you, and I hope you know that, even if I don’t say it all the time.”

“I know. I love you too.” He kisses your hairline again, your face tilting upwards to meet his lips, soft and sweet, and just enough pressure to reassure him you felt the same. “You have me, sweetheart. Always.”

“Tell me a story. Want to hear you while I sleep.” You requested shyly, throwing your free arm over his waist, stroking the arch of his spine under his t-shirt.

As he retold another memory from his past, a fond one from his childhood, while his hand rubbed the back of your head, kneading the nape of your neck and running lines over your scalp. His words trailed off as your eyes fluttered closed, your hand ceasing its movement over his back, falling limp along with the rest of your body. You fell asleep long before his story finished, but Jack didn’t close his eyes just yet, he couldn’t.

It was in the stillness of the night that his trepidation creeped up to the surface, his mind running a mile a minute, overrun by all the protocols of the worst-case scenarios and their proper reactions. When it came to you, the same rules never applied, his sense of reason always flew out of the window. He released a quivering breath he didn’t realize he was holding; the thought of losing you, of not being there to save you, haunted him in his sleep. He never thought a part of his nightmare would manifest into reality, but he knows this was more than just him.

Whatever came next, however you wanted to handle this, he vowed to stick beside you, no matter the outcome. He was determined to prevent you from falling through the cracks, not if he could help it. You were worth the heartbreak and the sorrow; he’ll share the burden of your existence with you if it means he can keep loving you for a bit longer if you’ll let him.

In any way, Jack is here to stay like the loyal soldier he is, and he’s not planning on letting you go anytime soon.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 22

Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i just realized sunfyre didn't hatch for aegon and he had to claim him... anyway since I already wrote it like that, just roll with it ok?? ALSO PLEASE SPARE ME A COMMENT/REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS because it feels so aimless T_T anyway next part wont be... hopefully <3 | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

You find yourself awakening to the feel of hands brushing through your hair. You slowly open your eyes and curl inward, sensitive to the sunshine beaming in through the window. You are pulled in with a contented sigh.

You realize two things then, one, your head was upon Daemon's chest, and two, he was singing something under his breath. You slowly lift your head, finding his face. His eyes were closed, though he was still combing through your hair with a tune upon his lips. He was beautiful.

Your heart tightens as you reach for him.

Daemon stills when he feels your hand on his cheek and promptly opens his eyes.

Your own water as he takes your hand to press a kiss upon in.

"Sȳz ñāqes." Good morning.

Your lips tremble, "issi ao drējion?" Are you real?

His brows furrow as a tear runs down your cheek. He quickly shifts, wipes it away, and pulls you tightly into him, "kessa." You instantly seal your arms around him. He presses a kiss upon your head, "iksan kesīr, ñuha jorrāelagon." Yes. I am here, my love.

You sigh into his shoulder as he secures you over him. You mumble against his skin, "I dream of waking to you often."

"As do I," he brushes his nose against you.

He rubs your back as he feels wetness build on his collar. He holds you tighter, hoping his embrace will dam your tears. He whispers your name in an attempt to soothe you.

You pull away and examine his face.

Daemon frowns at how pinkish and puffy your eyes were already.

You gently swipe his pout and smooth the line between his brows. He seems to relax slightly as you continue to trace the rest of his features. You sniffle, "are your dreams vivid?"

He watches you— you, who seemed to be so enamored by him. He clenches his jaw and squeezes your hip, "sometimes I feel you in my arms."

You lock gazes.

"But then I find a pillow in my embrace when I rouse."

You frown slightly, "my dreams feel like memories that never were. They quickly fade when I open my eyes."

Daemon shifts, sitting up so your head was no longer hovering. He pulls you against his chest, kissing your temple, "I am an awfully persistent presence. I will not fade, even if you insist upon it."

You chuckle softly.

He smiles, squeezing your arm, as if urging that you bless him with the sound once more.

"I would never insist that you fade," you rub his cheek, "especially not for me."

He takes your wrist and kisses it.

"I do have one dream that I have not forgotten... one and only."

He hums in interest.

"I was praying in the temple, and you came to me."

Daemon's throat tightens.

"It was after the last dinner we had with the late queen Aemma, after all the ruckus from it."

He hums again, brows tightening at the memory.

"The next thing I know I was in bed and you were looking down at me," you brush your lips, "then I was kissing you, holding you, pulling you i—"

"Wait," he shakes his head, "this was the night before the tourney, was it not?"

You nod as you trace the burn scars across his chest. You frown and kiss him there.

He shifts and looks down at you, taking your face to steal back your attention, "that was not a dream."

You look up at him, "hmm?"

"I went to you in the temple," he shakes his head, silver hair falling to his face, "I knelt with you then carried you back to your chambers. You asked me to stay and I did."

Your brow furrows as you sit up, "y-you did?" You shake your head, "but I-" your eyes water, "I woke up alone, I-" your lips wobble.

Daemon feels dreadful. He almost mentions that he knows what you've prayed for all your life, but he does not want to speak it into existence if that was no longer the case. Instead, he says, "I had to rouse early for the games."

You whimper, "do you speak true?"

He clutches your cheeks and nods slowly, "I did not want to. I waited until the last moment to leave. I didn't have the heart to wake you."

You scratch your eyes, not wanting to cry, "I... that was why I could not bear to go to the games... I was so bitter that my dreams were so sweet and reality- .... reality—" you cannot withhold your sob.

Daemon pulls you against him, guilt rising up his neck as he recalls the cruelty he handed you once you do arrive. Jealousy soon replaces guilt when he thinks of Gwayne. He grits his teeth, "would you have still gone to your brother had you not believed our love making was a dream?"

You sniffle, "... what?"

He examines your once more dampened cheeks and hangs his head, "would you have been more partial to me had you known I actually stayed with you that night?"

Your heart throbs, "do you ask me if I would have cared less for my twin?"

"No," he looks away, "I ask if you would you have cared more for me."

"I do care for you," you reach for his cheek.

"More than your beloved Gwayne?" he turns back to you.

You frown, "now, yes."

He should be happy, but he bristles at the context. He chuckles dryly, "you loved him more then."

"It still hurt me to know you saw me as a pawn in your game," you simultaneously shrug and shake your head, "I do not mind it now, so long as you do not abandon me."

"You are no pawn," he wipes your cheeks, "you are my queen."

You purse your lips, "Aemma told me something similar... that pawns turn into queens."

"You are no pawn to me," he repeats firmly.

You lower your gaze, "be it as it may... a queen must provide her king an heir and..." you wipe your face, "I- I am not strong enough."

He speaks your name, gently shaking you.

You hide behind your palms.

He parts his mouth, but finds nothing to say.

For a moment, a moment far too long, you crumble into despair. Your affliction does not take control of you though as Daemon's touch keeps you grounded.

He desperate to soothe you, "I am second born."

You take deep breaths to steel your tears.

"Rhaenyra's been named successor..." his voice is soft, "I've no use for heirs."

Your pull your hands away, face falling, brows tightening at his words. You rapidly shake your head, "do not comfort me with lies."

"I don't need to," he mutters, "my words are true, I..." he shrugs, "... need no heirs."

"You would have me believe you do not want me to sire you sons or daughters?"

He places his hands on your belly, his large hand rubs warm circles, "... that is not what I said."

"Daemo-"

"There is nothing to inherit from me," he shrugs.

Your forehead curls. You shift beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, "you would not have them inherit your tenacity or your comeliness?"

His nostrils flare. He leans into you, "you find me comely, wife?"

"I find you beauteous."

A deep chuckle passes his lips. "Do not flatter me so," he rubs his nose against yours, "I will not let out of this bed."

You kiss his neck, "you will not hear a complaint from me."

Daemon groans and hurtles himself into you, crushing you beneath him. You giggle as he kisses you, mouth hungry for yours. He finds the back of your knee on instinct, and is soon strapping your legs around him. His lips, tongue, and teeth take a moment on your skin.

You are dazed when he pulls away. His heart races at the sight of your swollen lips and glazed expression.

You comb through his hair, "your hair is longer."

"Mmm," he brushes your hair off your shoulder, "do you prefer it short?"

You shrug, "I prefer you how ever."

Daemon chuckles, hand coming to your cheek. He traces your lips with his thumb, "very well," he squeezes your thigh and bucks into you, "I shall bed you before breaking fast."

Your belly swirls. You close your eyes when he kisses your neck.

He licks your pulse, "I shall fill your belly with my seed-"

Your eyes open.

"-that you might feel my warmth inside you," he massages your waist.

"Daem-"

"Then you shall have your fill of moon tea."

You tense. Daemon continues to kiss you until he can no longer ignore the rigidness of your form. His eyes lock with yours as he examines you. He sees your trepidation. He tucks hair behind your ear.

I-need-no-heirs plays in your mind. Your throat tightens, not knowing what to think. Is he sick of you, sick of your inadequacies? He wants children but... not by you? He no longer wants to try—

The sound of your name pulls you out of it. He kisses your jaw reassuringly, "None of me desires to gain children but lose my wife. I've already had a taste... it is too bitter to bear."

You grip his shoulder, tight enough that his flesh punctures beneath your nails. You want to speak, but you know not what.

"You will regain your strength and then," he stresses, "then shall children come."

Your lips wobble, "a-and if I don't—"

He silences you with a kiss, mumbling, "you will get better."

He takes no other word from you save his name moaned in pleasure.

Daemon is gentle.

He does not rush.

He draws your love making until his hair is dripping in sweat and your skin is sticky with him. You're consumed wholly by him and he is consumed wholly by you. Once you're both coming down from your high, you latch yourself around him, unwanting him to pull away from you.

He adores it, yet, the same moment, he finds he is, in fact, just a man and you were feminine divinity overwhelming him. "My love," Daemon grunts against your neck, "... let up."

"I want you inside my ribcage."

He both chuckles and whines against your jaw, "I am still inside you, lover."

"I want to eat you."

Daemon, overwhelmed still, but gravely besotted, nips at your ear, "later, I swear it."

You find yourself giggling at the sound of him.

"I admit..." Daemon whispers, "... I wish to rouse... I worry terribly for Caraxes."

You immediately loosen your grip on him.

Daemon whimpers, suddenly ungrateful at the release. He looks at you, brows furrowed in worry, "he must want to eat me as well... though unlike you."

You frown at his expression and shake your head, "he misses you. I've had my turn. You should go to him."

"I can be shared," he licks his lips, "come with me?"

You knit your brows and nod, "of course."

‎Daemon holds your hand tightly all the way to the pits. Part of you wants to tell him you're not going to vanish into thin air, but in truth, you enjoy the fervor of his hold.

‎When you arrive, the pit is bustling. The first thing you both notice is Caraxes is feasting, feasting as if his life depended on it, as if he hadn't eaten in months, which he hasn't, not properly.

Daemon squeezes your hand, and so do you, turning to him with a smile. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were glassy. You reach for his arm and rub his bicep. He leans into you, scratching his eyes.

"You did it, he's better now," you mutter.

Daemon sniffles and sighs, looking back to Caraxes. He pulls you along with him as he walks towards one of the head keepers and has conversation with her.

As he does, you watch the blood wyrm scarf down food as if his life depended on it. He was crunching on beasts twice your size like apple. You vaguely hear something about him eating 10 cows before a loud, high pitched cry of your name rings across the space.

You turn and find Aegon, already running up to you with a kingsguard running after him. The child was too lithe and the guard's armor too heavy for the prince to be caught. You gasp and pull away from Daemon, immediately alerting him.

Daemon's throat tightens as you walk towards the boy, grunting as he jumps into your arms. Before his jealousy claws at him, Caraxes, with his new found strength, turns and hisses at the villain, the child in your embrace. Like master, like mount.

"Caraxes," Daemon raises a hand in correction. He walks over to him and strokes his face. The dragon pushes into him, showing his displeasure. He hushes him, "Nyke gīmigon, Caraxes. Istiti gūrēñagon ityragon." I know, Caraxes, we must learn to share.

Caraxes makes a sound, as if knowing how incredibly stupid the notion was.

You bend down, allowing Aegon to take your cheeks and kiss you, "muña, I'm going to ride Sunfyre." (Maternal) aunt.

Daemon watches. When his throat tightens, he thinks of the boy's brother, Aemond, and how he felt holding him last night. It calms him down enough that he can offer his mount affection.

You raise your brows apprehensively at the boy, "you are?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm a big boy!"

You hear clanking and find the kingsguard now behind prince. You stand and raise a brow at him, "the prince says he will be riding today."

Daemon turns back.

"Will you be able to take responsibility of him?" you ask the guard.

The knight huffs, looking down at the prince.

You purse your lips at that and lean back towards your nephew, "has the dragon keepers said that you can?"

Aegon hums and looks away.

You sigh, "Aegon—"

"But I want to!" Aegon stomps his foot, turning to back to you, "skoro syt gaomagon eman rȳbagon se urnerys?!" Why do I have to listen to the keepers?!

"Ae-"

"Ao ȳdra daor," a deep voice speaks from behind you. You don't.

Aegon looks up at Daemon, eyes watery in frustration.

His uncle crosses his arms, feeling no sympathy for weepy looks of the child, "yn lo gaomā daor, pār ao daor limagon lo ao jiōragon ōdrikagon." But if you do not, then you cannot cry if you get hurt.

You turn as well, straightening up, "Daemon."

"Emā naejot rȳbagon naejot aōha muña," he raises a finger, "va moriot." You have to listen to your (maternal) aunt. Always.

"Daor," Aegon grumbles. No.

Daemon's upper lip curls. He steps forward, "eminna ao toliot ñuha ybon." I will have you over my knee.

"Daemon," you press a hand on his chest.

Daemon grits his teeth.

You take his cheek and make him look at you. The tension on his shoulders quickly melt away. You offer him a smile but quickly turn back to Aegon when he begins to stomp around in defiance.

He shrieks, "I WANT TO FLY!"

"Aegon!" you try to take his arm, but he wrangles out of your grip.

Aegon squeals in protest and Caraxes begins to react, earning Daemon's attention again. The older prince turns and raises a hand, commanding the dragon to stay back.

Your grip is weak, thus why your nephew slips out of your grasp. When he spots Sunfyre being ushered out the pits, he immediately tries to run to him, but his guard snatches his arm before he can. The golden dragon reacts in like with his rider's tantrum.

In the end, because the pair's emotional meltdown, they were both escorted back to their rooms, and you were left feeling terrible to see Aegon be carried away while he cried out for you.

Daemon is satisfied that you stayed with him. He rubs Caraxes's snout, continuing to calm him. He calls out your name and reaches a hand to you.

You take his hand, sighing as your husband pulls you into his chest. He kisses your temple and places your palm upon his dragon's scales. You are glad to feel that Caraxes warm again.

He cannot help himself, as jealousy lingers in his mouth, "spoiled fucking brat."

You raise a brow at him, "Aegon a child."

"No child of mine," Daemon scoffs, "how terrible to think there now is three."

Your face twist, "you act as though you would not put up a fight if you were pried away from your dragon."

You notice his jaw clench. You place your hand on his shoulder, silently demanding that he look at you.

Daemon huffs, "... fine."

You watch him give you a look.

"Let us pray your sister does not birth another brat."

She doesn't, she births a darling babe named Daeron four years later. Of course, in Daemon's eyes, he was a fussy nuisance, and he despised that his wails were audible in your chambers some nights. He was, in fact, a brat. A demanding one at that.

The boy demanded so much attention that apparently Alicent was not enough. Daeron did not sleep if he was not being held, and your bleeding heart was ever so weak for your sister and her spawn.

This was why you presently held the youngest prince in your arms; he needed to sleep and the queen had much else to attend to.

The sun shines upon your form in the training square. Daemon watches as you rock the child in your arms, tucking dark hair behind your ear as a gust of wind blows it into your face. He grunts when his sparring partner hits his hip.

"Got you!"

Daemon eyes the boy, and deflects with his wooden sword when he tries to hit him again, "didn't I tell you to take a break?"

"I'm not tired, kepus!"

The tiny prince tries to go at him again but Daemon pushes him back with no effort, "nice try."

You look up from Daeron when you hear tiny skidding feet. You adjust the babe in your arm and cup the side of your mouth, "be nice, darling."

Daemon looks out to you, finding your raised brow, then turns back to the boy, "hear that. Your aunt told you to be nice and listen to your uncle."

None the wiser, the boy whips back at you then nods at Daemon, "okay, uncle."

He chuckles as his opponent gets back into fighting stance. He sighs, equally impressed and exasperated by the boy's spirit, "fine," he tilts his head, "let us make a deal. If you defeat me, I'll let you have my cakes at lunch time."

He gasps.

"But-" Daemon raises a finger, "-if I win, you have to give me all your cakes."

The boy freezes.

Daemon's lips curl in to a devious smirk.

He can only stare in silence after hearing the conditions.

"Well?" he raises his brow, "what say you, Aemond?"

Aemond turns to his feet. He lowers his practice sword, "... maybe ..."

"Maybe?" Daemon repeats.

Silver hair flutters across his eyes as Aemond lifts his gaze, "maybe we can take a break... ?"

Daemon laughs, reaching a hand out to the boy, "good choice."

Aemond gratefully takes his uncle's hand and the two walk towards you.

You smile at them and reach for your nephew's face when he's near, "done training, my love?"

"We're taking a brea-"

"We are," Daemon corrects as he sits. He rests his chin on your shoulder, "I'm tired."

You turn to him.

Aemond whines in protest, "you said we're taking a break."

"Yes, well," Daemon pushes your hair to the side and kisses your neck, "I'm starving."

"But kepus!" the boy whines, "it's not lunch time yet!"

He does not even look at Aemond, instead, he sneaks an arm behind you, pulling you closer to him, "if you don't let me have lunch now, I'm I'm going to eat your aunt."

Aemond gasps, immediately pulling your skirt away from him, "NO!!!!!"

You chuckle but click your tongue, "Aemond, I might drop your brother."

Daemon eyes the frantic Aemond, circling an arm around you as he bites your shoulder.

"NOOOO!" Aemond squeals, trying his best to save you from attempted cannibalism.

When you spot the boy's watery gaze, you shrug Daemon off and slowly come to a stand, "ȳdra daor limagon, ñuha jorrāelagon, aōha uncle tymagon lēda ao." Don't cry, my love, your uncle plays with you.

You secure Daeron in your arm before stroking a gentle finger across the boy's cheek.

"Daor," Daemon stands as well, eyeing Aemond, "I am a dragon. I gladly eat your aunt every nig—"

"Daemon!"

He breaks into a laugh while Aemond breaks into a sob.

You disapprovingly call out Daemon again, and he immediately picks the boy up, though he continuing to laugh. Aemond scratches his eyes as his uncle easily holds him in one arm, brushing his silver hair off his face

You glare at him, "it's not funny."

Daemon, enamored by the boy, kisses Aemond on the cheek, "little bit."

You continue to give him a withering glare.

When he finally catches it, his smile fades slightly. He sighs, "māzigon sir," he rubs Aemond's back, "mēre hae kostōba hae istia daor limagon." Come now. One as strong as you must not cry.

Aemond woefully looks at Daemon, lips trembling, "muña iksis va moriot ōdrikagon. nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao naejot ōdrikagon zirȳla." (Maternal) aunt is always hurt. I don't want you to hurt her.

Your face falls, "oh, my love."

This promptly wipes Daemon's grin away. He sighs and strokes the boy's arm, "Kessa, kessa... shijetra ñuha tēmire." Yes, yes... forgive my cruelty.

Aemond sniffles, embracing Daemon as he drops his head on his broad shoulder.

Daemon rubs the boy's back. Aemond's empathy begets guilt into to him. It only flares at the sight of your disappointed expression.

"All is well, my love," you pat Aemond's head, "we shall eat cakes now."

Aemond perks, quickly turning to you.

Daemon's eyes crinkle his simpleness.

"Shall we wait for your siblings in the solar?" you smile.

Aemond nods eagerly.

Daemon chuckles softly, bouncing him in his arm.

You send off Daeron to his wetnurse while you, your husband, and your sister's children eat in the solar. Aegon and Helaena had returned from dragonback, and the former was excitedly telling you about the experience, much to the annoyance of Daemon.

Now eight, Aegon was an energetic and audacious thing. He was more so Daemon's villain now than he was then. He and the boy were competing constantly for your attention, and he did not like it one bit.

"AND SUNFYRE MANAGED TO DO CIRCLES IN THE SKY!" Aegon motioned with a fork from where he sat at the head of the table.

You immediately raise a hand but it is Daemon that sharply snaps, "do not play with your fork."

The boy obeys, but does not acknowledge his uncle at all, eyes still fixed upon you, "Helaena and Dreamfyre could barely keep up with us."

You turn to your niece, who sat beside you, quietly eating her food. You brush her hair back, "if that is so, you must slow down for her."

"NOOOO!" Aegon groans, leaning back into her chair, "that's no funnnnn!"

Daemon, who was on your other side, turns to the second born, "is your brother horrid with you, girl?"

"AM NOT!" Aegon protests.

Helaena turns to her uncle, glimmering eyes telling that she left her head in the clouds after riding through them, "Aegon is only Aegon."

She was capable of speaking only like this, like a dreamer. It once fascinated Daemon to see the gift manifest in her, but he quickly realized he had no patience for it, not in listening, much less deciphering. You, however, had eternal patience and lent your ear to every nonsensical word she spoke, even the ones of bugs. Unlike the jealousy her older brother inspired from coveting his wife, he could not find fault in Helaena; she was a gentle thing.

Your brows slightly furrow at Helaena's words, knowing that Aegon has grown to be rather stubborn and expedient.

Daemon sees it as a clear opportunity to villainize him, "so you were being horrid."

"WAS NOT!" Aegon whines, pulling at his hair in frustration.

"Hush," you raise a hand, glaring at Daemon before offering Aegon a sympathetic look, "you weren't. But you, yourself, said you didn't wait for Helaena-"

"BECAUSE SHE'S FUCKING SLOW!"

"Aegon!" you quip, "watch your tongue!"

Daemon chuckles to himself, reveling in how the boy exemplified his horridness. Just as Daemon takes a bite of his food, Aemond, who sat beside him, tugs at his sleeve, pointing to the cake in the middle of the table.

Aemond's plate was not even half finished, and he and Daemon both knew it would greatly displease you if the boy had dessert already. Yet, your husband steals a glance at you amidst your attempt to calm your bratty nephew and casually reaches for a cakes, quickly handing it to Aemond.

The young prince gratefully curls into his chair and smiles at his uncle, "thank you, kepus."

Daemon hums and shifts, turning his body that you might not catch the child eating dessert already.

He would never admit it, but everyone knew, Aemond was his favorite. Holding him after his return from Essos, at a time he was so vulnerable, forged an profound partialness for the boy. He tried to convince himself he'd be just as wretched as his older brother, but he simply was not. Aemond was quiet, observant, obedient, and most importantly, he was not nearly as interested in you as his siblings. He was interested in Daemon, and Daemon adored it; he adored him.

Once Aegon was calm, he continued finishing his meal. Unlike from your vantage point, Aegon could clearly see Aemond snacking on cakes, and so he purses his lips and takes one for himself.

You immediately react, "finish your food first."

"BUT AEMOND IS EATING CAKE!" Aegon points.

Daemon's face darkens. Rat.

You inspect Aemond, and Daemon no longer shields him. The boy wanted cake, let him face the consequences.

"Aemond!"

Aemond turns to you, violet eyes innocent, mouth covered in frosting.

"You haven't finish your vegetables!" you reach for the cake in his hand.

Aemond whines, crushing most in an attempt to continue eating it.

You click your tongue at the mess and elbow Daemon while you're at it. You brush your nephew off while muttering sharply, "you know better than to feed the boy sweets."

Daemon raises his hands, "I did-"

You silence him with a glare.

He tenses, finding it pointless to feign innocence.

