#it was my partner's idea to do it this way

[jungwnies]

polyglot | merc, ferrari, & mclaren

୨ৎ : featuring : mercedes, ferrari, and mclaren drivers ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🥐) : how the react to you being a polyglot (knowing or using several languages) ୨ৎ : word count : 438

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i love this idea as someone who also has multiple languages under my belt

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

he finds it insanely attractive, but tries to play it cool

will absolutely ask you how to say "thank you for the support" in the local language before press conferences

once had you translate a fan letter word for word because he needed to understand what they wrote

drops little “how do you say…” questions mid-breakfast like it’s casual

lowkey brags about you in interviews — “my partner actually helped me with the pronunciation!”

kimi antonelli

silently impressed; won’t say much but you’ll catch the way he watches you when you switch between languages

100% asks you how to say “i love you” in every language you know and remembers them perfectly

gets bashful when fans ask him to say something in their language and he turns to you for help

always listens quietly when you teach him — then absolutely nails the accent and acts like it’s no big deal

“how do you say ‘you’re beautiful’ in… all of them?

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

pretends he’s chill but is secretly obsessed with how effortlessly you jump from one language to another

will record you saying things so he can practice alone (you caught him once, he nearly died of embarrassment)

constantly goes, “can you say it again slower?” just to hear you speak

gets flustered if you translate something romantic in another language

always asks for help with fan signs — “babe, is this saying what i think it’s saying or did i just call myself a baguette?”

lewis hamilton

thinks it’s the coolest thing ever and hypes you up constantly

“she speaks like seven languages. literal queen energy.”

makes you do short videos helping him thank international fans in their own languages

gets super soft if you teach him phrases to connect with fans — like genuinely wants to get it right

tells people you’re his secret weapon for global communication

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

teases you constantly but adores it

“what’s ‘lando is the best’ in finnish?”

will randomly blurt a phrase you taught him at completely the wrong moment just to make you laugh

gets a little clingy when fans flirt in other languages — “babe, what did he say?? be honest.”

100% starts asking for curse words first and then tries to get serious when he realizes how useful it is

oscar piastri

quietly fascinated — listens more than he asks, but his curiosity is endless

always goes to you before foreign gps: “hey, how do i greet fans in korean again?”

gets this little proud smile when you help him pronounce something perfectly

sometimes asks you to whisper things in other languages just because “it sounds cool”

lowkey has a note in his phone with all the phrases you’ve taught him and uses them strategically

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land Part 3

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here!

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

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

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

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

Things get harder though.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s day four. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A compromise?” Jack echoes.

“Yes. A compromise.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all too much. 

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

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

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

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

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

You simply wouldn’t be. 

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

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

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

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

He’s looking for your pulse. 

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

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

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

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

The rhythmic beating of your heart in your chest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only you.

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

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

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

Letting him take solace from every part of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whattt? I can’t want that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chin trembles a little. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bed? Or you wanna shower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doll, I didn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Text me when you get there, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J - Finally have a second. You doing okay?

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

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

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

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

Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack squeezes your hand. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t try to stop me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until they aren’t.

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

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

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

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[officialytwisted]

Twisted Wonderland – Dorm Leaders with an S/O [gender-neutral] who's their