After lunch, you and Daemon bring the kids back to their rooms, the latter is eager to have you all to yourself now. As you were about to leave, Alicent arrives. She constantly look troubled as of late, now that Viserys health went on a visible decline.

"Sister," she sighs, coming to you in haste.

Daemon's expression sours when he hears the queen ask if you could spare her a moment. He grits his teeth when you, in all your kindness, readily agree, and immediately get pulled out the room.

He sighs. He watches Aegon and Aemond play with blocks and wooden dragons for a moment and quickly decides to terrorize them while waiting for your chat to end.

When you walk back in, Daemon had roped in Helaena as a fellow antagonist. Though his intentions were truly meanspirited, the children saw only amusement in their uncle as he fashioned himself as the Black Dread, kicking down the castles they were building while Helaena clung on his back, pretending to be The Conqueror.

The sight pinches your heart tightly.

Aegon squeals, trying to push his uncle away as Aemond scrams to rebuild a tower. The older boy yells, "HURRY!"

"I'M TRYING!" Aemond trembles in his haste.

Daemon sees you, sighing through a faint grin, "thank the gods."

The sound of Helaena's laughter as she's put down to your feet should have made you want to laugh with her, but it made you want to cry instead.

"No wait," Aegon cries out, "not yet! We're not finished!"

Daemon shakes his head, not budging as the boy pulls at his arm. He walks over to you, slipping out of Aegon's grasp, "I'm exhausted, boy."

Aegon whines, "but uncle!"

Soon, Aemond is begging Daemon to stay as well. Your heart continues to ache for the kids, but clearly your husband is unmoved. He eyes the boys expressionless, but then notices that even Helaena is hovering. His resolve slightly chips, "enough. I should like a nap, as should you lot."

The boys whine.

You frown.

It was a mistake to look at you then. He is powerless beneath your gaze. He curses softly in High Valyrian then waves a hand, "one last game."

The children cheer.

You watch them play. Daemon is far gentler now which makes the game far more fun. Your heart tightens over how much joy you feel that you have to step out of the room to calm yourself down.

The game is truly over then.

Daemon is quick to your side, egregiously worried at how you were clutching your chest.

You tell him you're alright, but you were so out of breath he does not understand it. He frantically mutters High Valyrian in an attempt to calm you as he rubs your back and keeps you upright.

Again, you say, "I'm alright," and he finally understands you, though he obviously cannot believe it is true.

"Shall we go for a swim?" Daemon mutters softly, so not give himself away to his panic.

You shake your head as you the tightness in your lungs slowly wanes. You lean into his chest, lulling yourself at the sound of his heart beat.

He never knows if he should wrap his arms around you during these times. He waits until you hold him for him to return the affection.

You were soft beneath his touch, no more the shell of what you were when he had first left you for the Stepstones. You were stronger now, more than even how you were when he first met you, brighter too; you had been so sad then. He revels in knowing it was because of him.

"I want to lay down," you mutter against his doublet.

Daemon nods. The lines in his forehead do not fade, for you look exhausted.

Yes, you were stronger, but it seemed even your affliction was. It didn't happen as much, and he was glad of it, but when it did, it was too much.

He rubs your arm as you slowly head back to your chambers. In an attempt to distract you, Daemon asks, "what did your sister say?"

When you look at him, it seems this was not the best choice of conversation.

He immediately shakes his head, "did I already tell you about how Caraxe-"

"It's Daeron."

He purses his lips, already knowing whatever it is will not be good.

"She cannot care for him and manage the king's health and all her duties at once. He'll be sent 45to ward in Oldtown."

Daemon's brows furrow.

"She asked me if I wanted to go with him—"

"What?" he stops you both in your tracks.

"— or if Gwayne should come here to-"

"Get the fucking cunt to crawl here. Why should you have to fucking travel to that hellhole?"

"..."

"..."

"... I-" Daemon sighs and shakes his head in frustration. He squeezes your hand, "I jus-"

"I was not going to go."

Daemon gulps.

"I am not foolish enough to believe my strength would last a day if we are apart."

Your words make him relax, and yet your soft smile makes his lips curl into a guilty frown.

"My sister too is well aware of this," you squeeze his hand back, "she asked with the intention that you'd come with me."

Daemon tenses. He does not like the sound of it.

Clearly to you and your gentle heart, you believed your sister urges such things to your betterment, and perhaps it was so, but he was not gentle. His gut screamed that the Hand had something to do with this, that it was he that planted this idea in the Queen's head. He does not speak it for your sake.

You lick your lips and take a breath, "the last time I was able to take my pregnancy to term was when I went back to Oldtown."

He tenses and knits his brows. He reaches for your cheek and shakes his head, "we've only started trying."

You look off aimlessly before turning back to him, "we started trying when Aemond was two. He is four now, and Daeron is due his first nameday."

"Do not measure yourself against your sister," Daemon's expression hardens, "she's not known a fraction of your suffering."

You do not respond. When you look away again, you do not look back.

He sighs in frustration. He does not mean to break your spirit. He slowly calls out your name.

"You're right," you shake your head, "I just-"

"Want to go to home," he whispers, scared to say it too loud.

Your gaze lands on him. Your eyes are slightly beady, which is why your chuckle confuses him. "Silly boy," you reach for his cheek, "you are my home."

His heart rattles in his chest. He takes your wrist and kisses it.

You smile, "I do however... want to go to Oldtown."

Wistfulness captures your expression, causing him to frown. He squeezes your hand gently.

"The air is different there," you shrug, "kinder, I think."

"Kinder?" he cannot control his laugh, "the land wherein your father was molded is kind?"

You do not respond.

He regrets it, as your eyes are downcast yet again. He gulps and decides to simple tell you, "it might be he that put such notions in Alicent's head."

"My father?"

"Who else?" Daemon raises a brow, "he wants me far from my brother, that he may poison him further." He adds, as if you didn't already know, "he requires a cane to walk now."

You nod, "I know."

"I know you know, I just-"

"It's fine," you raise a hand, "like I said, I was not going to go."

Daemon feels ill to see you like this, but he does not say a word as you go back to your chambers.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Worship of a Sacrificial Lamb.

Pairing: ???!Gojo Satoru x Yandere!Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 8.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @elsecrytt.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Dub/Con, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Kidnapping + Prolonged Captivity, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Wildly Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Codependency, Suicidal Ideation, Mentions of Previous Suicide Attempts, and Blood. Gojo's Not The Yandere But He Sure As Hell Isn't Normal Either. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were sure, beyond the point of reason, that Gojo Satoru was an angel.

A guardian angel, actually. Maybe even your guardian angel, if you were going to let yourself be so sickeningly romantic. Even if you were going to hold yourself to some kind of distorted rationality, you weren’t sure how anyone could ever so much as look at him and not see an act of irrefutable divine intervention. He had the body of a marble sculpture – as if some great, ancient master of their art had taken decades aside to carve the embodiment of all things good and beautiful  – and a face any model would’ve killed for. His hair was the most brilliant shade of white you’d ever seem, purer than cloud and softer than velvet, and there was a special place in your heart reserved entirely for his lips – pretty and pale and so lovely that if you ever got the chance to kiss him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

Of course, his eyes were your favorite. Not that it was easy to pick a favorite part of Satoru – no, you’d spent long hours deliberating over the perfectly straight arch of his jawline and the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the gentle slope of his shoulders and harsh angles of his hands – but if you absolutely had to, you’d say his eyes were the part of him you spent the most time thinking about, that you adored above all else, that would’ve wanted to keep for yourself if you couldn’t have Satoru as whole. The color of the sky and twice as clear, you could still remember the way they’d seemed to glow in the dim light of the deserted street where you’d first met, the way your heart broke just a little every time he blinked or fluttered those perfect snow-white eyelashes. If you could’ve, you would’ve liked to keep a spare set in a small glass jar – something clear and sturdy that you could carry with you whenever you didn’t have access to the real thi—

“...ma’am?” And then, leaning forward, flashing a perfect smile and snapping his perfect fingers, “I think I might’ve lost you, there.”

You perked up, nodding frantically before thinking better of it and, with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I—” You paused, clearing your throat and taking a sip of your coffee before going on. “I’m just having a little trouble concentrating. You can keep going.”

That was enough to earn a breath of a laugh from your perfect Satoru, and immediately, you fell in love with him all over again. He mirrored you, taking a sip of his own drink (some awful, adorable type of frozen hot chocolate served half-drowned in whip-cream) before responding, his melodic voice akin to birdsong and rainfall and every other delicate, beautiful thing in the world. “I know it can be a lot to take in. For someone in your situation, especially.” What that situation was, you weren’t entirely sure. Still, you nodded and smiled like he’d said the most comprehensible thing you’d ever heard. “Just try to stay with me. I promise – curses are a lot less scary when you know what they are.”

His head lulled to the side, his perfect eyes lulling into something softened and dream-like, and just like that, he’d lost you again. It was unfair, honestly. He’d been the one to invite you, scrawling down his name and phone number on a scrap of paper with the excuse that he owed you an explanation, but you’d picked out your meeting spot (a café on the edge of business district, somewhere he’d never go on his own but that suited his preference to a T), made sure you arrived half an hour early to claim a table in the most secluded corner and order a drink you knew he’d like just in time for his to be fifteen minutes late. You were lucky, really. Anyone else would’ve noticed your starry-eyed gaze and giddy smiles and figured out that there was something deeply, deeply wrong with you, but not your Satoru. He was probably used to hero-worship, even if the thought of anyone else sharing the same connection with him that you did was enough to make you grit your teeth.

Now wasn’t the time for that, though. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts as the corner of his lips quirked downward – the closest thing to a proper frown you’d ever seen him wear. Whatever he might’ve gone on to say about wizards and invisible monsters was lost entirely as he trailed off, his eyes darting to either side behind the dark lenses of his glasses. “Sorry, ma’am, I think I—” With an uncharacteristic clumsiness, he pushed himself to his feet, nearly tipping over his chair. In your peripheral, you watched for concerned samaritans and curious onlookers, but came up empty. That was good. That made sense. It was a busy coffee shop during the late-morning rush on a weekday – who’d ever think to pay attention to the couple in the far corner? Even half of that couple was a deity in the flesh. “I think I need a second.”

It was smart of him – to make such a hasty retreat. He barely waited for you to give one final, enthusiastic nod before cutting through the crowd and disappearing into a unisex bathroom.

It was smart, but it would’ve been smarter to run somewhere you couldn’t follow.

Saliva pooled under your tongue, your fingers drumming erratic and involuntary rhythms into the table, but while Satoru might’ve been an angel, you had the patience of a saint. You counted down the seconds, nursing your coffee and occasionally checking your phone, until three minutes had passed, only getting up when you were sure you would’ve been seen waiting. Rather than moving towards the exit, you positioned yourself at the edge of the counter, flagging down the youngest barista – a mousey girl in her late teens, with an expression that said she’d do anything to be helpful and a shrunken quality that told you she’d do even more not to get in trouble. “I’m so, so, so sorry to bother you, but—It’s my boyfriend,” you started, wringing your hands together and keeping your eyes on the floor. There was a sick thrill that came with calling Satoru your boyfriend, even if it wasn’t true, but you were careful to keep your tone strictly apologetic. “He’s, uh—He’s got a thing about crowds, and he’s kind of having an episode. Is there any way I could get him out of here without making a scene?”

There was – an employee exit just next to the door to the storage room, one that opened up directly into a back alley that would’ve kept a comfortable distance between you and the main road. Her eyes lit up, but she made a show of looking concerned, of glancing to her smothered coworkers, before looking back to you. “Well, we’re not supposed to let customers—”

“Please?” You tried, and then, with a type of cloying desperation, “It’s kind of an emergency. He just really needs to get outside.”

It took a second, then another, but finally, she cracked with a muted sigh. “There is a backdoor – past the bathrooms and to your left. I… I have to ask my manager, but I should be able to leave it unlocked.”

You didn’t have to fake your gratitude. You bowed your head, mumbling ecstatic little ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s as you turned on your heel and moved towards the restroom. You’d been prepared to pick the lock, but Satoru must’ve been more affected than you realized – he was already so out of it, he’d left the door open. You could only be thankful no one else had seen come in. You couldn’t imagine there was anyone in the world who could resist taking advantage of someone as wonderful as Satoru in such a vulnerable state.

Grinning to yourself, you shouldered the door open and stepped inside, shutting and locking it behind you.

Satoru didn’t make himself heard to find. He’d collapsed onto the faux-marble vanity, his feet still on the ground but his back braced against the mirror, one hand clamped around the side of the sick while the other struggled to form one of the strange, distorted symbols he’d used the night you met him. His half-lidded eyes widened when he saw you, his mouth falling open, but he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. You couldn’t blame him. The sedative you’d used was strong enough to put a grown man under with a single dose, and you’d given Satoru enough to put a horse into a coma.

“Hey, pretty boy.” You took a tentative step forward, and when he didn’t react, another. His fingers twitched, but whatever he was trying to do was forgotten as soon as you took him by the hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “It’s not that bad, is it? You should just be a little tired.”

Again, predictably, there was no response. His perfect lips opened wider before sealing into an acute, adorable pout, and you drank in the sight like a man starved.

Cooing, you leaned in closer – placing your body in the space between his open legs and squeezing his hand before letting go entirely. Rather, you cupped his face, admiring the pink flush spread across his pale cheeks, the glossy sheen over those beautiful eyes. Suddenly, it was too much to take, and you jolting forward; your mouth crashing into his and your tongue pushing past his lips, his teeth. His taste was euphoric – caramel and cream and everything good and sweet and divine – but you didn’t give yourself long to savor it before you pulled away, dropping to your knees. You hadn’t meant to move this quickly, but you loved Satoru. You worshiped Satoru.

And no real acolyte would ever refuse to kneel in front of their sacred alter, if given the chance.

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, he wasn’t hard. You let his jeans and boxers (the latter patterned with pure-white bunnies – cute) pool at his ankles as you wrapped a fist around his cock, pressing a kiss into the curve of his shaft. Like every other part of him, his dick was perfect – long and lean, with a slight left-leaning tilt and a few thin, ridged veins that you dragged you tongue over before taking the head into your mouth properly. Admittedly, it’d been a while since your last hook-up (and even longer since you’d cared enough about another person to put any more than a passable amount of effort in), but everything about Satoru seemed to come naturally to you. His reactions were limited to a vacant stare and the occasional, breathy noise, but soon enough, you felt him stiffen against the flat of your tongue, filling out your fist where you pumped lazily over his shaft. If it’d been anyone else, you might’ve been disappointed at just how quickly he went from soft to stiff to leaking thick beads of arousal, but not with your Satoru. Of course he was sensitive. Angels were supposed to be delicate.

Using one hand to brace yourself against his thigh, you reached up with the other and found his hand, still hanging dully where you’d left it. It was a bit of an odd position – trying to hold his hand while bobbing your head and doing your best not to choke on his cock – but you made it work. It wasn’t long before those little, breathy noises built into cracked whimpers and airy whines, before you could feel him twitching against the roof of his mouth. It was hard to see, given the angle, but when you thought to look, you could make out tears forming in the corners of his eyes, something new knit into his expression. It wasn’t quite distress – or, at least, not the kind of distress you’d been expecting – but you didn’t recognize it. That didn’t really matter, though, not if you were being honest with yourself.

It was coming from your Satoru, and that was enough to make it beautiful.

You moaned around him, and a pitchy keen slipped past his numb lips, his grip going vice-like where he held your hand. You swallowed him down to the hilt as he came, determined not to waste a drop of what you’d fought so hard for, before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his cock for a lingering second, then another before that connection snapped and severed you from him completely. Suppressing the urge to mourn its loss, you pushed yourself to your feet and pulled him close – pressing a kiss into his neck, then his jaw, then the corner of his lips. “Such a good boy,” you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “My good boy. My perfect little angel.”

This time, Satoru did react – slumping against you even as his hand remained braced around yours. You took him by the shoulders, leaning back just far enough to see his eyes lull, blink, then shut entirely. He wasn’t unconscious - you could see a certain stiffness to his shoulder, a rigidity to his posture – but it was clear that you’d worn him out. You smiled, shaking your head as you raked your fingers through his hair and laughing as you found it just as soft as you’d imagined. “Think it’s time to go home, ‘toru?”

Rather than pull away from you, he seemed to melt even further. It was barely more than a whisper, but you made it out as clear as day. “…home?”

“Yes, angel,” you laughed, pressing your lips against his forehead.

“Home.”

~

He was asleep by the time you reached your car, and thoroughly knocked out by the time you got back to your townhouse – a modest machiya in a neighborhood that valued its privacy. Admittedly, carrying a man twice your height with triple your weight in muscle could’ve gone better, but you managed. There was a short list of things you couldn’t do for Satoru.

The sedatives had already proved less effective than you’d been promised, but still, you had plenty of time to get him into his bedroom, lock the titanium collar around his neck, and most importantly, change his clothes. You’d already picked out a new wardrobe for him – all whites and creams and soft pastels, nothing as harsh as the restrictive, black uniform he usually wore. Not that Satoru didn’t look good in black; you were sure he’d look breath-taking in anything! Even if he decided to wear, you didn’t know, an all-leather body suit, you were sure he’d—

…

You’d have to look into ordering a custom set. Preferably in white, but you’d settle for blue, if you had to.

You’d also made sure his room suited him, too. After making sure you had the bare necessities (deadbolts, bars over the windows, etc.), you might’ve gone a little overboard. You wanted Satoru to feel comfortable, so you made sure to work-in a few of the cute, soft things that reminded you of him – string lights and stuffed animals and plush blankets all the same color as his hair. You knew he was prone to migraines, but you couldn’t stand the idea of letting him put anything between you and those beautiful eyes, so you compromised with permanently low lighting and heavy curtains over his singular window. Entertainment might be an issue, since you obviously couldn’t give him anything with an internet connection, but—

You heard Satoru stir, and immediately, every logistic thought you might’ve had died and fell away. You’d planned to keep your distance while he woke up, but in an instant, you were perched on the side of his bed, your gaze fixed on his lax expression as he slowly woke up.

It was surprisingly peaceful – his slow trek back into consciousness. Long seconds passed between the first awkward stagger in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the moment he actually opened his eyes, still glassy and unfocused with exhaustion. You didn’t rush him. It was all you could do to watch as he sucked in a harsh breath and pulled himself up, only to collapse against the headboard just as quickly. A hand drifted to his shirt, fisting at the alien material, then to the collar around his neck. He didn’t try to take it off, which was good. You didn’t want to have to resort to something so ugly so early on.

Finally, he seemed to perk up – glancing around his new bedroom, as if evaluating it. When he turned to you, you smiled, and Satoru remained blank.

You broke the silence. “Welcome home, ‘toru.” You swallowed back the temptation to tell him how happy you were to finally have him here, how long you’d been waiting for this moment, instead centering your attention on his needs. “Do you want something to drink? You shouldn’t eat so soon, but you were out for a while. It seemed like you could use a little rest.”

A beat passed, but eventually, Satoru shook his head – as polite as could be expected, given the circumstances. “…you’re the one who kidnapped me?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re not a curse-user? Or working for the higher-ups?”

More made-up words. You decided to let him have his fun. “No, I’m not.”

“Why, then?”

Your smile widened. You’d been hoping he would ask. “You’re not dumb, Satoru. The day you found me—” Or, rather, the day you’d found yourself in his arms, barefoot and shaking, caught by a divinely beautiful stranger after taking a long fall off of a short building. The day you’d fallen in love with him. The most important day of your life. “I’m sure you know that no one actually pushed me.”

And, even if he didn’t, it couldn’t be hard to believe. There were only so many reasons a salary-worker would be on the roof of their office building in the middle the night, only so many reasons you would’ve left your heels and your coat on the same ledge you’d eventually topple off of. He’d been kind enough to get them for you, as you sat sobbing into your hands on the curb. He only pursed his lips, though, his eyes remaining perfectly lifeless. You took that as a sign to go on.

“My job is—” Terrible. Pointless. Soul-sucking. It paid well, and nothing you did was particularly hard, but the constant overtime and mindless pencil-pushing meant you had very little time for yourself and even less to show for it – besides the paycheck, of course. You couldn’t even say you hated it. You’d just been so ready for something, anything else, and it’d worked, in a way. You’d gotten Satoru. “—pretty boring. I’ve never really liked spending time with other people, and I’m not particularly good at anything aside from busy-work, so I really didn’t have a reason to stick around. But, then you saved me, and you were so kind, and so heroic, and I—”

You shut your eyes, curling your hands into fists. Not unlike a schoolgirl, too embarrassed to confess properly. “I love you, Satoru.”

There was no response, not at first. Internally, you panicked – what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he didn’t realize that this was for the best? What if he’d rather die than—

“You…” His tone was light, airy, only the slightest traces of shock shining through. As if he didn’t believe you. “You love me?”

“More than anything.” And, just like that, you were spilling open. “I—I thought it’d be enough to keep an eye on you from a distance, for a while, but after a few days – after seeing how much you worked and how little you slept and how terribly you took care of yourself – I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t live without you, and, well,” You cut yourself off with a sudden laugh, only a little forced. “You couldn’t have gone on much longer if I hadn’t stopped in. Not like that.”

For a second, he seemed to regard you. It was strange, how hollow he seemed compared to how vibrant he’d been every time he’d spoken to you previously, but you didn’t mind. Not all gods could be cheerful ones. Even divinity had to be morose, from time to time.

Still, your racing heart beat a little faster when the corner of his mouth twitched into a slight, cocked smile. He didn’t say anything, but he shifted, reached out, tentatively resting a hand on your knee before bringing it up to your thigh, then your hip. After waiting for you to nod (which you did, eagerly), he pulled you closer – into his lap. You managed to keep your guard up for all of three seconds before he collapsed onto you entirely, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You melted against him with just as much pathetic desperation, grateful beyond words to have the distance between you finally closed. “Do you really mean that?”

“And then some. When you reached out to me, my heart almost burst with happiness. It was hard to believe you even remembered that I existed.” You nestled against him. “I meant what I said about wanting to take care of you, too. You shouldn’t have to worry about yourself ever again, not after everything you did for me.”

There was more, of course. Rules to go over, punishments to warn against, specifics to lay out, but he wasn’t fighting back, or trying to escape, and he was tucked so sweetly against you – it would’ve been a shame to move, let alone start listing off threats. Thankfully, tragically, Satoru ripped the band-aid off first. Slowly, he lifted his head, drawing back just far enough to dart back in for a clumsy, lip-bruising kiss. You’d already, technically, stolen his first, but there was a difference between kissing his limp body and feeling his lips move sloppily against yours. It was a fragile, immature connection – all scraping teeth and kneading hands and Satoru’s little, throaty moans, but you didn’t dare break it off until your lungs ached. Even then, you held him as close as you could as his hands fell to your waist, a thumb slipping under the waistband of your skirt and—

“Down boy,” you laughed, and Satoru glanced up, pouting. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but not so soon. You’re still in shock, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

The impulse blowjob a few hours prior felt unnecessary to mention.

Satoru seemed conflicted. He was still in that sort of blank, softened state, but he let out a whine by way of protest. It was all you could do to sigh, kissing his forehead before going on. “Later on, ‘toru. After I’m sure that you can be trusted to behave.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make love (‘fuck’ felt to crude, ‘sex’ too clinical; making love wasn’t perfect, but it was what you had) to Satoru. You would’ve done anything to take care of him, anything to keep him happy, but there’d always been a gap in your mind when it came to your own pleasure – an instinct that urged against expecting your love to be requited. As far as you could guess, it would come with time – after you’d started thinking of him as less of an angel and more of something able to love you back. The delay was for the best, really. Intimacy would make you vulnerable, exploitable. You needed to show Satoru how strong, how strict you could be, first.

“That sucks.” It was almost endearingly childish, just how shamelessly he sulked. It took a few more pecks and another minute or so of coddling before he sighed. “You can keep kissing me though, right?”

“Of course,” you said, automatically. It was a dangerous promise to make, with plenty of chances for unwanted escalation, but you never would’ve been able to say ‘no’ to Satoru – not so directly, at least. Not when he was looking at you with those beautiful, pitiful eyes.

“Anything for you.”

~

“So when are you going to use the collar?”

The question was posed casually, unprompted and unrushed. Still, you paused, humming as you glanced over to Satoru. He’d gotten more talkative in the two or three weeks since you brought him home, but he still seemed caught in that quiet, liquid haze of tranquility – all easy smiles and half-lidded eyes and slow, sloppy kisses from the moment you came home to the second you had to leave. He seemed to be enjoying himself, spending his time basking in your affection and letting you take care of him, and that made you happy. All you’d ever wanted was for him to be safe and looked after, and he was. You could make sure of that, now.

(Admittedly, there was a small, negligible part of that had expected there to be some resistance – a hissy fit, a muted protest, something aggressive and combative that wouldn’t be calmed with a few kind words and a gentle touch – and mourned the fact that Satoru was taking this all so well. It wasn’t that you wanted him to hate you, but you’d always struggled to trust what came to you easily. If you had to work for Satoru’s love, you could be sure that you’d earned it. If you had to smother him into submission, you wouldn’t have to wonder if he was only lulling you into a false sense of security before stealing away all the tools you used to keep him safe. You tried not to be so pessimistic – outwardly, at least.)

“I won’t have to, preferably.” Pulling a towel off of the nearest rack, you bent down to his height and started to ruffle his hair dry. He shut his eyes, but didn’t try to stop you. Currently, he was sitting on the wall of your bathtub, only partially dressed in a pair of tan sweatpants while you finished drying his hair. You could shower alone before work in the morning, but Satoru needed more care. He needed to be treated like something precious, and he’d already proved that you couldn’t trust him with such an important responsibility. “It’s kind of a last resort. It should only go off if you try to leave.” And then, as you burrowed your nails into the towel., “Is that… Is that something you’re going to do, ‘toru?”

“Never. You keep me too good n’ spoiled.” He flashed you a lazy grin, and just like that, you were looking away, biting down on your tongue, trying to coax your heart back into beating at a steady rhythm. You pretended to be busy rummaging through the nearest drawer for a brush, but Satoru only laughed. His next question was just as probing. “It came with a remote, though, right?”

“…like I said, it’s a last resort,” you repeated, too flustered to lie. “I don’t want to hurt you. Unless you tried to escape or attacked me, I really can’t see myself doing anything so—” Blasphemous. Unforgivable. Sinful. “—harsh.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Like always, he was a little too quick, a little too willing. You bit back a scowl. “I just think it could be romantic, y’know?  I’d get to see how much you’re willing to do for me, or something like that.”

You forced a bark of a laugh. “There’s nothing romantic about me hurting you, baby. ‘specially not if I’m only doing it because you acted out.”

“I promise, I’m tougher than I look.” Another smile, even more dazzling than the first. Again, you felt your head start to speed up, only to stop beating entirely the second he went on. “I used to have this friend – Suguru – and he’d—”

Your hand was in your pocket before you had time to stop yourself, the plastic remote clenched in your fist before you had time to think. You’d never read the manual, never thought you’d have to use it, but that didn’t matter. There was only one button, and it only did one thing.

Satoru’s voice cut out as the current picked-up, pumping the maximum voltage into his throat. Satoru didn’t scream, didn’t thrash, but he reacted – going rigid as his beautiful eyes went painfully wide. The whole thing was silent save for a low, almost inaudible buzzing-type sound, and you kept your thumb pressed into the singular button for a second, then another, before forcing yourself to let go. Even that was more difficult than it should’ve been. You couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him, but…

Fuck. You would’ve done anything not to hear Satoru say his name ever again.

To his credit, Satoru didn’t collapse. When it was over, he only buckled forward – catching himself on his thighs as he dragged in a jolting, ragged breath. You were on your knees in front of him in a second, his face in your hands and your mouth on his cheek, his forehead, his neck, as if you could kiss away the pain. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” you chanted, each word less coherent than the last. “It’s just—I’ve read about him in your diaries, and I should’ve known you’d bring him up, and—”

“I love you.”

You went quiet.

You tried to pull away from him, but his arms lashed out; wrapping around your midriff and pulling you closer – burying his face in the dip of your shoulder, the crook of your neck. Again, he repeated, “I love you.”

For a second, you thought about pulling away, about sending him back to his room while you pulled yourself together. For a second, you considered reaching for your remote, again.

Then, you settled against him, shutting your eyes and resting your head against his chest.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

~

Admittedly, Satoru’s apartment was the closest thing you had to a guilty pleasure. The first time you’d broken in, you were still on the fence about just how much he needed your help, but by the third, or the fourth, or the fifth, you’d already made up your mind about bringing him home. You’d only visited a handful of times since, but it was nice to stop in every now-and-then, to remind yourself there were two distinct eras of Satoru’s life – prior to the day he’d met you, and post. Getting to spend a few minutes tucked into a space so essentially Satoru wasn’t something you were opposed to, either.

You made your way slowly through his former home – stepping over heaps of abandoned clothes and stopping to straighten forgotten piles of cluttered paperwork he would never be forced to re-visit. Satoru didn’t have any close friends or family who’d stop by uninvited, which meant every little detail was exactly how Satoru would’ve left it. The fridge was still empty, the freezer stocked with frozen, pre-packaged desserts; the walls were still empty and drab, utterly devoid of life; and best of all, his bed still smelled exactly like him. It was a silly thing to be so excited about, especially when you had the source waiting for you at home, but you collapsed onto the mattress without hesitation, shutting your eyes and basking in the evidence of just how hopeless he’d been, before you had a chance to—

Clipped footsteps, followed shortly by the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open. You bolted upward, your pocket knife (because self-defense was important when you treated breaking-and-entering like a hobby) in your hand in a fraction of a second, but the intruder didn’t seem quite so concerned.

It was a woman – deathly pale and worryingly gaunt, just a little too short to be considered average. She regarded you with a cold stare before nodding by way of greeting. “I’m guessing you’re Satoru’s girlfriend?”

The irritation that came with hearing someone else use his given name was immediately overshadowed by pure, euphoric delight. Smiling like an idiot, you asked, “He calls me his girlfriend?”

“Oh, I’m not going to repeat what he calls you.” Her gaze dropped to your knife, now little more than an afterthought. “You can drop the weapon,” she said, holding up a manila envelope stuffed to the point of bursting. “Just here to pick up his lesson plans. It’s been a pain in the ass – having to cover for him since you two started playing house.”

She sounded agitated, but only mildly so. A small, rational part of your mind urged you to linger on the mild irritation in her voice, the odd casualness in the way she spoke to you. She couldn’t have talked to Satoru recently, not the months he’d spent with you, but if she was concerned for his safety, she wasn’t concerned enough to bring up the issue now.

The vast, easily distracted majority could only chant girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if Satoru had talked about you often, if he’d ever mentioned your name, if she remembered word-for-word what he’d said about you, but she was already gone – muttering a curt goodbye and slamming the bedroom door behind her. By the time you could force yourself off of his bed, she’d disappeared entirely.

That day, you picked up roses as white as his hair and forget-me-nots as blue as his eyes on your way home. Just to remind Satoru how much you really loved him.

~

Satoru greeted you as soon as you got home, like he’d done every day since you gave him permission to roam freely. You didn’t call out, didn’t ring the bell, and yet, as soon as the door was closed and locked behind you, he was there; his arms wrapped around your waist and your body hauled against his. He held you in that bone-crushing embrace for a second, then another before lowering you back onto your feet. You clung to him for just a little longer before letting go.

He always seemed to be smiling, but tonight, he was beaming. He pulled you into an eager kiss, only to jerk back just as abruptly, too excited not to start talking while his lips were still pressed against yours. “Happy six-month anniversary,” he managed, quickly enough for the words to blend together. “I, uh—It’s not much, but I got you something. I thought it’d be cute to leave it in your office, but that might’ve been— I mean, I can bring it to you if—”

“Remember to breathe, ‘toru,” you cut in, laughing. He let his head lull to the side sheepishly, and you went on. “You got me something?”

“It’s not a lot,” he reiterated, still shy. “I’m sorry, I’m not really used to this. I wanted to have dinner ready when you came home, too, but I think it needs a few more minutes.”

It was hard to believe, sometimes – just how lucky you’d gotten. There were only so many human beings who could say they’d met an angel, and you got to come home to one every night.

“You’re perfect.” Satoru blushed, and you pulled him close, pecking the bridge of his nose just underneath the bar of his glasses. “Finish up. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen to tell you how much I love my gift.”

Reluctantly, you detached from Satoru, and made your way to the home office you’d all-but abandoned after bringing Satoru home. His present sat on the edge of your desk: a small mason jar, just the right size to sit in the palm of your hand, filled with water and finished off with a jet-black ribbon tied around the lid. Two spherical objects floated near the bottom. Even from a distance, you recognized them immediately.

Satoru’s eyes.

If you’d been holding the jar, you would’ve dropped it. They had to be fake, but they couldn’t be – replicas wouldn’t have been so bright, so organic, so perfect. He’d been wearing glasses, but you’d been able to see his eyes, and— and even if you couldn’t, it wasn’t like he’d be able to carve his own eyes out in the nine hours you spent away from him. Had there been blood on his clothes? You couldn’t remember, now. Was he hurt? Had you ever seen him hurt himself? He couldn’t have left, but—

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your midriff, drawing you against a broad chest. The metal of his collar pressed into the back of your head as he slotted himself against you. “You mentioned how much you like my eyes, once,” Satoru explained, the eagerness in his melodic voice now painful to listen to. “I… I thought you might want a couple spares. For when we can’t be together. And, after dinner, I thought we could finally…”

He trailed off, embarrassed. Still, what he wanted was clear.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything.

Then, with a heavy exhale, you forced yourself to glance over your shoulder, facing Satoru with a smile. “Not tonight, ‘toru.” You’d never been thankful not to be able to see the clear blue of his eyes, before.

“But soon. I promise.”

~

You couldn’t find Satoru.

It was hard to believe, even as you hunched against the wall of his bedroom, your knees pulled into your chest and tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes. You’d looked everywhere – torn apart every room in your house, overturned furniture, called his name until your throat ached – but he just—he wasn’t there. You’d checked the locks (still in-tact) and all the windows (decisively unbroken), but the only sign of him you’d managed to find was his collar – cold and abandoned, undone and left carefully on the foot of his bed. It would’ve been impossible for him to take off without the remote still sitting safely in your purse, the mechanism was strong enough to endure getting hit with a car, and yet, it was here, and he wasn’t.

God. You were so fucked.

The open collar sat on the floor next to you, your pocket knife immediately next to it. Satoru was gone. He’d left you, or been taken – it didn’t matter. Your life was over. He’d go to the police, and you’d be arrested, and you’d never get to see Satoru again. Even if he didn’t go to the police, he was never coming back. Either way, it was a death sentence.

You were never going to see Satoru again.

Half-consciously, your hand found your knife, fingers curling around the handle. For the first time in months, you remembered what your life was like prior to meeting Satoru. You remembered what you’d tried to do - what you would’ve done, if he hadn’t been there to save you.

You drew in a shaky breath, tightening your hold on your knife and raising it – first to your chest, and then thinking better of it, your throat. You weren’t very strong, but you weren’t very durable, either. If you were lucky, it’d only take a minute or so before—

“Baby?”

You stiffened, blotting out. For a moment, your mind went perfectly, euphorically blank.

When you came to, you weren’t pressed against the wall, but on your knees – straddling Satoru’s waist. The knife was still in your hand, but you couldn’t see the blade. It was buried in Satoru’s stomach to the hilt.

To his credit, he didn’t scream. His reaction was uncannily alike his response to the shock collar – wide eyes and parted lips, pain and shock only visible in the absence of his smile. Warm blood soaked through the fabric of his uniform jacket, washing over your hand, but you didn’t care. Only half-voluntary, you pulled the knife back and brought it down. You did it again, and again, and again, each motion repetitive and mechanical. You’d never killed anyone, before. It was unfair that the first had to be Satoru.

It was only when the blade of your knife met loose pulp rather than solid flesh that you paused, dropping your weapon entirely. Rather, your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through tattered fabric and tearing. You let out a miserable sob as you clawed at his chest, trying aimlessly to dig to his heart. “You left,” you whined, like that would explain anything. “You were gone, and I couldn’t find you, and I thought I’d never see you again, and—” You cut yourself, gasping. “And you’re dying. Oh my god, Satoru, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

It never occurred to you to call an ambulance. Your body seemed to move on its own, clambering down just far enough to tear at the waistband of his pants, to free his cock. “’m just fine, princess,” he muttered, but you weren’t in a state to listen. With a frantic sort of desperation, you pumped your fist over his length, his blood serving as good-enough lubrication. Satoru let out a low groan – the noise impossible to read as pain or relief. “Even better, with such a pretty view.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Your fist wasn’t working. Too frantic to be graceful, you forced his cock past your lip and fucked the tip into the hollow of your cheek, doing your best to ignore how his natural bitter mixed with the near-overwhelming iron-tinge. That, at least, got you a reaction – another rough groan, his hand in your hair as his tip started to leak arousal and you felt his shaft stiffen against your hand. You almost choked on your own relief, but Satoru soothed you, his blunt nails scrapping over your scalp as he cooed. “Been waiting so long to see you like this…” He trailed off, laughed. You felt another jolt of fresh blood leak from the tattered flesh of his stomach. There was enough to pool on the floor below him, now. “’m sorry – did I say that already? Thought I could step out for a second before you got home, deal with a last-minute mission, but—” His voice hitched as you let out another sob around him. “—clearly, my pretty girl can’t be left alone for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why he was still talking. Every word hurt more than the last – like he was trying to make it that much harder for you to do the only thing you could. When you pulled away from him, it was only to let out a fractured cry, to bury your face in his thigh, muffling your voice until it was only a whisper above nothing. “You can’t leave me. If I don’t have—If you’re not here, then I can’t—”

“Hey, hey, don’t talk like that. I’m not going anywhere.” You felt the hand in your hair dip lower, cupping your cheek. Another caught you by the chin, tilting your head back, until you were staring at Satoru – blood-drenched and glorious, sitting up and smiling down at you. He shouldn’t have been moving, you shouldn’t have let him move, and yet, it was all you could to do jolt upward and throw yourself against his chest, your mouth latching instinctually onto his neck. You’d always been so careful not to bite, not to bruise, not to do anything that’d leave a mark and mar his perfection, but suddenly, your love felt less like an act of pure-hearted preservation and more like the desperate throes of a forsaken acolyte clinging to the blessings of a dying god. It was hard to worship divinity as something everlasting when your hands were stained in its blood.

 So you didn’t try to. You dug your teeth into the side of his throat without reservation, cautious only not to visit the same patch of skin twice. Satoru felt any pain, if he could feel anything after losing so much blood, his only reaction was an airy laugh and a shallow kiss to your temple as his hand found your hips, then your sides. You felt yourself leaving the ground long seconds before your processed that Satoru was lifting you up, and even then, your awareness was burdened by a numbing sort of confusion. You wanted to tell him not to move, not to breathe, to let you help. You wanted to find your knife.

In the end, though, you only strung your arms around his neck and let him lay you on his bed, the mattress dipping where he kneeled in the space between your open legs.

In a daze, you felt your skirt being slid up to your waist, your panties shoved aside and replaced by the soft warmth of Satoru’s mouth. Like always, he was adorably clumsy – the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as his tongue lapped and traced over your pussy. His fingertips dug too harshly into your thighs, his tongue thrusting into you too erratically, his little whines and occasional whimper too pitchy to allow for any real reverberation, but your poor nerves were so fried and your heart was still beating so fast and it would’ve taken a miracle for you not to cum – moaning pathetically as you bucked into his mouth. You’d imagined this scenario before, pictured yourself showering him with praise as you taught him exactly how to make you cum on his pretty tongue, but this was too quick, too abrupt, too out of your control. You weren’t in a state to teach. If he learned something from this, you doubted it would be the right lesson.

You reached for him as he straightened his back, but Satoru caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his stomach. Rather than mangled flesh and exposed viscera, your palm pressed against perfect in-tact, perfectly seamless skin. Like he’d never been injured. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of death only a few minutes ago.

Like you’d never even touched him.

“See, baby? I already told you – I’m not going anywhere.” His smile was soft, his voice soothing, but he was distracted. With a fist curled around his shaft, he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance, heavy beads of his arousal drooling onto your cunt and down your slit. “You had me worried for a while, there.” This time, his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “I know what I’m good for. Thought you might get sick of me before I ever got a chance to prove it.”

It would’ve been impossible to tell if Satoru was still in pain, or if he was capable of feeling something so human at all. The hurt that sliced through your chest, though, was agonizing. “I would never do that, ‘toru.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, too – it’s unfair to keep comparing you to him.” He bowed his head, dipping low enough for the heat of his breath to ghost over the shell of your ear, when he went on. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

There was a shuddering inhale, a sudden pressure against your slit. He pushed into you slowly, less concerned with your comfort than he was savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him, of your body inviting him deeper, closer. You held your breath, doing your best to memorize every curve and vein, to accommodate him even as his length threatened to split you open. It wasn’t painful, but even if had been, you wouldn’t have complained. This was what you were supposed to want. This was what you were supposed to do for Satoru.

You could only wonder, then, why it felt so cold.

It was only when hips pressed into yours and he was fully hilted inside of you that he picked himself up – a hand planted on either side of your head, a broad, careless smile plastered across his lips. You registered that his lips were moving a full moment before you recognized the sound of his voice, as angelic as it was unbearable.

“I love you.”

For the first time, you didn’t bother trying to say anything at all.

[femmeloverboy]

I saw someone say that Jinx got a satisfying ending because she .... was suicidal and finally got to die? Uh. Yeah, that's not satisfying dude!!!! The idea that the only happy ending for mentally ill characters is death, is such a god awful message. She struggled for 2 whole seasons and never got a break, and her whole arc ended miserably and it's so unfair to her character. I know characters can be entirely tragic, but I truly believe it is unfair. Especially because she was DOING BETTER when she had Isha, demonstrating she can begin to recover, only to have that ripped from her so she could truly give up on life again and become suicidal. I am so unhappy with Isha's character, the way she was used as a plot device for Jinx's development only to die and then Jinx's development goes down the drain and she dies too? What was the POINT?

It also makes me bitter that caitvi sex scene happened in Jinx's jail cell, not long after Jinx had directly communicated suicidal ideation to Vi and went off to attempt. It's almost portrayed in a way where Vi chooses Caitlyn (an enforcer, an oppressor) over her own sister. It makes me bitter that caitvi got a good ending despite everything Caitlyn did, which she never apologised for, and it was never properly addressed. The oppression Caitlyn and the enforcers caused the zaunites was entirely swept under the rug.

This isn't even mentioning the other characters who got terrible endings. Ekko, especially. I am happy for caitvi and jayvik fans but I think ppl are so preoccupied with YAY! LESBIAN SEX! YAOI! That they fail to see how unsatisfying the ending was for other important major characters, or they just don't care cuz their fave ship got a decent ending. Don't pmo 😭😭 IDC IF UR FAVE GOT A GOOD ENDING!!!! IT SHOULDVE BEEN MY FAVES (JINX AND EKKO) INSTEAD!!!!!! I would've preferred to see literally any other character die than Jinx.

[blitzwhore]

Stolas just standing there and letting blitz hug him in the end is all good, right? He is just sad because of octavia and accepting that blitz is there with him right?? It's not that he regrets chosing him, right??? (I just need affirmation)

You know what? I've found myself needing reassurance about this too. So let's take a moment to look at the facts together, shall we?

(This reply turned out way longer than I expected it to 😅 sorry!)

Fact #1 - Stolas is still coming to terms with the consequences of his actions. He spends the whole episode finding out just how much his life has changed. Learning how to navigate groceries, and laundry, and meals, and having a job, and worrying about money.

Mid-episode, he has a breakdown where he truly questions if everything he gave up was worth it just for a fantasy. At this point in the episode, he still hasn't realised how much he means to Blitz. As far as he's concerned, he did all of this for someone who doesn't reciprocate his feelings. By the end of the episode, though, his feelings have settled enough for him to express what he has known to be true all along: that saving Blitz was the right thing to do.

What Stolas regrets isn't saving Blitz's life, or even loving Blitz in the first place.

What he regrets are the choices he made that led them to this. He feels guilty for selfishly (or, rather, naively) playing out his fantasies. He's the one who established the deal, who let Blitz illegally use the book for many months, who wasn't always sensible about how he expressed his love for Blitz publicly and despite being married, and who allowed himself to ignore the reality of his situation so he could live in his own, personal romcom—all of which ultimately led to the events of Mastermind and the loss of Via.

And all the guilt and regret he's grappling with (however justified it might be) is exacerbated by fact #2, which is:

Fact #2 - Stolas is off his medication. He's been off it for a month now. Symptoms of depression (especially untreated depression) include mood swings, irritability, self-hatred and low self-esteem, passive/active suicidal ideation, pessimism and hopelessness about the future, catastrophising, black-and-white thinking, and anhedonia (inability to feel pleasure and to find joy in things—and people—who used to bring you it). All symptoms Stolas exhibits throughout this episode.

So, even if he shows a lack of emotion toward Blitz at times, or irritation to seemingly minor things like low doors or "secretating" or Karen's behaviour, even if he acts regretful and angry and desolate... a lot of these emotions and behaviours are a result of his depression, and not of actually hating the life he chose.

Fact #3 - Stolas loves Blitz. He always has, and always will. I could point at a thousand different moments in the show when Stolas' love for Blitz has transpired, but I'm going to leave it at his line from Mastermind: "I would rather be dead than live life without you by my side."

Even after everything they've gone through, even now that he's taken Blitz off his pedestal and can acknowledge that Blitz can be a fucking idiot... Stolas simply does not want to live a life without Blitz. It has always been Blitz. It will always be Blitz.

Stolas loves Blitz.

Fact #4 - Stolas kissed Blitz. Before he truly hits rock bottom as a result of Octavia cutting him out, Stolas is so ecstatic that Blitz cares, that Blitz was willing to go to such lengths to save his life, that he can't hold back the need to kiss Blitz mid-air. Suddenly, none of his earlier frustration matters. Nothing matters expect for how elated he is that Blitz loves him back. So he smiles and he pulls Blitz into a kiss because he can't bear not to kiss Blitz for a moment longer.

Look at this man. Look at how happy he is. Because it's always been Blitz, and maybe it was a fantasy for a long time, but it doesn't have to be anymore. Maybe this can be real now. He's so happy he (and I) could cry.

Fact #5 - Stolas didn't deny loving Blitz. When Via said "You don't love me, you love him," the script very purposefully did not have Stolas go "no, no, Via, that's not true—" or say anything else that might make Blitz doubt, even for a moment, that Stolas loves him. Because that much is true. He does love Blitz. He just also loves Via. Which brings me to:

Fact #6 - Blitz knows Stolas loves him. At no point throughout the episode does Blitz doubt, even for a second, that Stolas loves him. And we know this because Blitz's walls remain down at all times. If Blitz doubted he was loved, if he had even the slightest of reservations, those walls would come crawling back up whether he wanted them to or not. It's what he's been trained and conditioned to do—it's how he's kept his heart safe ever since the accident.

But now, he knows his heart is safe with Stolas. He believes it enough to not depend on his walls to feel at ease. He believes it enough to let himself take care of Stolas and be soft with Stolas without the slightest trace of hesitation.

Look at Blitz's face. This is the face of a man who knows that even if Stolas isn't okay right now, things will get better. And when they do, they'll both still be in love with each other. This is the face of a man who can't wait for something beautiful to flourish between them, but who is in no rush to get there. He knows the road ahead is hard and painful, but he has faith in Stolas. In both of them.

Fact #6 - Stolas was happy to share a private, romantic dance with Blitz. Despite everything going through his mind, he found comfort and happiness in dancing with Blitz; in getting to have this little moment with him.

He found relief in the fact that Blitz stayed with him this time, even after Stolas told him, once again, that he didn't have to stay.

His reaction to Blitz initiating a dance between them is genuine surprise, immediately followed by an enamoured little smile at the mere notion that he gets to have this, now.

And, as they dance, he keeps smiling and leaning into Blitz, going as far as to manage a deep, heartfelt laugh at Blitz's words. This, for an unmedicated, depressed person going through one of the worst days of his life, is huge in itself. It shows that, even in the worst of times, he finds undeniable comfort and happiness in Blitz.

And, after their dance, Stolas looks at Blitz with a sobriety and soft sort of realisation that shows he's finally coming to terms with the fact that this is real. After everything he's lost, after all the fantasies he hoped for for so long and believed he'd never have, he finally gets to have this.

Despite the pain he's going through, Stolas looks at Blitz and sees the man he loves.

Notice how Blitz's eyes trail down to Stolas' mouth. And Stolas realises. And doesn't move away. Waiting, expectantly, for Blitz's next move, fully expecting it to be a kiss.

But then Blitz hugs him instead, and Stolas doesn't hug back.

And it's not because he doesn't want to be hugged by Blitz. It's not because his feelings for Blitz have changed, or dimmed, or disappeared. It's not because he regrets loving Blitz, or saving him. It's not because he doesn't want to have a close, healthy, loving romantic relationship with Blitz.

It's because of facts #1 (he's grappling with so much guilt and coming to terms with the consequences of his actions) and #2 (he's experiencing symptoms of unmedicated depression). And, above all, it's because of fact #7, which is...

Fact #7 - Stolas doesn't know how to be loved. Stolas has never had support. He has never had a shoulder to cry on, or someone to hold him when he needed it. When he's feeling vulnerable and broken, he defaults to hugging himself as a way to self-soothe, because that's the only comfort he's ever known.

And because he's never known comfort from others—because it was never allowed or safe for him to need or ask for comfort from others—all Stolas knows to do with his vulnerability is hide it. So much so that, the two times we see him begin to break down in front of Blitz before this episode, he either portals Blitz away or masks his tears and pain immediately. Even as he drunkenly rambles about wanting to be held, he still makes sure not to appear like he actually needs a hug.

So when he finds himself being held by Blitz in a warm, comforting hug, Stolas doesn't know how to respond. Because he's never had this. He's never had an opportunity to learn how to exist in someone's comforting embrace, how to interact with this kind of physical contact. He still has to learn how to feel safe between arms that aren't his own.

Simply put, Stolas still doesn't know how to hold Blitz back.

That doesn't mean Stolas doesn't want or need physical comfort. He needs it desperately—everyone does. But wanting something and knowing how to actually have it are two very different things, and Blitz knows that better than anyone, because he's wanted Stolas for a very long time, but didn't, until very recently, know how to feel safe accepting Stolas' love.

And that's why Blitz is completely understanding of the fact that all Stolas can do, all Stolas has the ability to do, is stand there and let himself be held, and let his emotions go through him. In, and out, with every breath, with every second. And get slowly acquainted with what being comforted by the person he loves feels like.

Thirty-something years of trauma can't be undone in a single hug, or a single conversation, and it's going to take time for Stolas to learn how to be present while in Blitz's arms, and how to return that emotional closeness.

But Blitz has faith in him. Blitz is willing to be patient and soft with him while he gets better. Blitz is ready to meet Stolas where he's at, because he knows, beyond a trace of doubt, that they love one another, and they're going to be okay. Even if Stolas doesn't know it yet—even if we, the audience don't know it yet—Blitz knows.

And that's just going to have to be enough for now.

And because this post got completely away from me, I shall conclude by quoting their song, because it summarises their story better than I ever could:

Truer love is hard to find. ❤️

[popeabbot]

Safe in your skin - Jack Abbot

Summary: Jack's day off for Memorial Day turns into a shift from hell, can you keep him from going under or will the darkness consume him completely?

Jack AbbotxWife!attending!reader

WC: 11.6k

Tags: Child death, medical gore, Medical inacurasies, like 2 seconds of smut in the beginning, violence, explicit language, mature themes, Gloria being so mean and nasty fr, PTSD, flashbacks, flashback related violence, Jack beating a pos dad, New med student being a whitaker 2.0, ideations of self harm and suicide, you and Jack both being flight risks to the roof, A main character having a breakdown in the ambulance bay in front of god and everyone fr, So so so many holiday injuries.

a/n: If you've seen this before NO YOU HAVEN'T anyways, proceed with caution.

There were few days that workaholic Doctor Jack Abbot refused to set foot in PMTC. Memorial Day, Fourth of July and New Years. He had learned over the years how to push past the darkness that followed him, make light in the face of trauma. But not on days that involved fireworks, even his therapist agreed it would probably be better to avoid those days.

Memorial Day was hard, especially for veterans. Everyone wanted to remember their service while, in a lot of cases, all they wanted to do was forget. So on days like today, you and Jack stayed in and went at it like absolute rabbits. (Hence the nickname Jack Rabbot). For most people, 5am might be too early for sex but you were currently working Jack through the adrenaline high of a nightmare. Sex wasn’t normally how Jack coped but he insisted he needed something real to ground him.

“You’re safe, here, with me.” You left hot open mouth kisses down Jack's neck as he gripped your hips for dear life, like you’d disappear if he let go. 

“Too good for me,” he choked back, bucking his hips into yours at a reckless pace. You tried your best to ground him, placing a flat palm over his heart, taking his hand and splaying it out over your own. Sparks of white flew across your vision with each buck and snap of his hips but you did your best to keep yourself grounded, squeezing his biceps for some form of support.

“Jack, I’m not going anywhere,” you moaned as he bit at your neck roughly. In this moment all that mattered were the two people fighting tooth and nail to become one if at all possible.

*ring* *ring* *ring*

“Somebody- ah- callin’ you?” Jack asked, finding a steadier pace and taking your mouth back into his. You fumbled around your bedside table, catching a glimpse of your screen. 

“Jesus…it’s Gloria.” You groaned, part of you wanted to ignore her, the heat in your belly increasing.

 Unfortunately you knew you had to answer, you tapped Jack's pec and he seamlessly flipped you over without disconnecting. 

Your hand flew over your mouth to cover the moan that escaped you as you answered the call. A shit eating grin spread across Jack's face. He was loving this.

“Abbot, I hate to bother you but we need you to come in for the day shift. The attending that was in place of Robby called out.” Gloria’s voice was curt, almost annoyed that she was bothered with calling you.

You were more annoyed that she was calling you in the middle of sex with your husband. You pushed against Jack’s chest with your freehand, doing your best to not fall over.

“Uh, yeah yeah I can come in.” You nodded, your vision hazy as Jack slowly rotated his hips. “Does that mean I’m pulling a double since Jack has off?”

“Unless he comes in-“

“H-he won’t,” you cut Gloria off, causing Jack to raise an eyebrow at you. “I’ll work a double, be over there as soon as I can.” Jack bucked up into you right as you hung up the phone, the moans you’d been holding back coming out like a sea of praises.

 “I have to work.” 

“No.” Jack pouted, pulling your hips down to pepper you in kisses. 

“Jaaack!” You giggled as he flipped you over again, back pressed into the mattress. You cupped his face. “Robby’s back up called in, I can’t leave the day shift or the night shift with no attending. It wouldn’t be right.”

Jack groaned, nodding as he kissed your forehead.

“You’re just too good,” he muttered. “I’ll make some breakfast, get ready to take on the world sexy!” You giggled again. Part of you wanted to call Gloria and tell her to figure it out. Jack needed you. But so did all the helpless idiots that would be coming through the hospital doors. The devil on your shoulders was quite tempting but the halo never failed to remain high on your brow.

Texts were sent out to his brothers as you rinsed off in the shower. You donned your usual uniform: Sage green compression socks with little white stars, black OCs and scrubs, a white undershirt and a navy blue jacket you’d stolen from Jack. 

Makeup was applied quickly as you tied your hair back, you would make the most of today.

The smell of breakfast coaxed you into the kitchen, Jack stood at the stove humming something under his breath as he rolled burritos.

He had a bag full of all your favorite snacks, breakfast burritos for when you got to work (you planned to at least eat one on the drive over), wraps for lunch and he'd bring dinner most likely. Two packs of gum, some liquid IVs and a bag of candy to keep your blood sugar up.

“Will you be okay?” You asked with genuine concern, snaking your arms around his waist, “I have dirt on Shen I can keep him working.” 

“I am a big boy may I remind you,” Jack shifted around so he could look in your eyes as you spoke. Jack had a knack for holding incredible eye contact, it used to bother you when you first met him but, it quickly became a quirk of his you adored. “I spent many Memorial Days on my own before you, my love, I think I can manage.”

“Just remember what we practiced, you have me, your therapist and the boys on speed dial. I love you so very much Jack.” He smiled softly, you rubbed his jawline with your thumb, trying to cling to him before you had to leave.

“If I have any problems I’ll call you, promise. Now here’s your bag of goodies before you’re late to receive your crew,” Jack produced your backpack full of goodies from behind his back and placed it on yours.

“Ugh what would I do without you?” You kissed him tenderly as he handed a coffee filled thermos and your notepads.

“Mmm, crash and burn I suppose,” he mumbled into another kiss, causing you to smile. His strong arm wrapped around you, caging you in his space. You took a second to breathe him in, there were seldom shifts you worked alone so working with the dayshift without him seemed practically impossible.

6:30am

You drummed your fingers along the truck steering wheel, blaring Coming Undone over the stereo. Jack always joked that it was impossible for someone who looked as sweet as you to listen to hard rock. Your hair swayed back and forth as you moved your head with the music. 

The suburbs along your drive were flooded with red, white and blue in anticipation for the holiday to be celebrated once the sun rose. Families all across Pittsburgh would celebrate with a lot of alcohol, barbecues, and holiday cheer, you could only think of the amount of trauma cases you would be greeted with. The thought of fireworks quadrupled your hypothetical case numbers. 

Your mind drifted to Jack again. He had spent many years pushing through Memorial Day on his own since his late wife had passed, but the both of you knew how drastically he’d improved since you walked into his life. He would be okay but it didn’t mean you wouldn't worry about him.

Stepping out of the truck you were greeted by the cool air of the morning, you pulled your hoodie tighter jogging from the parking lot into the main entrance of the ED. The bustle of the Emergency Department at Pittsburgh Medical was one you had quickly come to love, it took less than a year for you to find your place with your family, the ones who always had your back.

“Well good morning Doc!” Kim greeted you from the nurses station, you smiled brightly, taking your ID from the clip on your pants and swiping it into a computer to log in. 

“Mornin KK!” You took your time not being needed to set up camp as day shift started to come in and take over for the night crew, an uneasy feeling started to swirl in your belly but you pushed it away. The morning seemed too..calm? Usually you walked into the ED swarmed in chaos, its uncharacteristic coolness couldn’t help but be unsettling. You talked with Kim about how the night had gone,  she hugged your neck before leaving as Kingsley- Dana’s fill in for charge nurse- came to set up her own spot at the nurses station.

“No Robby?”

“Nah, Heather made him take off so they could take the kids to see her parents. I was supposed to have off as well but duty calls!” You shrugged as Kingsley offered you a soft smile. “Plus today is just me getting a chance to traumatize the poor innocent med students,” The smile that crept across your lips was quite sinister, earning a smack on the arm from King.

“No Jack?”

“Absolutely not. He’s spending today with his brothers, not treating idiots.” 

“Oh...the day crew has no idea what they’re in for, they got the mean Dr. Abbot!” Dr. Shen snickered as he dropped a coffee off at your area with hand off notes, the board was simple…for now. You smacked his arm and shooed him away, making him promise he wouldn’t end up back here later as a patient. 

McKay and Samira greeted you as they clocked in, you knew all of the veteran day shift doctors but you couldn’t look away from the confused med students that stood around the nurses station looking for an attending. Kingsley called everyone over, the group quickly gathered at her call; she wasn’t Dana but she had been trained well and had become quite respected.

“Alright y’all listen up! Doctor Robby won’t be in with us today so this is our attending Doctor Abbot,” she nodded in your direction, giving you the queue to speak.

“Good morning everyone, I know a few of you but for those of you who don’t know me, my name is Doctor Abbot and I will be your attending for today! It’s Memorial Day so I am sure that today will be chaos, please please do not hesitate to come to me if you have any questions. I will be bouncing around the whole department checking in on everyone but don’t be afraid to come to me. I would rather you come to me with a hunch than a severe emergency.” 

You looked to the crowd of nurses, residents and med students alike, doing your best to fake enthusiasm as that feeling of impending doom crept back in. “You are all smart, capable doctors and nurses, and we are a team! Lean on each other, it’s a beautiful day to save lives so let’s get out there and do it!” 

Kingsley groaned, cringing internally for ever showing you Grey's Anatomy in medical school. Some of the students laughed awkwardly as the residents just rolled eyes and went on with their day as the day time traffic started to pick up. The ambulance bay sat bare and untouched as patients from chairs made their way in and out. You took a free minute to flip through the hand of notes Shen had given you, nothing stood out as needing any kind of immediate attention.

Until the shouting started.

“Security!” Samira shouted from Chairs, your feet were moving before you had a chance to absorb what you were doing.

A man in his early twenties had started beating his younger girlfriend in the middle of the waiting room for not getting him help for his headache fast enough. The girl couldn’t have been older than 17, certainly not old enough to be with the man who was holding her by the nape of her neck beating her to a pulp. Shouting erupted as the people who were healthy enough tried to pull him off of the girl. Dr. Mohan had cut in on the fight, removing the girl from the man's grasp and demanding he leave.

“I’m taking her and we’re leaving.” He spat in Samira’s face, he seemed to be all bark and no bite with a woman who showed no fear. She was anything but afraid as she stood firmly between the two.

“You will be leaving this hospital with security, not her.” 

Crack-

You pushed your way into chairs right as his fist connected with Samira’s nose, sending her stumbling backwards, three security guards came in behind you and rushed the man. He tried to push against the security guards in a means to get at Samira again, a look of murder was eminent in his eyes. 

 You were at Samira’s side in an instant, stabilizing her face. You turned to the sound of crying to see the teenage girl laying in an older woman’s lap, her face battered and bruised. Your blood boiled at the sight, but against your want to pound the man yourself, you focused on the people that mattered. 

“Mo, can you walk?” Samira nodded, wobbling as she stood but finding a steady pace to walk, she helped the young girl up and shuffled her into the ED, a handful of nurses at their side. You turned to face the man who was thrashing against security. 

“You will never touch that girl again, or anyone else for that matter,” you growled lowly to the scum who’s name you didn’t bother to learn. He screamed profanities at you as security put him in a room alone to wait for police. You took the time to check on anyone else who may have been injured, thanking them for trying to help. 

“I’ll find that dirtbag when he gets out, he has no idea what’s coming.” An older man grumbled as you checked his knuckles for any breaks, he was the first to try and separate the couple.

“Trust me,” you nodded, “I know a guy who will make his life hell.”

“Good.”

“Will that poor girl be okay?” Miriam, the older woman who held the young girl, asked. Her words were laced with heavy concern. You nodded, giving her a half smile before thanking her and rushing back to the ED. 

You scanned the department for any sign of Samira or the girl before Dr. King was rushing to your side.

“Mel, what's the sitch?” You ripped a pair of gloves from the wall and followed at her side.

“Male, 30’s, gave himself 3rd degree burns by...pouring diesel over his grill to start his fire faster.” She shared a perplexed glance with you as you walked. What kind of dumbass was your first thought, but you knew people who did way dumber shit with way less.

Wailing coming from South 4 confirmed where your patient was, nurses and EMTs surrounded the man trying to calm him down. The sight was grueling to say the least, his forearms were already forming boils and his skin was still audibly sizzling. Do not throw up in front of this man. Deep breaths dude. Deep fucking breaths. You took a moment to compose yourself before going to the distressed man’s side.

“Gotta name?” You looked to the EMT across from you.

“Antonio Vasquez, piece of work here huh doc? ” He answered. You chose to ignore his comment, facing the patient.

“Mr. Vasquez? I’m Dr. Abbot- are you allergic to Morphine?” The man shook his head no as he did his best to hold back his screams. Heart rate was elevated, due to his current condition. All other labs read beautifully given his circumstances. “Kay, let’s get Mr. Vasquez 3 of morphine for the pain and once he’s settled what do we do Dr. King?”

“Clean and treat the wound, keep under observation on fluids, changing dressing regularly.”

You beamed at her. “Well done! Mr. Vasquez we’re going to have someone down here to look at those burns once they’re clean. And maybe, call your friends and tell them not to use diesel for a fire. Patience and safety are key to a successful Memorial Day!”

The man nodded, grimacing only slightly at where his sheer stupidity had gotten him. You couldn’t help but shake your head slightly, trying to hold back laughter at the memory of a cousin doing the exact same thing. Your pager blared from your pocket, you nodded to Mel before stepping out.

North 4- possible lost appendages. 

You cringed at the note on your pager, picking up your pace as you crossed the ED. There were still no signs of Samira or the girl but you had full confidence they were being taken care of. You stepped into the exam room to see two girls standing around the bed, in the middle was Victoria Javadi examining the third girl, who’s hand was in a cup of red sugar.

“Javadi, talk to me.” You went to her side immediately, the smell of margarita mix invading your senses.

“We’re totally not drunk I mean….it's only like 8:30 in the morning right?” One of the girls, Madison, hiccuped. Oh great. That red cup of sugar was probably blood. You looked at the two girls trying to decipher who was smart enough to clot the bleeding with sugar. Sugar clots was a trick of the trade, you either had to be a nurse or grow up with a nurse to know it. 

“Um- well, the girls came in saying Melanie here cut her hand and maybe cut a finger off while cutting limes.” She leaned in closer to you. “I think they’re wasted…”

You clicked your tongue, pulling on fresh gloves. “Let’s see, ah common case of ‘hand used as a cutting board’.” You cleaned the incision, it spread parallel down her palm, and it wasn’t light. The trio gawked as you placed topical lidocaine on Melanie’s hand and then watched as Javadi stitched her hand with still confidence. Melanie had sliced her three middle fingers but it was nothing some medical grade super glue couldn’t fix.

“So who’s the nurse?” You asked the trio as Javadi worked. The tallest girl, a blonde woman named Leah, sheepishly raised her hand. She was the sober one of the group. “Well done. If you hadn't put her hand in sugar she would probably be in worse shape than she is now.” Leah nodded in full agreement, but her eyes widened as she looked behind you. A police officer stood in the doorway. 

“I’ve got this Dr. Abbot,” Victoria spoke up, “finish stitching then walk through aftercare and discharge. Piece of cake.” You nodded, a small smile on your lips. Victoria was so bright, she’d become a wonderful doctor under the right care. 

“Make sure to put your charts in when you’re done. And ladies? Lay off the tequila juuuust a smidge okay?” The girls nodded as you stepped out.

“Atticus.” You nodded your head to the man who stood before you, hands resting on his vest. You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets, swaying back and forth on your feet slightly.

“Doctor Abbot.” He returned your nod, keeping his features stone cold.”The man from earlier this morning has been taken in, they did have to treat him at AGH as Myrna of all people caught her fist in his face on his way out.” You couldn’t help but let a chuckle get past you, Myrna had a knack for beating on abusive men. 

“I don’t need to treat her do I?”

“No, but we’d like you to come with us to speak to the vic since her parents are apparently out of town for the holiday. She was spending it at a friend's house, or so she told her folks.” 

“Sweet Jesus…” You shook your head, lacing your hands atop. “Yeah, yeah. Hey, how's Samira?” You asked as you walked with the officer to Lark Evans’ room. 

“She’s got balls of steel I’ll tell ya that, she demanded Kingsley tape her nose and keep working unless her CT said otherwise.” 

The two of you made it back to the north wing and into a private room. You knocked a few times before walking in, making sure to announce your presence.

“Lark? It’s Doctor Abbot, Doctor Mohan is getting assessed still, may I come in?”

“sure.” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. 

“I have a friend with me, his name is Officer Montgomery and he’s here to help y-“ Lark began to freak out at the sight of the officer. Jumping from her bed she ran to you in a panic.

“No. No, no, no I can’t talk to him! If I say anything he will kill me!” Lark sobbed into your chest, white knuckling your open jacket as hot tears ran down her face. Her breathing was erratic, you sat her down and rubbed her back. 

“Lark, we want to help you. That man? He doesn’t love you, he hurt you. He hurt you in public for trying to help. Atticus will make sure you are safe. I promise.” 

“He’s gone, and once your parents get here they’ll take you home and we’ll make sure you never see him again,” Atticus added from the doorway, arms crossed tightly to keep his composure at the sight of the girl breaking down. Since Lark was a minor she wouldn’t be able to leave the hospital grounds unless she was in the care of family. According to Atticus her parents were currently on a plane and would be here in a few hours. 

“can- can I get some water?” 

You nodded, stepping out of the room and dodging Gloria as you grabbed water from your bag. 

“Doc-“

“I’ll be back!” You dodged Gloria again, cracking the water open as you stepped back into the room. Lark tried not to choke as she gulped the water down, her throat sore from the bruises that blackened it. You patted her back softly, blood boiling as you remembered the way he had his hands on her. 

You held Lark as she told Atticus every bad thing her (ex)boyfriend Jason did: to her and in general.You couldn’t imagine how a sweet young girl like her could get caught up with such a low life loser. You grabbed a box of tissues, handing her a fresh one when needed. When she was done talking she laid back down, wrapping your jacket around her frame. Gloria was blowing up your phone, wanting your attention as you made sure Lark had everything she needed in order for you to leave.

“Atticus, do not leave her side until her parents are here.”

“Yes ma’am, didn’t plan on leaving till I walked her out myself.” The officer nodded as you stepped out of the room to face the devil herself.

“Gloria.” You greeted curtly, arms crossed defensively across your chest. She turned and walked down the hall and you followed slightly behind. 

“Doctor. It’s a holiday, we need to get people in and out, not keep people in beds who don’t need them in.” 

You stopped in your tracks, gawking at Gloria openly. You worked nights so day shift management was only talk from Robby over brunch before your shifts. You’d heard him go on and on about how much of a mythic bitch Gloria could be. Hearing it was one thing, witnessing it was another.

“I’m sorry. You want me to kick out a girl who was assaulted in chairs when we have plenty of beds open?”

“We handled the incident in the waiting room,” Gloria said flippantly. “Officer Montgomery told you the threat was removed, she’s free to leave.” 

You scoffed quite loudly, pushing your face into your hands to avoid doing something stupid. Gloria turned, glaring at you. 

“She’s a minor. We legally can’t let her leave. I thought you knew that Gloria? Hospital rules and regulations and such.” It was now Gloria’s turn to scoff at you, your comment leaving her almost speechless. She muttered something about finding a place in the hall before deciding she was needed elsewhere. You took a free moment to text the one person you wanted more than anyone else.

Gloria is driving me up a wall and it’s not even lunch! Hopefully Shen decides he wants more money. I’m ready to come home. Love you babe!

You slipped your phone into your pocket, walking to the nurses station to check the board. Louie was in an exam room- no surprise, the burn victim you saw this morning was on fluids and the girls had left. Things seemed to be evening out, but the board was ever demanding of patients to be seen.

“Fun morning, huh doc?” Samira slid up next to you, her hands folded atop the table. You turned to look at her, a cloud of purple and green had spread from her nose to a black semi circle under her left eye, her nose had been stabilized and taped to the high heavens.

“You can say that again. You feelin’ okay?”

“I popped 3 ibuprofen. I'm livin large!” She laughed lightly. “On a more serious note, how’s your partner in crime? I know he doesn’t work today but I’m half shocked he didn’t just come in with you.”

“Ahh, yeah he thought about it I’m sure until Uncle Jack duties called, some of the guys he served with are getting together until the fireworks get intense so he’s got kiddos galore to juggle.”

Jack's text tone had you slipping your phone out from your pocket. Opening his text you saw a selfie of him and his niece, and red white and blue nail polish messily decorating their fingers. You couldn’t hide the wide smile on your face, seeing the way his dimples etched into his skin and the sun illuminating every one of his freckles made you miss him even more.

“Abbot! Mohan! We got a trauma comin in 5, might be alcohol poisoning, might be an OD” Kingsley called, phone hanging from her ear. You turned to Samira fully, your hand clenched in a fist in front of you. 

“Mo, rock, paper, scissors who gets it.”

“Oh my god you’re a child!” Her eyes lit up mischievously before presenting her own fist. 

Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot-

Rock-

Scissors-

“Damn. You’re good.” Samira frowned.

“Must be lucky! Hey you-“ you pointed to a med student whose face you hadn’t seen until today. “You’re with me.” The boy's eyes widened in fear but he nodded and came up to you. 

“I-I’m Bradley Summers. First year med student.” You couldn’t help but feel bad for the boy. Emergency Medicine was a shit first rotation, but he seemed bright so you wanted to see what you were working with. A couple minutes later EMTs rolled in with an unresponsive couple.

“Hey Doc, I got a woman in her early 20s, unresponsive to touch and her pupils are blown. We got a pulse but it’s weak.”

“Mo, we got a couple so you’re in!” You shouted back to the nurses station, she was already close behind as the male came in, his pupils were responding to light so he seemed to be in better shape than the woman you were assessing.

“Okay Dr. Summers, what do we do?” Once the patient was on the bed, you stood across from your student as nurses got her hooked up to monitors.

“Her pulse ox 70 doc!” Jesse called out over the chaos. “BP is 90/60 we gotta work fast,” he called out again. You looked down at the woman, her skin was clammy and pale. Bradley suggested narcan, you nodded and grabbed some from the medicine cabinet. Bradley administered the narcan and began to rub the woman’s sternum with his knuckles. 

“She’s not waking up,” Dr. Summers looked up at you with fear in his eyes.

“Baby if you can hear us you need to wake up, okay?” You administered another round of narcan as Bradley continued rubbing the woman’s sternum. Jesse lifted her eyelid and shined a light, nothing. 

“Should we shock her?” He asked. 

“We have no idea what she took and she’s not responding to narcan, she has a pulse so let’s put her on fluids and keep a close eye on her, get a tox screen as well..” You walked from the woman’s room to where Samira was going CPR on the man. 

“We think it was an OD, he responded to narcan but we just lost him again.” 

Administer again in a couple minutes if you don’t get him back, Jane Doe was not responsive, do we have a name for this one?”

“Carl Peterson, apparently they were found like this at a farmers market so who knows what’s in their system. I already got a tox screen ordered.” You nodded, standing out of the way as the team worked seamlessly. After 10-15 minutes Carl regained consciousness, fighting against the people trying to save him. 

“Carl-“ You gripped his shoulders firmly. “My name is Dr. Abbot, you’re in Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Can you tell me the name of the woman that was with you?” Carl began to settle, eyes wide at the mention of the woman.

“Morgan? Where is she?!”

“She’s being monitored. Carl, do you know if you or Morgan took anything?”

“Uh, no. Other than the fact that I had way too much alcohol in the Pittsburgh sun. Is Morgan okay?”

“Well sir it sounds like you experienced some alcohol poisoning, we’re going to hook you up on fluids and keep you here until you’re better and Morgan wakes up.” You nodded to Samira and stepped out of the room. 

Seeing as you weren’t immediately needed anywhere with your med student babysitting Morgan, you took a moment to sit and chart her case and other cases from the morning. There were plenty of nurses around who could chart for you but you wanted to add certain notes for certain patients.

It already seemed like the weight of the world was heavy around you and it was only 11am. You broke open one of the snacks Jack had packed for you, trying to just take a minute to breathe. A headache was starting to set in, most likely from not having enough water. You took a drink from a water bottle and checked your phone. 

Another picture from Jack showed him, his service dog Judd and a group of 3 girls with red white and blue tiaras on.

His text read: The princess squad just won the hot dog eating contest- Judd included. 

The biggest princess looks quite beautiful. I'd love to meet her ;). Wish I was there, hug the girls!!!

Knowing Jack was with people who cared for him put your mind at ease. If there was one group of people who could keep Jack in a good headspace it was kids, but especially girls. Jack always said he was meant to be a girl uncle, you’d hoped one day he could be a girl dad too. 

11:15 AM

More shouting from chairs broke you from your thoughts. What was in the air in the waiting room today? Matteo was close behind you as you entered the waiting area…Myrna. There were people...cheering around her as she seemed to be beating on someone. The cheers turned to fearful shouting as a knife was brandished from her pocket and driven into whoever was underneath her. The same older man who'd growled about Lark’s boyfriend seemed to be the head of the cheering. His cheers got louder at the sight of the pocket knife.

“Myrna what the hell are you doing?!” You ran up to her, she was laid on top none other than Lark’s ex boyfriend who you'd seen what felt like forever ago. Except now he had a black eye and a knife was embedded in his chest. 

“I told him if he came back I’d make him regret it!” Myrna barked, you pulled her off of the man and cuffed her to a wheelchair. An officer finally ran up to see what was going on.

“Jeez Myr- okay Bradley take her in and let her cool off somewhere.” Bradley nodded, running up behind you to wheel Myrna away.

“Who’s this fine young specimen? Are you single? Myrna’s looking for another husband” Myrna purred as Bradley rolled his eyes, taking her back into the ED. You turned your focus back on Jason.

“Uhhhh- McKay! Help me with this loser!” McKay ran over and helped you pick up Jason, the officer was close behind as you laid him out on a bed. McKay cut the shirt around the knife careful to not disturb it, the blood was still flowing from beneath it but it was only the dam holding back the flood.

“King! Call YoYo, we have a knife in chest situation!” McKay called out to the hallaway. 

“Am I gonna die? Please God, I’m sorry about Lark I don’t wanna die!” 

A monitor behind your head started to blare as his heart rate spiked.

“Hey! Chill the fuck out or you will die, Jason.” McKay’s harsh tone surprisingly did calm him down. Jason took shallow shaky breaths to try and calm himself, he had come back looking for Lark to apologize when he’d been jumped by Myrna, again. 

‘Woah what happened here?” Dr. Garcia asked, stepping into the room.

“Angry Myrna.” You and McKay said at the same time. The two of you helped her to steady the blade before sending him back for surgery.

“Is it bad I want him dead?” McKay asked after being caught up on his situation.

“No. No, not really.” You left to go check on Lark who was still asleep, her parents were on their way so you were going to wake her up.

“Hey doc,” Officer Montgomery smiled as he let you in. 

“Hey. Lark’s parents are on their way but Jason is here so keep an eye out when you walk her out.” You whispered. Atticus’s eyes widened, full of anger. He pulled his phone out and began to text someone, if he pounded his keypad any more you were sure it would break.

“Don’t worry he’s in surgery, Myrna got him, again.”

“Oh cute.” Atticus replied flatly. “Have fun filling that incident report out with the she devil.”

You were almost amused by his comment until something wet was wiped across your butt, You whipped around to see Judd staring up at you, whining anxiously.

But if Judd was here, where was Jack? 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you ran to find your husband, Judd following close behind. The ED was chaos, Jack could be heard barking orders from one room as Dr. Whitaker and McKay were barking orders in another. Your legs felt like cement as you walked into the room. Jack stood tending to the patient- his niece Amelia who he'd just been at the park with.

“We need to drain more fluids, now!”

“Her lungs won’t be able to handle it, Dr. Abbot. She’s tired.” Princess grimaced at the thought of not being able to save her. Normally a nurse would never tell a doctor what to do but right now Jack was not in a level headspace, he needed the facts even if they hurt.

Amelia wasn't a day over 12, her hair, body and clothes were drenched. An intubation tube was already down her throat as Jack did CPR. Perlah muttered that she was most likely gone when they brought her in. Your heart broke as your eyes fell to her red, white and blue nail polish. The same polish on Jack's hands.

“Come on baby please..please come back,” he muttered under his breath, but you heard him. You always heard him. You stood frozen as his hands pressed her chest up and down, with each curl and squeeze of his hands, a piece of polish chipped away. Each chip was like a piece of his hope shattering. Amelia was gone. She was gone and Jack was here, in the ER, trying to save one of his own children. A place he shouldn’t be, doing something horrific to someone he loved. Tears streamed down his face every time the girl was shocked with no rhythm returning. The nurses all stood shocked and slightly concerned. The stoic Jack Abbot was breaking in front of them. 

“Shock her again.” His voice was strained. The room stood still. “Shock. Her. Again.”

Princess picked up the paddles and shocked the girl, no rhythm. Jack pushed on the girl again continuing CPR. You didn’t notice the tears streaming down your own face until nurses in the hall were giving you concerned looks. You searched for Amelia’s parents, they seemed to be yelling at a man outside. Joanna’s eyes caught yours and she knew. Your feet carried you into the room, your arms came around his shoulders. 

“She’s gone baby…Ame’s gone.” You looked to Amelia’s parents as they walked in, screams tore from her mother as she fell to her baby. Nolen stood behind his wife, his eyes trained on his baby’s face. Whatever had happened was devastating, a young girl taken before she could even hit her prime. You had always been fond of Amelia, she was the first one to accept you when you and Jack first started dating and you’d been stuck like glue ever since. The nurses cleared the room, giving your family a bit of respect.

“Call it Jack.” Nolens voice came shaky, he was trying not to crack. “Call it so I can go after the man that took my baby.”  

“Amelia Jones, time of death 12:00pm.” Jack whispered, the world crashing down around him. Nolen kissed his wife's head and quietly exited the room, Jack squeezed you tightly before following his brother. You could see Whitaker and McKay working on another patient and needing help.

“JJ, I am so, so sorry.”

“Go save that other baby please,” Joanna sobbed, pulling Judd into her lap as she held her daughter's hand tightly.”If she doesn’t live, Amelia died for nothing.”  You nodded, looking at Amelia's lifeless body one more time, her red white and blue nail polish popped against her pale skin. Today was supposed to be a happy day, a day for festive nail polish and hot dogs. You stepped out of Amelia’s room, trashing your gloves and ran into the room across the hall. Garcia was pulling supplies to help Whitaker with the girl.

“Somebody talk to me,”

“Lelani Matthews, 7 year old girl, she’s got fluid in her lungs. Got caught on a line at the lake and was drowning, apparently she was saved by another girl because her father was too drunk to notice.” Whitaker commented, working a tube through the girl's rib to remove the excess fluid.

“Amelia.”

“What?” McKay turned, seeing the grief etched into your face. 

“The older girl, her name was Amelia.” 

As Whitaker extracted the fluid the girl gasped for air, crying that she was hurt. You rushed to her side, brushing her hair away and telling her that everything would be okay, Whitaker looked at her chest on a sonogram as McKay started her stitches, a frown slowly setting in. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, stroking Lelani’s hair.

“Would you, come look at this please, Dr. Abbot?” You pulled away from Lelani and walked to Dennis, it looked like her lung had partially collapsed from the stress of the fluid. You chewed your lip thinking about Amy. Surely there was a chance she was a match? Were her lungs even viable if they had also collapsed? You cursed yourself for even thinking that way. She had just fucking died.

“Get her on fluids, keep her comfortable. Get her on the transplant list. Think you can pull some strings on that Yo?” Garcia and Whitaker nodded as you stepped out of the room, trying to keep your composure. Nolen and Jack walked to the parking lot with the man you assumed to be Lelani’s father. You took a deep breath, making sure you weren’t immediately needed, and stepped outside.

“You took my daughter from me-” Nolen spat in the man's face, he avoided any eye contact, the alcohol radiated off of him. While Nolen was visibly angry, screaming and throwing his hands around, you were more concerned about the silent anger that was seeping off your husband.

“It’s not my fault your kid jumped in to save-” Before he could finish speaking, Jack tackled him and began laying his fists into the man. Nolen made no effort to pull him off, only standing there numbly.

“Jack- Jack you have to let him go!” You yelled dashing across the street and into the parking lot. You walked up behind Jack, fear in your voice as he ignored the man's pleas to stop. You touched Jack’s shoulder softly, he whipped around ready to pound whoever was trying to stop him, until he was met with your fearful eyes and tears. Jack sighed deeply as he stood, shrinking before you, he fell into your arms. 

You gripped Nolens arms, your eyes telling him everything he needed to know. His wife needed him. Just like Jack needed you. He sobbed into your shoulder, letting grief overtake his form, you held him through the shakes like always. One thing you would always make clear to Jack Abbot was that he was safe in your skin. You could tell him you were sorry, but it wouldn’t change a damn thing. You could let him beat that girl's father, who was too drunk to feel any remorse, but it would just land him in jail. So until you were pulled away from him, you’d stay standing in the parking lot, with your arms wrapped around the only man who mattered, who would ever matter.

Your phone started to blow up with messages after a few minutes. Mostly Gloria. 

“Hey, I have to go back in,”

“I’ll come with you. I’m here, I might as well stay.” You gripped Jack’s hand tightly as the two of you walked back into PMTC. Joanna stepped out of Amelia's room and gripped you tightly. 

“Thank you sweet girl, thank you for letting her go when we couldn’t.” You sniffled as you hugged her back, doing your best to keep it together, you turned and hugged Nolen just and tightly. “I’ll take care of her till someone comes and gets her.” JJ nodded, gripping Judds leash tighter. They offered to keep him since Jack decided to stay here at the ED against your loving suggestion. You sent Jack up to an on-call room to change and shower. Dropping next to Amelia as you waited for the coroner, Gloria walked in and sat next to you.

“What do you want?” You wiped your hand down your face tiredly, you really did not want to deal with her any more today. “My niece just died and her uncle had to code her. Please don't tell me you’re here to bitch?”

“I am so sorry for your loss, both you and your husband. Traffic is starting to pick up significantly, we need beds.”

You groaned, pushing past Gloria trying to get fresh air anywhere you could. Paramedics were coming in and out with patients every 10-20 minutes, you’d been counting. McKay and Whitaker had been doing a fantastic job in Triage, keeping people moving in and out as much as possible. As of right now you had at least 10 open beds with most patients being able to wait in chairs to be discharged. 

“I don’t want to hear about fucking beds.” You threw your arms up exasperated. “I just counted 10, the girl in North 4 will be out once her parents get here and Amelia-“ you took a deep breath to contain yourself. “We have the beds Gloria. I promise. Now please, go find someone else to bother.”

“I suggest you get a grip and keep your composure the rest of the day Dr. Abbot. One more smart ass comment and I’m writing you up.” Gloria’s voice was cold as she got up and left the room. You sat quietly, holding Amelia’s hand until a coroner came to take her to the morgue. You kissed her forehead lightly, keeping your eyes trained on her now covered frame as she was taken from the ED. 

You walked back to the nurses station, feeling eyes all around and sat at your seat letting your head fall into your hands. All you needed was 5 minutes to collect yourself. But that never happened, did it?

“Lark Evans’ parents just got her, I walked her out myself and ran into a man who wants to press charges on Jack for assault.” Atticus laid your jacket over your shoulders, propping his elbows on the desk.

“Why would someone want to press charges?” Kingsley walked up, arms crossed firmly, “he knew the family of the kiddo he lost…no one has seen the other girl's parents, I’ve been on the phone with an aunt for like 10 minutes.”

“No one’s seen the girl's father because Jack beat him in the parking lot.” Atticus gave you a pointed look.

“Jack was knocking some sense into a drunk father who couldn’t even watch his own child,” you shot back, shooting daggers into his heart with your mind. “I can’t say I condone it but you’d do the same if you had to code your own niece and not be able to save her.”

You watched as Atticus’s eyes widened in horror, Kingsley had to cover her mouth to keep her gasp quiet. Her hand found your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The air was tense, walls were cracking and someone would break by the end of the night. Atticus promised to talk to the dad and see if they could work something out, who said cops couldn’t be dirty and good? 

1:30 PM

“Bradley!” You caught the young student as he passed the nurses station, coming in from a lunch break. “Walk with me,” His eyes widened, yet he nodded and fell inline with you as you walked to check in on your unresponsive OD. Morgan had every wire you could think of attached to her, her blood ox levels had dropped so she’d been put on additional oxygen.

“Will she ever wake up?” 

“Well,” You logged into your ipad, reading the results of her tox screen, “She had a hell of a drug cocktail so I’m not sure. Hit her with a dose of Narcan and see what happens.” 

You watched as Bradley grabbed the narcan and gently held the woman’s head as he administered to each nostril. What you weren’t prepared for was for Morgan to shoot up from her bed, ready to throw hands with whatever she could grab. She gripped the back of Bradleys head and yanked hard.

“I said to get the hell off of me fucker!” She shrieked, Bradleys eyes had turned into saucers as he calmly removed her hand from his hair.

“M-Ma’am you’re in the hospital. We’re doctors.” The woman continued to flail around begging for help, you tried to jump in to help, when she went for the IV. Blood began to spray over the three of you, causing Morgan to shriek more, a couple nurses came in to help calm her down. You drew up a sedative, just to have in case.

“Morgan, honey no one is here to hurt you, we’re just glad to see you awake you’ve been out for a few hours. I’m Dr. Abbot and this gentleman who brought you back to the physical realm is Dr. Summers. Can you tell us what you remember last?” Morgan settled down, taking a few deep breaths. You handed a wipe to Bradley and began to clean the blood off of you as Morgan spoke. Princess cleaned and bandaged her arm and inserted a new IV into the opposite arm.

“I was at a farmers market with my boyfriend. This weird guy kept harassing us about trying his herbal tea, I kept trying to tell him now but eventually took it just to get him to leave me alone.” She began to cry, voicing how stupid she’d felt for letting a man pressure her into taking something. 

“It’s not your fault.” Bradley cut in, placing a soft but firm grip on her shoulder. “It is never your fault for a man pressuring you into doing something you don’t want to do.” You smiled softly, his demeanor calming the girl instantly, she silently nodded. You left Bradley to care for the girl and walked over to check on her boyfriend.

“Well Mr. Peterson, Princess is coming to discharge you, Morgan is a little disoriented but she’s awake and you’re more than welcome to sit with her.” 

“Oh my god Doc, thank you so much!” Carl hugged you tightly, the first kind gesture you’d received. You gave him a slightly awkward smile before walking out of the room. You were quickly greeted by a mother with a sobbing toddler on her hip, his arm was tight against his chest.

“Oh my, hi i’m Dr. Abbot lets park you in this room right here.” You gingerly let the mother and son into a room, not feeling the eyes that were watching from across the ED. “What’s your name buddy?” You kept your tone light as you took the young boys vitals.

“Elijah.”

“Wow! That's such a cool name, wanna tell me what happened?” You slightly looked up in the mothers direction, she looked like she was a breath away from falling apart.

“H-he was running with a kite and fell and caught his arm wrong, I think it’s broken.”

You nodded and gently pulled his arm away from his chest, he whimpered but put on a brave face, trying to be a big boy. 

“You’re doing such a good job Elijah,” You smiled down at him as you lightly examined his arm. “In a few minutes my friend Jesse is going to come get you and take you upstairs, then some nice people are going to take a picture of your arm so we can see how broken it is.”

“Can I have a purple cast?” Elijah asked, eyes looking up brightly.

“You can have whatever color you want baby!” You smiled softly before stepping out. “Got a kiddo who needs to be queued for an x-ray!” When you turned around you noticed Jack had slipped in behind you and was talking with the small boy. 

“Oh yeah dinosaurs are so cool, maybe the nice doctor will let you do more than one color,” Jack nodded in your direction as he was administering some pain medication to help Elijah relax.

“Could I do them like your nails?” The boy asked, taking Jack's large hand in his smaller one and examining the chipped polish. Your heart broke seeing Jack slightly falter, a smile crept across his face. 

“Yeah kiddo,” His voice cracked lightly. “I think we can make that work.”

Jesse came in to take the mother and son up to radiation, you and Jack took that time to sit together and process the afternoon in silence. You took his hand, drawing small circles over his knuckles, pressing light kisses over each one. You hadn’t even had a chance to look him over after he’d thrown those punches at Mr. Matthews.

“Are you okay?” “No.” His voice cracked again, a sea of emotion hiding behind his stoic eyes. “I think we will be one day, but today we carry on as well as possible and break down when we get home.” Jack made a point to include you in the grieving, Amelia had been like a niece to you, she was your family. Taylor came in with a cast kit, she paid no mind to the moment you were sharing, as soon as she came in she was out. The pain the two of you were experiencing was being felt throughout the entire ED. Families shared pain, they would carry it with you as long as they needed to. Jesse texted you a heads up so you wouldn’t be caught off guard by Elijah's arrival.

‘Well, It looks like we’re going to have to put a couple screws in your arm dude,” Jack drummed his fingers against the ipad as he walked back in from the nurses station. Elijah's mother looked like she was going to faint.

“Woah..like a robot!” Elijah grinned excitedly

“Yes!” Jack nodded enthusiastically, you smiled from the side happy to see your husband get back in his groove. “And don’t worry mom, it’s a pretty invasive surgery, and chicks dig scars,” He winked to Elijah at the last part, making the boy laugh loudly followed by a comment that girls had cooties. 

“Well, we’re going to get you ready for surgery, and I’ll have you know my wife is very lovely and doesn't have cooties!” 

Jack sent the boy off to surgery and walked the mom to the OR waiting room. You smiled softly, if the day could just end like this you’d be happy. You helped with a few triage patients, trying to get as many people out of the ED before the real memorial day fun came, drunk people and fireworks. Every year they held a huge firework show in the middle of Pittsburgh in the park, and every year you’d have at least two handfuls of people come in with fire work related injuries.

You would never forget your first year at PMTC, fresh in your residency, a man had lit himself on fire trying to be his own firework stand, the scene had scarred you for life. Jack, being older than you but still fresh in his residency of civilian medicine, had jumped in like he was back in Iraq. You had never seen someone act so fast, it was like second nature how he treated the man's burns. You hadn’t known much about Jack back then, aside from the fact that he had some previous medical background but technically had to go through medical school. He was short in his words, and at times his temper, but he was seldom ever short with you.

‘You’re the only one who gets it,” He’d told you one night after you’d found him on the roof. ‘Those assholes are here for the money. Me and you, we’re here because we care. Never let it burn you out, they need us.’

That was the day you fell in love with Jack Abbot, and regardless of the fact that it would be two years after that day before he confessed he felt the same, you stayed beside him. Thick and thin, fire and ash. No matter what the world threw at you, you handled it with grace and care.

Jack had gotten better about managing flashbacks but it would still happen on occasion, you learned his tells quickly. Deescalation was key for getting Jack through tough moments, moments like the one about to walk in the door.

"Code Tan!"

An EMT shouted, coming into the ED with a man strapped to a gurney. Jack was at his side assessing the patient before he was even in a room. You ran in behind him, it was a John Doe who ran into midday traffic. He was mumbling something incoherent, you looked up to try to read his lips, his face was covered in his own caked blood, as you looked farther up to find his injury- you saw it. His brain was pulsating from the side of his head that had been completely torn away.

‘Oh- oh my God!” Everyone looked in your direction, the room stopped at the sight. “We- make sure his back is stable, I’m going to clean what I can, someone page surgery.” 

The man's pulse was weak, you were not going to lose him, Jack made the decision to intubate. In, out, he worked like it was second nature.

“Let’s get that leg cleaned and check his road rash for any debris, do we have an ID on this guy?” Jack stood silently beside you, handing and passing off things as you needed them. You’d seen plenty of cadaver brains but to see one pulsing under your touch was horrifying. 

“What do we ha- oh woah is that a brain?” Doctor Santos- the surgical consult- stepped in, donning a pair of gloves. She easily made her way to your side, ignoring the rest of the man’s injuries and focusing solely on the brain that was still pulsing beneath your fingers. You took a step back, taking a deep breath to anchor yourself from the reality that you basically just held a living brain in your hands.

“Doc, you might want to see this,” One of the paramedics gave you a pointed look, she wanted you to see it. You nodded and stripped your gloves, stepping out of the room.

“He’s a Vet.”

Your eyes widened.

“How do you know he’s a veteran?” She produced a pair of broken dog tags from her pocket, placing them in your open palm. You pressed over his name lightly.

Curtis Bradshaw. 

Part of you wanted to keep this information from Jack, if Curtis didn’t pull through he would still carry some blame but if Jack knew he was a veteran he would  never forgive himself, especially today. You nodded to the paramedic and pocketed the tags as you stepped back inside. Jack was going CPR, his heart rate had gone from a thready pulse to none at all. There had been a shift in the room, you spotted the army ranger tattoo on Curtis’s bicep that had been revealed at his shirt being removed, you sucked in a breath of heavy air. 

“Push 3 of Epi,” Jack demanded, holding eye contact with you, sweat beading on his forehead again already. You nodded, drawing a dose and administering it through his IV port. Jack stepped down and grabbed the pedals, praying it would work.

“Clear!” His pulse stayed at a flatline, Bradley jumped in, telling Jack he would do CPR so they could focus on saving the man beneath him. 

And work you did. You’d spent entirely too much time with the patient, after an hour of trying every trick of the trade, pushing more epi and trying more CPR, doing anything you could to start his heart, but it was no use. You patted Bradleys shoulder as you stepped out of the room to catch his breath.

Jack stood silently over the man.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. “I’m so sorry Curtis.” You rounded the bed and stood next to Jack, taking his trembling hand in yours. 

“I’ll see if he has any family and call them.” Jack nodded, squeezing your hand tightly, his eyes were screwed shut. He was muttering something that sounded like a prayer under his breath. You wrapped your free hand around his arm and closed your eyes, praying with Jack that Curtis would make his transition into the beyond smoothly. It wasn’t fair, he’d obviously needed help, why was no one there to talk him off the ledge? You took a deep breath and stepped back into the heart of the ED. Myrna had Bradley Summers cornered up.

“I’m sorry Myrna, I’m not going to become your secret lover and bust you out of here, you can leave in a couple hours.” 

“Oh come on sour puss, it could be fun! My last 3 husbands said I was an excellent partner,” Myrna winked with a sly smile, Bradley rolled his eyes but made pleading eye contact as soon as he spotted you.

“Myr, he’s a first year student, don't scare him off just yet!” Myrna turned to face you with a sly smile.

“Yeah, I remember when you were a first year and you couldn’t stop making eyes at Sargent Sexy over there,” You couldn’t hide how your ears reddened at the mention of Jacks nickname, Myrna laughed and rolled away, complaining about wanting a juice box to one of the male technicians.

“Is she always like that?” Bradley asked with a perplexed look.

“Always.” You nodded. “She really is a sweet lady, she just has such a dirty mind!” You shared a small laugh before going back to the nurses station, Curtis’s dog tags in hand. 

“Give me his tags and I’ll find a family,” Kingsley placed an open hand out, you nodded and placed the dog tags in her hand. 

5:00 PM

As the afternoon turned into the evening, the severity of your patients grew more intense, more burns and quite a few ATV and road rash accidents as people gathered in the park for the firework show. What no one was prepared for was the 3 car pile up between a truck, car and ambulance in the middle of the bay. You would never forget the sounds of tires screeching and metal crunching. An ambulance came into the bay from across traffic, but a Truck driver who wasn't paying attention clipped the back of the ambulance and hit the passenger side of the car, causing it to flip.

The gruesome noise alerted everyone in the ED. You grabbed Bradley, Jack and a gown and ran outside to assess the damage. The paramedics made it out of the ambulance with their patient, running past the three of you to get inside. 

“Check the truck, I’ll check the driver in the car.” You nodded to Jack, taking Bradley and running to the pickup.

“Sir?” You opened the door to see a piece of rebar from the stop sign the ambulance had hit, sticking out of the base of the man's throat. “Don’t talk okay? We’re gonna do blinks, once for yes and twice for no, okay?” He blinked once, confirming he understood. You ripped your coat off and placed it under the rebar to create slight pressure against the wound.

“I’ll go grab a C collar,” Bradley ran back inside, you peered across the hood of the truck, Jack was laid on the ground, his go bag opened and spread out as he tried to talk to the woman pinned inside.

--

“Hey Charlie, the fire department will be here soon and we’ll get you out of this car, sound good?”Jack was laid in the shattered window of the woman who’d been hit. The woman nodded shakily, she was losing blood, fast. Jack had made an attempt to pull her out himself but she was trapped under the caved in dashboard. There was a crimson pool that spread across her abdomen, drops of it hitting Jack's arms as he sat with her. She had been following the ambulance that was carrying her son.

“I was just trying to have my car...so we could watch fireworks after he got out. I’m not going to be able to do that, am I doc?” Jack looked into the woman's eyes, she’d already accepted she was dying, that’s how Jack knew the morphine he’d given her had set in. He could have agreed, but he needed to hold on to some semblance of hope for the both of them.

“Like I said, once PFD gets here we’ll get you all fixed up. I’ll make sure you have a perfect view of the firework show.” The woman laughed softly at his attempt to comfort her, her laugh turned into a bloody cough. “Easy there mom, save your energy.” Jack pulled a piece of gauze from his bag and wiped her mouth, her eyes widened as she caught his nail polish.

“Hug your girl tight when you get home Doctor Abbot. If I don’t…don’t make it out of this, make sure my baby knows I love him.” 

Her words hit Jack hard, he’d been spending all afternoon trying to push Amelia out of his mind but she kept coming back, kept finding ways to tell him she would be okay. Tears pricked at his eyes as he watched the women's decline set in. He felt like he was back overseas, holding soldiers' hands as they died helplessly. The darkness began to cloud his mind, the screams of everyone he’d ever lost started to ricochet in his head. He tried to blink back the noise, focus on the patient.

“Tell me about your son.” The fire department was three minutes out, they could make it. He couldn’t lose anyone else today.  

“His name is Adam, he’s a wild teenager but I love him. It’s just me and him, but honestly? We wouldn't have it any other way.” Her breathing became more labored as she spoke, her grip on Jack’s hand tightened. “He- he uh, got stung by a bee. It’s a pretty bad allergy and I’d forgotten his epi-pen. I promised we’d be back in time for the fireworks…he loves fireworks.” Her words began to slur together, Jack held her hand tighter, trying to get her to stay awake. He could push epi but it would make her crash faster once they got her inside. She was fighting as hard as she could but the blood loss was making her tired.

“Charlie-” Jack choked back his fear, “hey you gotta fight a little harder for me? Please?” Jack stared into her eyes, she was smiling at him. 

“Tell Adam I love him, and thank you for making me not be afraid.” 

The fire engine pulled up right outside of the ambulance bay, but it was too late. Charlie’s grip went slack in Jack's hand. His eyes widened, a mix of shock, fear, anger and despair. You had walked Bradley through stabilizing the man in the truck, the rebar hadn't gone all the way through his neck so once you were sure he was good to go, two firefighters came to help him out of the truck. Jack couldn’t hold back the shakes anymore, everything that had happened today and every one he’d lost. He just couldn't do it anymore. The darkness reared its ugly head, digging sharp talons into the depths of his soul, where his love laid. He weakly held his face as the sobs tore through him. He was angry, at the world, at himself, and maybe even at God.

“Doc, I think she’s gone,” Bradley stood to the side of Jack as the sobs continued. Twice in one day he cracked. And now he sat amongst the people who looked to him for guidance, broken. It wasn’t fair. None of those people deserved to die.

"It's not fucking fair, what is the point of all of this if we can't save them?!" Jack was breaking, you needed to get him somewhere else.

You reached a hand down to Jack, you and now Bradley could be his safe space. Jack took your hand and stood, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“I’m not home yet, but I’m hugging my girl tight Charlie.” You wrapped an arm around Jack’s waist, the three of you heading back into the storm. Before you could even make it in a group of punk teens on motorcycles whizzed past the ambulance bay, chucking fireworks at the doorway. Jack heard the familiar noise before he even saw the bikers. He pushed you and Bradley down, crouching above the two of you as one of the fireworks popped at your feet.

“Hey, hey! Get up now before they get our fucking location.” Jack was in full soldier mode, slightly crouched still, his head was on a swivel as he looked for enemies who weren’t there. A smoke bomb made to look like a grenade rolled under your feet, it popped loudly as the smoke began to seep from it. Jack’s grip was firm on your waist as he yelled to the other people in the bay about there being an attack.

“J-Jack. Baby we’re at work there’s no attack.” You coughed through the smoke as Jack pulled you into the ER, muttering about needing reinforcements. "We can go to the roof, the reinforcements will find us there, we'll be safe." Jack nodded in agreement, keeping his eyes trained foreward as you limped through the hospital together. You texted Kingsley to call in your own reinforcements- you were not going to make Jack work any more.

Get Bradley to call Vienna, see if she can come in. We're going home.

All ready on it captain! Vi is on her way

As the two of you stepped onto the roof, Jack realized where he was. The familair breeze grounded him as the two of you sat on the roofs edge. Jack's head fell onto your shoulders.

"Hell of a memorial day huh?"

"Yeah," You laughed dryly. "you could say that."

The two of you sat in silence for hours, the day started to gain its golden hues as the sun began to set. You didn't want to talk, not today. Jack always said you needed a day to feel, then a day to talk. Something his therapist had told him often. If either of you spoke it made the hellish day real, and you would have to face your losses. For now, you ignored the way the ground called to you, knowing you felt better above. Jack squeezed yout hand tightly, almost as if he was having the exact same thought.

"Jack?"

"Yeah baby?"

"Let's go home."

"Yes ma'am." Jack stood first, reaching down to help you over the guardrail. You held each other tightly as you snuck out of the ER, leaving everything but your phone to pick up another day. The night shift was in and fixing the chaos as they did, you were grateful to see Bradley's older sister Vienna work with her team like a well oiled machine. You thought of Leilani, who’d been moved up to the ICU after receiving a lung transplant and to Adam, who’d soon be hearing of his mother’s passing if he didn’t already know.

Part of you felt like a coward for leaving, but you knew you were leaving them in the best hands. Jack was no help to anyone if he was suffocating.

You drowned out fireworks with cheesy rom coms and the laughter the two of you desperatley needed. Beer, vodkas and Chinese takeout littered your coffee table. Your legs were perfectly intertwined with Jacks as you laid against his chest. He played with your hair, only jumping slightly at the pops of fireworks in the distance. He kept his eyes trained on the TV. You took his hand in yours and massaged it absentmindedly, something that helped ground him.

“I love you.” Jacks voice came quietly from behind your head, you let it fall against his shoulder so you could look up at him, placing a soft kiss to his jawline.

“I love you so much Jack Abbot. You are a good man, and a good doctor. We just didn’t have the right cards today.”

Jack nodded, the grief still heavy in his features. You snuggled into him further, his old Navy tee shirt only giving you so much warmth. (Aside from the huge furry blanket in your lap). Jack reached under your shirt, drawing small circles on your waist.

Jack would be okay, because you would be right there to help him.

“Remember, you’re always safe right here.” Jack pressed a kiss to your temple, catching a scene on the TV that made him genuinely laugh. Knowing Gloria was blowing up your phone and ignoring her was worth it. The man whose grip held you securely, your Jack. You would burn the world down for him, and he’d do the same.

He was always safe in your skin.

A/N: Oh my god im finally done I hope y'all love it. Jack im so sorry you're so sexy but someone has to stay traumatized.

Taglist: @ebodebo @kchronicallyonline @weasleysarch @sceletaflores @birdofcauthon14 @glamorizethechaos @pittinmystomach @pinkteaandroses

[afraidparade]

"Violet Hyacinths"

(hi surprise bozo i decided to render this sketch and then also write an entire accompanying piece because. i love ghostswap and i love pathetic human pazu)

Characters: Theo & Pazu (Ghostswap AU) Word count: 5,233 Genre: G/t, Hurt/comfort, Angst Content warnings: Suicidal ideation, depicitions of CPTSD, abusive behavior

__________________________

Theo gazed in wonderment at the tremendous spread of flora covering the entirety of the table before him. Granted, at his size, everything seemed tremendous by comparison, but he assumed that the quantity and variety would surely be impressive to even a normal-sized human. Leisurely drifting between each specimen, he inspected them curiously. It was rare of him to be afforded alone time these days — Pazu usually demanded his accompaniment wherever he went, though dismissed him today, muttering something about “not wanting to be nagged when he was already in a bad mood” on his way to class — so the little specter drank in the tranquility while he could. 

He briefly considered the irony of this moment he considered a respite, seeing as his existence up to this point had been so profoundly solitary, it had nearly driven him mad. Luck would have it that the only being – living or dead – on Earth that could actually understand him would take a discomforting amount of pleasure in seeing him suffer, but…beggars couldn’t be choosers, Theo supposed. And besides, it wasn’t all for nothing! Pazu had promised to exorcise him and finally set his weary soul free from this mortal plane. That willingness to help… eventually…meant that he had at least an ounce of goodness in the depths of his soul, right? So being the subject of a young man’s twisted whims in the meantime didn’t seem so bad compared to an eternity of loneliness. Sometimes. Usually.

A faint smile rose to Theo’s face as he hovered closer to a personal favorite of his. Several long stalks sat in a plain glass vase, each bursting at their peaks into concentrated puffs of small flowers with curved, pointed petals. To the best of his ability, he cupped one of the blossoms in his hands, though he only felt the faintest coolness of resistance as his palms phased through the corporeal object. At his diminutive size, just one of the small blossoms seemed about as big as he was. And though he lacked the lungs to inhale or the senses to smell, he mimicked the motion anyways. It was an act of hollow nostalgia for memories he didn’t possess, though it was nice to believe that he had done this in the life he must have once lived.

Recalling the names and attributes of all the floral species was difficult – especially when Pazu refused to share that information, as he seemed to interpret any pondering question from the ghost as some insurmountable burden not worthy of his precious time. But he recalled this one, as it was one that Pazu had finally relented to talking about after a long bout of nagging insistence: the hyacinth. Such a lovely name for such a lovely flower, he’d thought. And the dusty violet hue of this particular bloom was simply ethereal, though Theo sheepishly recognized that this could have been the effects of a personal bias, as he seemed to take on a spectrum of blues and purples within his own wispy form. He’d made his affections for the flower known at one point, to which he was met with a scoff and an, “I don’t see why. The scent gives me migraines, and the clusters are an eyesore.” Yet they remained a repeating staple in Pazu’s florism hobby, so perhaps he’d simply felt contrarian at the time. 

As if on cue, Theo could hear the soft clunking of keys fidgeting with the main entrance, the swift opening swing of the dormitory door, and the even swifter slam that followed. The little wisp shot back from the object of his admiration rapidly, all too aware that Pazu would kill him (well, in a manner of speaking) if he was caught touching anything of value to the human. He’d expected to see the raven-haired man appear around the corner at any second, possibly with a narrowed, scrutinous gaze, already suspecting Theo of messing with his personal projects. Or perhaps with a mischievous smirk, all too eager to delve into yet another and all too hands-on “exorcism experiment.” Neither appeared. Nothing appeared. Come to think of it, had there even been any sounds at all since the calamitous abuse of the dormitory door? There certainly hadn’t been any footsteps, so perhaps Pazu had…opened the door, realized he’d forgotten something, and then left again?

Just as this reasoning began sounding like a solid theory in the ghost’s mind, a quiet noise from the small entryway caught his attention. From his current angle, it was beyond his line of sight, but it had sounded like…breathing? Or, maybe choking? Concern spiked within the little apparition’s spectral heart, prompting him to approach the wall corner that obstructed his view of the door.

“Er…Pazu? Is that you?” Theo called softly, words heavied by trepidation. In lieu of a verbal response, there were more of those muffled little noises, more noticeable now with the closer proximity, and increasing in sporadic frequency. This did little to assuage the specter’s worries, so he resolved to quicken his advance toward the entryway until he breached the border of his obstruction. He tried again, “Pazu?”

Well, it was certainly Pazu. Theo would be lying if he said he hadn’t, for a moment, thought that perhaps an intruder had broken in. But beyond recognizing the figure hunched against the back of the door, his understanding of the situation ended there. Opting for black clothes as he so often did, and with a fluffy tangle of short jet waves, Pazu’s crouched form resembled some sort of shambling shadow of a puddle, as he seemed to have taken up residence in a corner of the floor. Two bony hands clenched fiercely against his head — one grasping at the hair above his temple, the other clawing against the flesh of his face — and the only eye visible from within the dark mess of shadows and limbs and hair was blown wide, staring feverishly, unblinkingly, downwards into nothing. 

Then Theo realized what the sounds he’d heard before were. ‘Breathing’ might not have been the proper term; they were more so airy spasms than they were proper breaths, wet and wheezing and incomplete. They wracked Pazu’s entire bundled frame, which, for the first time, appeared awfully small to the stunned ghost floating above. 

For a long moment, Theo was stunned into silence. In the weeks (Months? His concept of time had eroded long ago) that he’d known Pazu, he’d known a collected, calculated, and confident force of better-than-you bitterness. And, sure, maybe he was prone to the occasional fits of awkwardness or a childish tantrum, but certainly not…this. It would have almost seemed dream-like in its absurdity, if only ghosts could dream. Thus, Theo forced himself to accept this disquieting sight as reality, pushed his apprehension as far down as it would go, and wafted cautiously into the entryway. 

“Pazu! What- what happened to you?” Theo fretted, lowering himself to be within the trembling figure’s field of view. There was no reaction or intelligible response from the other, though it did seem for a moment as though Pazu had been attempting to quietly sound out words between fits of hyperventilation. His knees were tucked all the way up to his nose, subduing the already voiceless whimpers and blocking any attempt Theo could make at reading lips, but he swore he could make out a strained:

“Do… Doh… Don’t… Don’t…”

The worry on Theo’s features deepened as he began to wave an arm around, attempting again to catch the human’s attention. “Hey, come on! This isn’t like you, just…calm down and tell me what happened, okay?”

Still nothing. It had become a habit of Theo’s to hover just out of arm’s reach from Pazu, given the other’s tendency to pluck him out of the air and reduce his existence to a stress toy whenever he got bored. Now wasn’t the time to be wary of such impulses, though. The wisp inched closer, lacing his fingers together nervously as he approached the despondent giant.

“Did something happen?” he chanced the gentle query, only to be met with more formless whispers that remained void of any recognition.

Theo swallowed, then tried again.

“Did someone…hurt you?”

As if shocked back into reality, Pazu’s form went rigid and his visible eye shifted into alarmed focus, pinning itself on Theo in an instant. The ghost tensed reflexively, but no hand darted out to grab him this time. Instead, the noirette’s face scrunched into a vitriolic grimace at the sight of the other, before burying itself completely into a cradle of folded arms and tucked knees. 

“Go away,” was all he muttered, but the bite of his words was choked away by a tightness in his throat, giving his voice an uneven half-spoken-half-whispered quality. Theo faltered, but didn’t comply with the command. Certainly, Pazu’s flaws were innumerable — and often intolerable — but goodness, Theo didn’t hate him. Leaving him in this state simply wasn’t an option, nor something he considered even briefly. Pazu’s hiccuping gasps still rattled the entirety of his thin frame, and despite him obscuring his face, his frantic partial sobs were still audible. Though this side of his personal tormentor was unfamiliar and confounding to him, Theo had already decided that this wasn’t something he could turn away from.

The little ghost steeled his resolve and pressed further. “I- I’m sorry. I know I’m probably not who you want to see right now. I mean, another human would probably be, ehm, better equipped to handle something like this, right? But I—“

“Go. Away,” Pazu repeated, louder, sharper, through gritted teeth. It appeared as though forcing out the warning took a great deal of strength from the hunched man, as his tremors intensified immediately after. Like a performer who’d been balancing on stilts for a terribly long time and, after straining to maintain a proper posture for so long, now teetered and trembled in a desperate attempt to keep from tumbling to the ground. “Just piss off. I don’t care where. Leave me alone and quit being a pest.”

Theo’s brows creased at the stinging words, but they did little to dissuade him. He reconsidered his approach for a moment. Right, less rambling this time. Straight to the point. 

“I don’t want to leave you here,” his small voice affirmed decisively. The hiss of a sharp inhale came from the shambling mass of shadows, knuckles paling as he clawed harder at his scalp. Theo was close to him now, just inches from the twitching forearm that clamped his body tightly together. He reached a translucent hand outwards, unsure if the touch would soothe his living companion at all, but determined to try. Shifting to a gentler tone, Theo continued, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, and maybe a dull little ghost like me won’t be able to understand it. But if you try opening up about it, well…maybe I could help in some way! If you just tell me what happened–”

And that’s when the clamp came undone, limbs unfurling explosively and swinging outward. Whether or not Pazu actually meant to strike Theo was debatable, but he had regardless, and with no small amount of force. 

“Nothing happened!” he roared in a cracking retort, “Is that what you want to hear? Will that make you leave me the fuck alone?! Nothing! Literally, in every sense of the word, nothing happened!”

It took the dazed ghost several moments to reorient himself; he’d tumbled backwards through the air with a yelp once Pazu had swatted at him, colliding with the nearby wall at a momentum that was too great for him to pass through it. He hovered limply as he bade the world around him to stop spinning and shook his head in hopes of rattling his senses back into place. They did, eventually, and Theo was able to properly see the entirely foreign expression on the human’s face clearly now. His bloodshot eyes were wide and aimless, glistening with the remnants of tears that were now smudged in every direction across his cheeks. His jaw clenched into a trembling snarl, as if the words he’d spat were so unpalatable to him that they’d made his bile rise, and reddish streaks and indents burned angrily against the dark skin that he’d evidently been gripping rather fiercely. 

“It was only a noise! Some vibrations in the air as someone dropped a— something, I don’t know! And that’s all it took for my stupid brain to produce some stupid chemical and activate some stupid instinct, and now I— I’m…!” His eyes welled up as the words died in his throat, and he gagged against them, before puling, “It’s all so stupid! It’s all nothing!”

“H-hey, woah! Whatever you’re feeling clearly isn’t ’nothing,’ Pazu!” Theo redoubled his efforts to reason with the student, already closing the distance that Pazu had created, “It’s okay to…to feel things, you know? I’m sure it doesn’t feel okay right this second, but if you’re sad, or angry, or scared, then—“

“Would you FUCK OFF already?!” Pazu shrieked the interruption as his hand scrabbled for whatever was closest to him — in this case, the phone that had tumbled out of his pocket — and in the same motion, hurled it with terrifying accuracy at the tiny specter. The projectile phased through his airy form (Thank the heavens, Theo prayed inwardly), but he flinched at the attack all the same, cringing doubly as he heard it smash against something delicate in its collision. He chanced a brief glance behind him to survey the damage, allowing a crestfallen breath to escape him at the sight of broken glass, a growing puddle, and a tangle of stems and damaged petals on the ground. For all the disdain Pazu seemed to harness regularly for just about anything and everything good in the world, his flowers maintained the privilege of being the only things he showed excessive care and tenderness for. Yet the calamitous shatter seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. Perhaps he hadn’t even noticed it. 

“Spouting all this asinine therapy-speak like you even care. Hah…ahah! I know you hate me!” Pazu’s voice had taken on a quavering mania as he chattered between rapid, uneven breaths, “And why wouldn’t you, right? Dug this grave my own damn self, right? Bet you enjoy seeing me writhe like some pathetic little insect, right?!”

“Pazu—!!”

“Everyone hates me, and everyone should. Hah, it’s— it’s so much better this way. The only reason anyone wants me around is to use me, but oh, oops! Turns out they can’t be bothered to put up with the ‘me’ they’re using. And you’re just like them, you know? U-using me just because I’m the only one you CAN use. Hah! It’s funny, isn’t it? A damn comedy! I genuinely can’t tell which of us got the worse deal out of all this, and you’re dead!”

His shoulders shuddered then, a sob at first. But when they persisted along with arhythmic puffs and wheezes, Theo realized that he had begun a strained, hybrid process of something between laughing and crying. 

“And that’s the fucked up thing!” Pazu continued, voice fraught with a manic desperation, “I think about it sometimes. How much I envy you. How much simpler it would all be if I were dead. No need to try and play the same stupid, useless game as everyone else. None of those horrible, pesky memories to bog you down. Nothing to tie you to any responsibilities. Just…floating, free and alone.”

He sniffled then, an ugly sound. “World’d probably be better off if I were a ghost instead. Not like anyone actually wants me around.”

There was a heavy pause. Theo’s hands clenched unsurely, measuring his next words with considerable trepidation, and Pazu kept his gaze lowered and obscured.

“…Pazu—“

“Shut up. I’m not actually about to kill myself.”

“What? No, I wasn’t— I mean, that’s good, of course! But…” he dared to inch closer then, drifting forward while the other consciously averted his gaze. The spirit sighed, abandoning his jumbled words and starting again, “Look, I know you’re not particularly keen on taking my advice. And it’s not that I can blame you — I, ah, don’t exactly have lived experience to draw back on — but regardless. Please at least listen when I say this.”

“Once you’re dead, that’s all there is. You’ve no future, no potential for change. Being a ghost isn’t some sort of grand ‘round two’ where you get to try everything over again, Pazu. It’s…perpetuity. Stagnation. Regret you can never, ever act on. But– but being alive!” Theo’s face lit up in a weary smile, as if suddenly realizing his somber tone may be resulting in the opposite of his intended effect, “Being alive means always having the opportunity to strive for something better. To change, and to grow!”

“And look, I can’t possibly know what you’re going through right now, or understand what you…might have been through before…a-and it’s not my intention to pry. But as long as you’re alive, you’ll always have the promise of waking up to a brand new day. Ah…this all probably doesn’t mean much coming from a dead guy, huh?” he added with a sheepish chuckle, “I guess I just…I want you to know that I’m here. And I may not say the right things, but you can always talk to me if something is troubling you, okay?”

Pazu huffed, lifting his reddened gaze again with an almost insulted incredulity. “‘Always?’ Don’t patronize me. The only reason you’re still with me is to ultimately get away from me. I’m not an idiot. I don’t need your conditional altruism.”

Theo smiled sadly. That wasn’t something he could deny, and they both knew it. “That…is the arrangement, yes,” he spoke slowly, measuring his words with great care, “I’m not supposed to exist as I am now in the first place, and I get the feeling I shouldn’t stay. But today — right here, right now — I am here. And if you only focus on a future you’ve already decided is empty, you’ll never realize what’s here with you in your ‘now.’ You’re not alone, Pazu.”

He drifted closer, trying again to reach out a small, wispy hand. “You don’t have to be alone.”

“Touch me and I swear I’ll find a way to kill you a second time.”

The threat felt tired, and lacked any real bite. 

“I think I’ll take my chances.”

Theo rested his palms softly against the other’s face. Despite his verbal reluctance, Pazu didn’t stop him. It was strange, the wisp thought; every other corporeal object felt like near nothing. Tangible static, at most. Maybe it was due to the mysterious paranormal abilities the human possessed, but Theo could actually feel him at the touch. He was warm — a rather foreign sensation to the lifeless wisp at this point— and though it seemed that he’d regained most of his senses, Theo could feel the aftershocks of a full-body tremble beneath his palms every so often. 

Admittedly, the disparity in size and power between the two had made Pazu out to be some omnipotent giant in Theo’s mind. This entire time, he had merely been subjected to the whim of hands larger than the entirety of his spectral form, and any attempts at reasoning with him were either sneered at or flat-out ignored. In this moment of vulnerability, though, any trace of that looming threat seemed wholly nullified. For the first time in Theo’s existence, Pazu was just a normal human.

It was a strange thing, trying to cradle the face of someone a hundred times larger than oneself. The best Theo could manage was resting his hands against either side of the bridge of Pazu’s nose, tracing calm circles occasionally, and even daring to touch his own forehead to the other’s. He could feel a piercing glare affixed to him — bloodshot, glistening, and swirling with emotions Theo couldn’t understand — but he elected to ignore this, closing his own eyes instead and focusing on his efforts to subdue his volatile counterpart. 

“I’ll leave when the time is right, Pazu. But for now, I’m here with you. And regardless of what you believe my motives are or how you think I regard you, I don’t want to see you hurting. You don’t deserve this,” he soothed. Pazu clenched his jaw, but didn’t respond. “You’ll get through this. I know you can. Just take some deep breaths and try to relax yourself, okay?”

There was a prolonged pause — perhaps an inward battle as Pazu debated how petulant he was willing to be in that exact moment — before he eventually relented and reluctantly followed the specter’s instructions. He breathed against his palm, still clasping at his face, and continued until ragged gasps eased into slow, tired puffs. His shoulders dropped slowly as Theo continued to calm him, and a sobered exhaustion eventually replaced the manic vitriol in his features.

It was quiet. It was over. And neither seemed to know what happened next. 

It was after several moments of this peaceful uncertainty that Theo could hear the rustling of movement, and could subsequently feel a warmth against his back, delicate at first. A glance over his shoulder revealed that Pazu had raised a hand to pinch Theo’s frame between his forefinger and thumb, and at first, the ghost was foolish enough to believe it might have been the larger’s approximation of a hug. But then the grip tightened and applied forward pressure, eliciting an undignified squeak from the ghost as he’d suddenly been reduced to little more than a spectral rag. Pazu dragged him along as one would a tissue, swiping away the moisture from his face with little care for the other’s panicked wriggling, before eventually dismissing him with a flick of his wrist and a disinterested, “Get off of me.”

It took Theo a great deal of weightless tumbling and wobbling to find his footing (so to speak) after being tossed aside, the unexpected ordeal disorienting him thoroughly. Pazu began rising to his feet as the ghost was left shaking the wet residue from his limbs, frowning at its unwillingness to piece apart from his body. 

“Ugh— Pazu, really! You couldn’t have used your sleeve, or – I don’t know – anything that wasn’t me?! Do you realize how hard it is to clean yourself off when water phases right through your—“

“God, shut up already. My head is killing me,” Pazu grumbled, sounding much more like his usual self already, albeit somewhat exhausted. He had strode to the scene of broken glass and scattered flowers, narrowing his eyes and huffing a sigh as he collected his impromptu projectile. He turned the phone over in his hands a few times, seemingly checking for notable damage. Based on his lack of reaction to the object, Theo assumed that it had, at least, come out of the tantrum relatively unscathed. 

“Somehow, you’re so annoying that it’s legitimately sobering. I’m almost impressed.”

“Oh? Oh!” Theo’s face lit up as he considered the remark, his previous gripe dissipating as even the bluish glow of his form seemed to intensify with his delight, “Thank you!”

“That—“ Pazu spun around with an expression of blank bewilderment. “That wasn’t a compliment, you freak.”

——————

The dormitory door clattered open noisily as its resident shouldered past it, staggering slightly as he hauled a hefty-looking plastic bucket into the living space and snickering to himself all the while. The glowing speck trailing him — perceptible to his eyes only — appeared much less amused, striking a deep frown and fretting his hands in jittery, nervous motions. 

“Pazu!” the ghost chastised in a quavering tone, “You mustn’t speak to others that way — especially when they’re your peers, and doubly so when they manage your living situation! You should go back and apologize to that young man right away!”

Pazu snorted, kicking the door behind him closed with a haphazard, unbalanced motion. “Oh, please. The RA can’t actually do anything to me. He just likes going on power trips and yelling at anything that moves.”

“But you didn’t have to bring his mother into it!”

He shrugged, flashing a toothy, self-congratulatory grin. “Well, he’s the one who overreacted over a tiny bit of spilt water in the hallway. I don’t escalate, Teddy; I just give what I get.”

Theo groaned, throwing a worried glance to the door again, as if the dormitory RA would come bursting through with an eviction notice at any moment. It wasn’t as though he personally needed a roof over his head, but Pazu losing his home would surely cause even further delays to his research in exorcism, a process that already seemed to be taking quite some time. And for goodness sake, Theo did care about the boy. Not that Pazu ever made it easy to do so.

A ruckus from within the dormitory drew the wisp’s attention back to his living counterpart. The bucket — apparently a special order Pazu had placed with the wholesaler that he normally sourced his flowers from — had sloshed more puddles onto the floor as a struggle to lift it onto the table ensued. Thank goodness the delicate blossoms had been covered by a thin, opaque tarp cinched gently around the stems, Theo marveled, as he was certain that half of their petals would have been knocked clean off by now. The obscured flowers did leave him to wonder what plans Pazu had that required buying a single variant in such bulk, as he tended to source from a variety of species with a preference for more petite arrangements. It was nice to see him like this again, though; since the other day’s bizarre outburst, Pazu had seemed quieter than usual, and at times it even felt as if he was outright avoiding Theo. Though the recent vulgarity and mischief wasn’t exactly soothing, the familiarity of his old personality was comforting, and witnessing the resurfacing of the passion he held for his flowers eased Theo’s anxieties in some small way.

In the time it took for the tiny specter to drift across the room to the table, Pazu had finally managed to settle his haul on its surface, his lanky frame deflating slightly from the effort.

“So…what did you end up getting this time?” Theo queried, assuming his typical position of hovering just above the noirette’s shoulder. He’d been staring down at the covered bundle of flora, but after a gap of silence with no response, he turned to glance at the face beside him, only to realize he was being stared at. Pazu’s visible eye was widened, yet blank, and just as Theo had begun to wonder if he’d somehow said something to upset him, he cleared his throat. 

“It’s…not really any of your business. I don’t even particularly like this one, so I don’t even know why I’m bothering with it— I mean, maybe you’ll like it, since you have terrible taste and all. Not that I got them for you, obviously,” Pazu stammered in a way that was very unlike him. He picked at the twist tie securing the protective tarp slowly, his thin fingers rigid and clumsy as if stricken with sudden stage fright, then clicked his tongue and muttered, “Ugh, why’d you have to draw attention to it? This would’ve been easier if you weren’t so nosy—“

Both the living and dead occupants of the dorm flinched in shock at a sudden banging at the door. The muffled voice of the RA carried through the barrier, prattling on sternly about needing to speak to Pazu immediately and how “this was the last time” and other such heated threats. The subject of the summons gave a mildly frustrated huff, whereas Theo launched himself into a full-blown panic.

“See?! I told you to apologize! Now you’ve gone and gotten yourself evicted!” the spirit caterwauled, eliciting an exasperated roll of the eyes from the giant beside him. 

“Cool it, Tedster. He said it was the last time last time, and I had him crying three minutes into our little chat,” Pazu muttered. A wicked smirk snaked its way across his face as he added in a hushed, sing-song snicker, “Bet’cha I can get it down to two.”

He yanked the plastic sheet away from the bucket as he walked towards the entrance, crumpling it into a messy bundle and tossing it haphazardly into a corner, presumably to be dealt with later. Theo began to drift after him, already dreading the idea that he’d likely end up as Pazu’s makeshift fidget toy again (he tended to meet this fate any time Pazu needed to deal with what he deemed to be an aggravating situation, which was…admittedly, quite often), but he was halted by the dismissive wave of a hand. 

“Stay here. I can only handle a single goody-two-shoes talking my ear off about ‘responsibility’ and ‘morality’ at a time.” There was a high-pitched lilt to the words he emphasized, and Theo was certain that it was an attempt at mocking his own lectures. He would have been keen to point out that he, in fact, sounded nothing like that, but kept his mouth shut. As Pazu neared the door, he made a low noise as if he’d just recalled something, then turned and pointed an accusatory finger at his undead captive. “And don’t touch my flowers. I swear to God, if I come back and see you getting your gross dead-ness on them again, I’ll—“

“You’ll find a way to kill me a second time. Yes, I recall,” Theo finished the threat, almost dutifully. He hadn’t meant it as a means of back talk, but upon realizing it may have come across as such to Pazu (and reminding himself for the umpteenth time to think before he speaks, damn it!), he stiffened, bracing for an icy glare that promised later punishment. But the student’s expression was surprisingly blank, lacking even the faintest trace of hostility. He blinked, glancing at the bundle on the table, then back to Theo.

“Um…right,” he replied, then simply, “Thanks.”

And this was what utterly confounded Theo beyond anything else he’d seen as of late. It seemed an odd response to their banter, and completely out of character for the normally cold-hearted recluse. Come to think of it, had Pazu ever thanked him for…well, anything? Why now?

The door gap in the doorway narrowed in Pazu’s absence, and the beginnings of a royal chewing out could be heard (Theo could just barely make out a “You know I can hear you talking to yourself, right?”). Though as it finally clicked shut and the spirit was left in silence, it dawned on him that he’d never gotten a good look at the flowers beneath the now discarded tarp. Madly curious as to what could have possibly sparked such odd behaviors in his living counterpart, Theo turned his attention back to the table. And then he understood. A beaming smile rose to his face, and the spectral aura around his form glowed a bit brighter.

The container before him was practically overflowing with petals now freed from their restrictive covering, each hyacinth a bursting with a dazzling violet hue. He would never know — he would never be bold enough to ask, really — but Theo felt certain now that he knew what the earlier thanks had been for.

[martian-astro10]

Solar return observations- Part 5

If you have Saturn in 12th then sleep well, that is....if you manage to fall asleep in the first place. (I have it this year and IT SUCKS, I have literally not been able to sleep, I've tried every single tea, every meditation, white noises, NOTHING WORKS, I also have mars in 12th, so I'm just fucking tired the whole time)

North node in 2nd is an indication that you'll start earning money for the very first time in your life, it doesn't have to be a full time job (I have seen this a lot of times when a person starts working for the first time, like a part time job or something. You get to experience what it's like to have "your" money)

I'm pretty sure that an astrologer has already said this, but I don't remember who, so I'll say it again, Uranus in 3rd means getting a new cycle, bike or car, basically anything that helps you with short distance travelling. (One of my friends have it this year and he already had a cycle but it got stolen and he just decided to buy a car, since he has money saved up for one)

This is very specific, but if you have Jupiter in 9th/ 11th then GO GET THAT RECOMMENDATION LETTER. (If you are graduating or planning to get a new job, this year is good for that. The years in which my sister, my friends or I have had this, our teachers, bosses or colleagues were SO impressed with us and we got really good reference letters, we slayed so hard in those years)

Vertex in 6th can be a VERY busy and exhausting year. Too many responsibilities and not enough knowledge of how to deal with them. (I had this the year in which I started living alone, It was also squaring my moon and dude, TW the suicidal ideation was STRONG. I wish I could give some sort of an advice but I don't know what to say, you just need to learn how to deal with the problems as they come)

Mercury square Neptune....the level of miscommunication is insane. (One of my closest friends has this and she...I love her but she's being very annoying. We were on a trip and she was talking to some people, so me and my other friend, we started clicking pictures, cuz we didn't want to disturb her and she comes up and says "why are you guys doing this without me, why are you not including me, if you don't wanna hang out with me anymore just say it" like GIRL) if you have this, don't start unnecessary drama, communication will be difficult so just stay quiet

Chiron in 12th is one of the shittiest years in regards to mental health, I hate this. (My friends have had this before and it's there in my 2025 solar return chart and I'm already dreading it. Everything bad that can happen...happens. I don't care what anyone says, this placement is just pure EWWWW and NOTHING can convince me otherwise)

Aries in 8th can be the year in which you lose your virginity (If you WANT to) I know quite a few people who had this the year they lost their V-card. (It's completely okay if you don't though, take your time and do it with a person who you trust and love, no pressure)

Mars in 9th is such a good placement for travelling and studies. (I had this in my 1st year of college, I remember I was so excited, studying was very easy, I loved learning new things and stuff, it was very nice. I was also travelling a lot, discovering new places. I had a lot of energy, really fun year)

Sun in 7th is a great placement if you want to work with others. (My mom has it this year and her business is ON FIRE, every time she has a meeting, it goes so well and she always gets a better deal than what she expected) this is a really good time for working with others, in partnerships. If you are a student, then you're going to do especially well in group projects.

(all pictures are taken from Pinterest)

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[mariusrenathyrs-crashout]

I love you Anthony Burch because whenever he decides to play a mentally ill character crashing out, he really commits to it. And I say that jokingly but being a mentally ill person and knowing he also is a mentally ill person, watching him portray characters with severe depression or suicidal ideation or self worth and identity issues always feels so cathartic because I know he's doing it from the heart. He's acting like all rpers do, but he's putting in a level of truth in it that makes everyone want to rip their hair out listening to Francis sob in fear or Grant demean himself and justify his death or any other number of characters and situations. But also, it's this genuineness that's the reason why when his characters - especially Francis - do something drastically harmful to himself, everyone in the Spotify comments are like "you ok? you good? Anthony? Hey Anthony, we ok?"

[amyispxnk]

Mi Niña Hermosa

Masterlist

Summary - Javier gets you pregnant, but then he gets scared, leaving you to raise your little girl all alone. One day, he sees you working at a brothel to try and make ends meet, and realises what he needs to do.

A/N: for this ask! i hope you like it pookie<3 also please excuse any bad spanish! i tried my best with it but it might not be 100% accurate.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of sex work and sex, violence, language, pregnancy/children, arguing, brief suicidal ideation, hurt+comfort, angst, men being men

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

“Shh, shh, Carmen, mi amor. Está bien,” you plead with your baby daughter. She’s been up for the past hour because of yet another explosion a few blocks away. You think it was a car bomb this time, but does it really matter? All you know for sure is that Carmen is not going to let you sleep through the night because of it.

She’s almost 12 months old now, which means it's been almost 2 years since you last saw Javi. You hate yourself for it, but sometimes you look at your little girl and feel bitter. It’s not her fault, but she was the reason that Javi finally said goodbye to you.

You both knew it was a long time coming, but when you showed him a positive pregnancy test that night, you yelled at each other until your throats were raw and all your tears had been cried, before he slammed the door in your face and left you there. It was the final time you saw him.

Because of Carmen’s deadbeat father, you ended up in a brothel. It was one of the hardest decisions of your life, but you knew you had to do it for her.

“¡Muy bien chicas, salgan y ganen algo de dinero!” You want to jump out of this building, is your first thought. Crash all the way to the floor and forfeit this terrible life you’ve been ‘blessed with’. But you can’t. So you hold your head high, plaster on a smile, and walk out into the lobby of the brothel.

Your smile drops when you see him.

Of all the fucking brothels to go to, he chooses this one? The one you just so happened to start working at a week prior? That tenth-storey window looks even more tempting right now, especially when he locks eyes with you.

He’s with a man, blonde hair, blue eyes. You think that man’s name is Steve Murphy. Yes, you’ve seen them on the news. Who the fuck hasn’t? It just makes you even more frustrated. He left you and Carmen behind so that he could hunt down Pablo Escobar. He abandoned the two of you for fame.

Javi’s eyes dart back and forth between you and Steve, before he starts making his way towards you.

Hell to the fucking no. You turn on your heel and almost drag a man you noticed was ogling you for the past 5 minutes into one of the rooms, letting the curtains close behind you, separating you from Javi.

The time you share with that man is no different than any of the other men you’ve been with, all uncomfortable and gross for you, mind-blowingly good for him.

Sometimes you still think of Javi when you feel a man on top of you. He was the best you had, after all.

Outside, Javi curses loudly, drawing the eye of a few people and his partner.

“What the fuck was that, Javi? We’re here to question the girl, not chase after this random. Your dry spell that bad?” Steve laughs, clapping him on the back. Javi quickly shrugs him off, jaw clenched and gaze hollow.

“I know her.” He mutters. Yes, he knows you. He knows every part of you. Your smile, which he only saw on a rare occasion. Your eyes, which could always pierce him, see straight through his soul and see the worst parts of him. Your body, which you now sell because of him.

Steve is still yapping on about something or other whilst the storm inside of Javi swirls, growing and growing. You’re behind that curtain, selling your body. He knows why you’re doing it too, and it makes him feel even worse. He feels like he’s about to pass out as it all hits him at once.

What a piece of shit he’s been.

You don’t deserve this life. You deserve to be happy, supported and protected by someone, anyone who can help you. Not Javi though. He’s not fit to be a father. After what he’s seen, what he’s done, he could never care for something as precious as your baby.

But he knows what men are like. Knows that, somehow, he’s one of the better men in this country. It’s not a high bar to pass, this he knows too, but he figures that it must be why you have to work here to provide for yourself and his child. Fuck. He doesn’t even know the gender, the name. He wasn’t there for you at all, and he should have been.

It feels like there’s no going back though. How could he ever apologise enough or make it up to you? What he’s done is irreversible. Just from the way you reacted when you saw him now, it feels like it’ll be impossible to try to apologise to you.

He thinks of his father, his mother. How disappointed would they be? They probably already were, but with this? Abandoning a girl with a child he gave her?

They would surely disown him.

He feels like he’s been ungrateful too. After being raised by two loving and caring parents, how could he leave his own child without one? And with a life like this?

He runs a hand down his face, telling Steve to shut up. A loud shout from the man behind the curtain, surely finishing without giving you a moment of pleasure. He knows what you sound like when the sex is good. You barely made a peep in these past 5 minutes.

The man walks out, commenting on ‘how good that slut was’ as he walks past Javi and Steve, and it takes everything in him not to punch him square in the face there and then.

“I need to talk to her, Steve. 5 minutes.” Javi decides suddenly. He can’t let this go on.

“You better not be fucking on the job, Javi.”

He grunts in response, entering the room and letting the curtains slide closed behind him.

The entire world goes still, silent just for the two of you. Almost 2 years have gone by, and this is how you meet. The shame almost swallows him whole.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, before you can even register what’s happening, because he knows you’ll be ready to kick and scream to get him away from you when you do.

Unsurprisingly, your eyes well with tears, and your face twists into one of disgust.

“Why the fuck are you here.” You spit, holding your robe tighter around yourself.

“We were here for a job, and-”

“Do you think I actually care? You fucked off two years ago, I don’t want to see you back here now. Whatever it is you want, I don’t care.” You interrupt. Yes, this was going to be as difficult as he thought.

“Baby, please just-”

“Don’t fucking call me that! You don’t get to call me that!” You shout. He’s on borrowed time before somebody comes and escorts him out of here.

“Just listen to me, please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He pleads, desperate for you to listen. He doesn’t know how to get his message across to you.

Your tears burst forth, fat droplets cascading down your skin as you turn away from him.

“Go away, Javier. I don’t want to see your face ever again. I see it in her everyday and it already haunts me enough.”

His baby is a girl.

“I’m here to talk about her. I… I want to help. I’m so sorry for leaving. I got scared. I thought- I wasn’t ready to take care of something as precious as a baby… I thought you would get hurt if it was discovered that a DEA agent like myself had a child.”

“Yeah. Agente de la DEA, Javier fucking Peña,” you scoff, “who abandoned his child in pursuit of fame. To catch a bad guy. Some fucking hero you think you are.”

He can’t get angry with you. He won’t. However wrong you are about what you just said. He won’t do it.

“I don’t want fame.” He grits out. How much of an asshole is he that you thought he would leave you for fame? “I’m trying to help this country. It was dangerous enough for me to see you regularly, you know this. If I was seen with a woman and a child, they wouldn’t waste a second trying to kill you both. I couldn’t let that happen to you. I care about you. Please understand, baby.” He begs you again, hand carefully reaching for your shoulder and turning you to face him. You’re still sniffling, silent tears falling down your cheeks as you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Mírame.” He whispers, cupping your jaw and tilting your head up so he can see your eyes.

“Please, I’m sorry.” He says. He’ll say it thousands, millions of times, it still won’t be enough, but he can see that you’re starting to understand.

“It’s been 2 years. I had to be pregnant and raise her all by myself. Not once did you check on me.”

“I was scared. I was being a coward, I know. I… I won’t be surprised if you tell me to leave again, but let me help pay for her. I don’t want you working here. It’s dangerous.” He murmurs, eyes shining with emotion as he looks into yours.

You shake your head, and he gets ready to argue about it, but you pull him closer, squeezing the air out of him and shaking with sobs again.

“I’ve needed you for so long. I- I don’t know how I managed this long. I need you, Javi.” You choke out, his heart shattering with every word until it’s laid out on the floor for you.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” He soothes, running his hand through your hair.

Over the next month, he helps you leave the brothel, gives you some money to get on your feet. You still live apart, despite his protests that you’d be safer living with him, you’re not ready yet.

Today you figure will be the decider of that. He’s going to meet Carmen.

You rub your eyes as the morning sun hits you, rousing you from your sleep. The clock reads 9:37. Just over 20 minutes until your daughter finally meets her father.

The 20 minutes are spent waking and feeding her, before a knock on the door stops you.

You exhale shakily and walk to the door, opening it slowly.

“Hola, Javi.” You say softly. He greets you, equally timid. You notice he’s holding a little teddy bear in his hands, almost making you laugh at how it looks being held by this big brooding man, but you just shake your head.

“Come and meet her.” You murmur, opening the door further so he can step inside.

There, messing around on your bed, is the most beautiful little girl he’s ever seen. He can definitely see his features on her face. The lips, the eyes. She got your nose, thankfully he thinks, and her hair is a unique blend of yours and Javi’s.

“She’s so beautiful.” He whispers, and you just nod, still unsure of your feelings for him right now.

“Carmen, baby, say hello.” You coo, picking her up and bringing her over to Javi. He’s quiet, scared, as always. But then she babbles at him, clapping her hands together and trying to reach for him. The teddy. He almost forgot about it.

“Hola pequeña, soy tu papá. ¿Quieres el peluche?” He says softly, waving it around a bit before handing it to her and letting her play. You and Javi talk for a bit while she sits on the bed, but then something happens. She gets tired, which is normal around 2pm, but instead of crawling to you, she goes to Javi. Carmen wraps her little fingers around one of his larger ones, curling up in his lap. The two of you still, and it shocks you to see tears appearing in his eyes as he strokes her hair, letting her sleep on him.

You decide to move in with him that night, realising that you don’t want him to be away from you and Carmen ever again.

TYSM for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! 💞

[lauufeydottir]

You Look So Good In Blue

[part one | part two | part three | part four]

living in The Watchtower and seeing Walker everyday is no easy task, especially when all he wants is your attention and all you want is for him to disappear. It all culminates in a concerningly violent and sexually charged sparring match

[Reader is a mutant with the power to manipulate blood, and has a serum-induced healing factor similar to Wolverine's. Former Widow and Avenger, current Thunderbolt New Avenger.]

john walker x fem!reader

words: 4.7k

cw: canon typical violence, swearing, descriptions of blood and injuries, choking, implied suicidal ideation, self inflicted wounds, dry humping, enemies to reluctant allies and back to enemies, pining, john calls the reader ‘Red’ (because of the blood shtick, he’s very creative) (18+ MDNI)

a/n: hi again still consumed by thoughts of this fucking guy. It’s looking like this will have 3-4 parts, most of which just needs to be beta’d. thank you to those who enjoyed the first part!

nobody puts baby in the corner - fall out boy

You never talk about it, what Walker had seen of your guilt in The Void, but the experience haunts him all the same.

He thinks about it all the time, still trying to compartmentalize the memory of you in that bunker. How broken you were in that moment is burned into his brain and he hasn’t gotten it to go away. But there's a part of him that wants to keep it with him, because knowing a secret about you that no one else does makes him feel special for reasons he doesn’t want to confront. The rage he saw from you that day felt like looking in a mirror, reflecting the same urge in him that’s always simmering under the surface.

Despite the unexpected support he’d given you in that day, you still treat Walker harshly. If you can keep him at arm’s length, then maybe it won’t feel so humiliating that he knows you more intimately than you wanted him to. You look at him like you're just waiting for the betrayal. Even when he’s done nothing wrong, he can't stay in your good graces. He wants to talk about it. Wants a better explanation of what he’d seen, to understand your pain, to tell you that maybe it’s okay, but you never give him the chance.

He’s known from the start that you’re complex, that you had gone through hell, but he had no idea just how much. He didn’t realize the violence you were capable of, the restraint that you must be clinging to in every fight, or else everyone will see you for what you are. In Latvia, you’d looked at him like he was a monster, and that’s what really gets under his skin about the whole thing. How you still act like you're better than him. Like you aren’t one too.

And then it’s six months later. Six months of settling into The Watchtower, six months of varying levels of public scrutiny over the title Valentina bestowed upon them, six months of finally being an Avenger. And inadvertently, six months of you and John walking on eggshells around each other. He can’t back down from a fight, especially when you’re the one who's picking it. The two of you bicker more often than not, always filling the space between you with harsh words and heated insults.

Today’s argument has been building up for the last week, starting early Tuesday morning with an offhanded comment from John about your coffee habits. It escalated on Wednesday when you made fun of his beret, and now it’s coming to a head in the training room. You’re fully at each other’s throats, interrupting the drills you’d been running. You aren’t even sure how it got this bad. One minute, it’s your turn to lead today’s combat exercises; the next, he’s making some smartass comment because you dared to do your job and correct his too-wide stance.

"You just have to be the smartest person in the room at all times, don't you?" John snaps, clenched fists at his sides as he breaks form.

You scowl at his scrutiny, eyes narrowing as you bite back, "No, it's just that you’d rather be impulsive than prepared." You step closer to him, your footing precise and purposeful, still trying to keep your composure. "You're a disaster, Walker. You make decisions based on your ego and emotions, not logic. Strength won’t always save you."

John’s eyes are dark, his jaw clenched tight as you're on the edge of invading his personal space. With every word from your mouth, he’s getting more and more agitated— pissed even. Your proximity awakens that jittery feeling in his chest again, leaving him insecure. He could face his feelings head-on, take a step back and try to just talk to you, but instead his base instinct is to make sure you feel as bad as he does.

"Don't you dare lecture me on emotions," he sneers, pointing an accusatory finger at you. "You act like you're so much better, like you hold some moral high ground. But you're just as messy as me, if not more."

Your eyes flicker with offense, and you grit your teeth, taking a few more steps towards him until your chest makes contact with his outstretched finger. John pulls his hand back so quickly; you’d think the faint brush against your clavicle burned him.

"Moral high ground? Don’t make me laugh. You have the gall to talk about morals when everything you stand for is built on a crumbling foundation of personal gain and glory." You’re both alone in the gym now, the team already filtered out of the room five minutes ago, witnessing your spats enough times to know to make themselves scarce.

"Glory?" He laughs, the sound lacking any delight, "I do what I do for justice, not glory, Red." His gaze is unwavering, but his body tenses as you approach, nearer than he’d like you to be. "Oh, right, I forgot, you're such a saint, aren’t you? Your hands are clean, right? No Hydra skeletons in your closet at all, huh?" It��s a low blow, but it’s also the closest either of you has come to acknowledging that day in The Void, and he’ll keep prodding at the wound if it keeps your attention on him.

Your brows raise in shock as soon as the words leave his mouth, not bothering to school your features. You're taken aback by his boneheaded audacity. Months of shoving that day deep down and locking it away where it can't bother you, and here he is throwing it in your face.

"Watch it, Walker," you warn steadily, your tone increasingly hostile. "You don’t want to start something you know you can’t finish."

He stiffens at your warning, a subtle reminder of the fight in Latvia. John knows he's crossed a line, but he can't make himself shut up. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh?" John lets out another humorless laugh. He’s nervous, and you can tell because you can feel it in his pulse. "You judge me over my worst mistake, but your dirty little secret isn’t any better. I’ve seen what you're capable of, Red. And let me tell you, it ain't pretty."

"You’ve had it out for me for years, Walker,” you scoff. "I think you’re just mad because what you saw shatters your delusion of me being the enemy. But we’re not as different as you made us out to be in your head, are we?” You’re in his face now, forcing yourself into his orbit. “You think you know what I can do? You haven’t seen anything yet.”

"Is that a threat?" He snaps, his gaze cold as he looks down at you. "You really think you can take me on by yourself, huh?”

You stare him down, unimpressed, but it’s obvious from the grinding of your teeth that he’s getting to you too. You’re both too stubborn and prideful to back down now. Fine. If he wants a demonstration, you'll give him one. You’ve been itching for the chance to finish that fight from the vault, anyway.

"Let’s see how that shit stance of yours holds up in a real fight." You shift in your spot, not stepping down but back, reaching for your boot. There’s an old hunting knife stashed inside; serrated edges dull from decades of use. It’s the only weapon you’ve ever needed to carry. “I beat you bloody once, and I’ll do it again. I don’t need Sam and Bucky’s help.”

"A butter knife? You're gonna have to do better than that to handle me, Red," he mocks, an arrogant sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’re so damn cocky— it's infuriating and alluring all at once. John stomps on the lip of his discarded shield to send it upwards and catches it in midair. He's itching to knock you down a peg, show you that he's not the pushover you like to think he is. You’re good, he'll give you that, but he's better. He has to be.

Your grip tightens on the hilt of the knife, your attention drawn to his shield. "It’s not the butter knife you need to be worried about," you warn. Holding your forearm out in front of you, you slice a vertical line from your wrist to the crook of your elbow. You’re unflinching, staring Walker down, switching hands and doing the same to the opposite arm. Blood pours from the alarming wounds like a faucet thanks to your radial artery, and you toss the hunting knife somewhere behind you. The scent of iron permeates the room, the tell-tale sign of your hemokinesis at work. Right in front of his eyes, the blood dripping from your arms starts to shift and slither through the air, pooling into each palm and solidified, until it resembles two macabre-looking scimitars. It’s one of your signature moves, but Walker knows it looks tougher than it actually is.

The two of you begin to circle each other, each step calculated and precise, each of you trying to predict what the other will do. The air is cloying with tension, both fueled by misunderstandings and resentment, and neither one is willing to give an inch. All bets are off as soon as you lunge forward, closing the distance with blinding speed. It’s an instantaneous clash, a brutal dance of blades and fists, pushing each other to the limit, and no one holds the upper hand for long. John can feel the adrenaline surging through him with every blow, every block, every parry. He knows he should be restraining himself, you’re his teammate at the end of the day and he shouldn’t be putting you at risk. But the anger boiling inside him is making it very hard to be rational.

Every time a hit lands, he wants to crawl out of his skin at the way it makes him crave your touch. Despite the discomfort, he pushes through, refusing to let you get the best of him. He tries to throw you off guard with a sudden feint, but you see it coming and block easily. Your eyes lock for a split-second, the understanding between the two of you that this isn’t just a spar to get it out of your systems, that it’s real.

You counter him with your own onslaught, your blades moving with expert precision, slicing through the air in a muddled red arch. You’re a whirlwind, not holding anything back. Your movements are fluid and effortlessly graceful, but there's nothing pretty about the bloodshed that follows in your wake. There’s sweat dripping down his face, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with a look of intense concentration as he blocks and dodges your relentless assault. You’re putting up more of a fight than he expected, but Walker is no pushover. He's stronger, just as deadly, and he needs this.

He throws himself at you unexpectedly, and when you move to block him, his shield crashes into your sanguine blades, and they shatter in your hands with a delicate crack, like picking at a scab. You roll out of the path of his shield before he can land a hit on you, wiping dried blood on your pants. The cuts you’d made on your forearms have long since healed, the process more painful than the initial slice, and the only indication you were ever bleeding at all is the red staining the fabric of your top.

You both pause, panting as you size each other up. John takes stock of you; sweaty, bloody, and a little bruised up, but your chin is high. You’re breathtaking, and it’s that same awe that he’d felt in The Void. He’s lost in thought and still catching his breath, foolishly expecting you to take a second to do the same. But you charge at him instead, going low. His stance— the very same one you’d criticized him for earlier— is too wide, and it’s far too easy to slip through his parted legs. One well-timed kick later, and his shield is knocked out of his grasp and clear across the room.

That was way easier than it was in Latvia.

Before John can even process what’s happening, you’ve already darted past him, a blur of motion. He turns too late, and his shield goes flying, clattering to the floor with a dull thud. Frustration builds up in his veins as he realizes his disadvantage, his best defense gone.

His jaw clenches tightly as he tries to keep himself composed, making a break for his shield. But you’re faster, lighter, and before he can even make it a few feet, you’re on him again, coming at him with such speed that he barely has time to react. He stumbles backward, narrowly dodging your punches and kicks, but he’s off balance, and it’s affecting his ability to bite back. The shield is out of the question now, and he needs to find a way to get the upper hand, and quickly. You’re ruthless, his thin t-shirt doing nothing to absorb your attacks, the force of your hits reverberating within his chest.

He can barely get a solid shot in, but he keeps trying. He watches your timing carefully, evaluating your move set, and finally, his fist connects with your jaw. You can hear the bone cracking in your ears, and when the pain finally registers, you’re almost shocked at the innate strength behind his punch. Almost. Still, you refuse to falter, taking the hit like a champ, head snapping to the side and then back to him just as quickly. Your ears are ringing as you reach up to wipe away the trickle of blood that flows down your chin, your fractured jaw already stitching itself back together. You only manage to smear it across your skin, the crimson a compliment to your complexion. You’re unfazed— if anything, it seems to have only fueled you further, diving back into the fray with a crooked smile.

It's a sick thrill, but John can’t deny the sense of satisfaction he gets as he sees the blood dripping down your jaw. Outside of your memory, he’s never seen you this way; almost feral, and it’s both horrifying and hot. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on the thought, because you’re throwing punches again, your movements even more aggressive than before. And he matches you blow for blow, neck in neck, both still determined to come out on top. You’re both breathing heavily, the exhaustion second to the need to prove the other wrong. The sounds of the fight are almost animalistic, punctuated by grunts of effort and stifled cries of pain.

Another perfectly timed punch to your ribs sends you flying backwards through the room, and you’re impressed that he’s actually been listening to you during training. You land in a steady crouch and sacrifice no time as you rush John, driving your knee up into his chest. It sends him staggering back just enough for you to somersault behind him and make a swing at the back of his knees. It’s not enough to bring him down, but that was never your goal. You grab onto his shoulders as he regains his footing, and you throw yourself onto his back. He swings at you as he turns, trying to pull you off, but you use his outstretched arm like a high bar, flipping yourself around him until you can wrap your legs around his neck.

John can feel your thighs squeezing him like a vice, your torso blocking his view. Despite the exertion that he’s feeling in his bones, he’s suddenly wired as your weight settles over his shoulders. He’d never admit to having this exact fantasy in a slightly different context, one that he's consistently tried to push as far down as he can. He tries to throw you off him, but your grip is too strong, elbows aiming at his head. He can smell you like this, and he tries to hold his breath to no avail, your scent overwhelming his senses. His vision blurs as your elbow connects with his cheekbone, so focused on getting you off that he forgets to block your strikes, letting you get in a few shots to the face. His next move is impulsive, his hands holding your back, his face almost pressed against your stomach as he slams you both down onto the mat. Your back meets the ground, and his weight comes crashing down onto you.

The air is knocked out of you as his mass crushes you into the mat. He’s fucking heavy, bulkier than he looks, his muscle not just from the serum, but earned, and the impact sends a jolt of pain up your spine. He’s so close, your hands pushing at him, trying not to dwell on the feeling of his firm chest or the warmth radiating from his skin. You don’t give in, knees digging into his sides, trying to ram your head into his as you scramble for an opening. Then, John makes a move neither of you expected, his hand suddenly wrapping around your neck and stopping your struggle. You don’t even have the shame to be disgusted by the heat that overtakes your fury, the thrill that runs through you when you notice the way he’s watching you.

He’s not sure what he’s doing; he’s running on sheer instinct and a dire need to win. And the feeling of your body under him, struggling and fighting, is making it even more difficult to think clearly. He grips your throat, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to stop your flailing. He leans in, his eyes locking onto yours, noses inches apart. There’s a tense, charged silence as you stare at each other, the tension shifting into something unknown. Your lips quirk up into a wry smile, sardonic and unnerving. It’s the same one he's seen you regard and enemy with countless times before the final blow— when they’ve played right into your hands.

“Enjoying yourself, John?” You tease with faux innocence, not bothering to hide your amusement. The use of his given name is unfamiliar on your tongue, but it’s fitting given the situation.

A disgruntled sigh escapes him at the sound of his name on your lips, the fingers on your throat flexing as he responds. "Shut up,” he mutters defensively, losing his nerve. He could snap her neck if he wanted to, they both know it, and yet he senses no fear from her.

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your chin in defiance. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Go on, get it out of your system, I dare you,” you rasp, vocal cords straining, but he isn’t cutting off your air supply. “You know you can’t actually kill me, but you can find out how it feels to.” Your skin flushes at the thought, your pulse pounding alongside the steady force of his hand. There’s a buzz running through you that’s probably just from the pressure, but you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a long time. It takes everything in you to hold back the revealing moan that threatens to fall from your lips.

Your taunts go straight to his head and his dick, his desire for you building at an alarming rate. He's not sure if he's ever been this turned on in his life or felt so shameful that this is what got him riled up. He tightens his grip on your throat ever so slightly, a small part of him wanting to push your limits and his, just to see how much of this you each can take.

"Don’t test me, Red,” he growls, “I’m not playing games.”

Your eyes flutter shut for a split second, your racing pulse betraying you. You know this is a stupid game you’re playing, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to his touch, the anticipation of what he’s going to do next. There’s also the fact you can’t actually die spurring you on— you’ve healed overnight from a broken neck before, even if the process is always more excruciating than the initial injury. It might be a twisted form of self-harm, but at least it’s yours.

Your lashes flit back open, watching him unnervingly. “I think you’re all bark and no bite,” you say, your mockery steady despite the stress on your windpipe. “Wanna prove me wrong?”

Walker’s fingers tremble on your throat, the urge to squeeze growing as you continue to goad him. He’s not going to hurt you, but part of him wants to, and you know it. He’s not supposed to lose control like this anymore; he shouldn’t be giving in to his darker instincts so easily when he’s trying to be a better man. He leans in, crowding over you, his face barely inches from yours, noses brushing. He’s never been as strong as he wants others to think, and the fact that you’ve so effortlessly seen past his walls is infuriating. He can’t resist anymore; the incessant need to prove you wrong, to get you to notice him, is all-consuming.

“You asked for it.”

You barely have a moment to think of some other snarky comeback before his lips are crashing onto yours with a ferocity that takes you by genuine surprise. The kiss is rough and borderline frantic, his teeth biting into your bottom lip as his tongue slips past to seek yours. He doesn’t waste time.

And you respond to it, your body moving beneath his as you match his intensity, nails digging into the jersey of his shirt. You can feel how hard he’s trembling, can sense the repressed need radiating from him. It’s really not the reaction you were going for by taunting him, but you’re not about to say no. It’s still a fight, the battle for dominance bleeding over into the way you indulge in each other. He’s overwhelmed by you already, the taste of iron on your tongue, your nails tearing into his skin, the noises you make. Your teeth drag over his lip and his hold on your neck loosens ever so slightly. He almost looses himself entirely, too close to relinquishing control before he remembers himself, fingers tightening.

You gasp at the added pressure on your throat, his weight digging into you, every muscle taut and ready, caging you in. The last time you saw him this way was in Latvia, bursting at the seams, and it's a personal victory that you can bring it out of him. You wrap your legs around his hips and grind yourself against him, a silent challenge to keep up with you. He might be on top of you with his hand around your neck, but you refuse to let him believe he has the upper hand. He groans involuntarily as your hips rock up into him, the hard outline of his cock under his sweatpants brushing over your cunt.

Your enthusiasm is stoking his ego, and his free hand skims over your body, savoring the contour of your curves and muscles beneath his fingers. It’s driving him insane, the way you move beneath him, arching into his touch as he slips under your shirt. He’s never felt passion like this, and for months he’s been lying to himself about his complicated feelings. He breaks the kiss, breathing fast as he tries to regain at least some of his composure, and glances down at you.

You look utterly debauched.

Your hair is spread out beneath you on the mat, tangled and unruly, your eyes just as wild. The blood from his left hook is still drying on your chin, and you can feel the process of your vessels bursting under the pressure of his fingers, the blood pooling blow the skin threatening to leave a bruise. Marks never last long on you, but somewhere in the back of your mind, this time you wish they would. There’s a defiant challenge in your eyes as you meet his heavy gaze, rolling your hips harder just to see the look on his face.

“So, which one of us is winning now?”

John’s mind is a mess, his body screaming for release, and your snarky tone isn’t helping. He tries to ignore the way you bat your lashes at him, his control slipping with every passing second.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he growls, his hand under your shirt moving higher, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. “You think I’m gonna go down that easy?”

You flash your teeth at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes, blood still in your gums. “Oh, I don’t think you’re really the type to go down at all,” you retort, using his phrasing against him, turning it into an insulting innuendo.

He feels a sharp stab of embarrassment at the double meaning of your mockery, quickly followed by arousal, his body reacting involuntarily. But his ego won’t let him back down, not now, not when you’re finally smiling at him with those pretty lips. The desire to knock you down a peg is fading fast, replaced by a desperation to have you in any way you’ll let him. He grinds himself against your cunt, the pressure growing more insistent as you find a matching rhythm.

“You’d like that, Red,” he mutters, his fingers grazing the curve of your breast, your skin so much softer than he’d imagined. “Admit it.”

“Why would I do that?” You laugh, the sound breathless. “You’re the one who’s desperate for it.”

“You think you still have a chance to come out on top,” he sneers, but it sounds forced, like he’s losing conviction. “You’re wrong.” Your skin burns his fingers, the movement of your hips making it hard to focus. But he’s determined to keep his composure, to not give you the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

You lock eyes with him, your glare cloudy, still smiling like it’s all one big joke. “That's so?” Quickly, you pull your hands from his hair, grabbing for wrist of the hand at your throat. You use his distracted state to disarm him, legs locking around his waist and boots digging into the backs of his knees. Using all the strength you’re capable of, you flip your positions, a maneuver you could have done at any time. “What was it you said about topping?”

A stunned gasp leaves his lips as he’s practically thrown to the ground. He’s not used to being moved, and it’s just another thing about you that pisses him off and gets him going at the same time. He’s on his back now, with you straddling his hips, the rush he gets from you looking down at him completely unexpected.

John groans in frustration, his fingers finding your thighs, digging into your flesh. “You gonna start playing dirty now?”

"Oh, honey," you laugh, your sore voice thick with delight. A sly smile spreads across your face, like you know something he doesn’t. "I've been playing dirty this entire time."

And just as quickly as you’d gotten wrapped up in each other, you’re detangling yourself from him, however reluctantly. You’re halfway across the gym before he can even manage a protest, fully intending to leave him high and dry and wanting. The sting of your rejection builds in his chest, his body reeling from the sudden loss of your warmth. He rises to his feet, his eyes never leaving you as you stalk towards the door, your back to him. The way you move even now is predatory, like a leopardess prowling through the grass.

“What the hell, Red?” He calls out, his tone tinged with both desperation and embarrassment. “You can’t just walk away like that.”

Your grin only grows wider as he calls out to you, but you continue walking as if you didn’t hear him. You can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head, sharp and intense, and it gives you a kick of satisfaction. You have to force yourself not to turn back, your heart telling you to stay here and explore this with him head-on. But your head, on the other hand, refuses to be defeated, not by him, not by anyone.

“Nice match, John,” you call back behind you. “Maybe you’ll finally beat me next time.”

And with that, you strut out the doors, never looking back, like he’s not worth another second of your time.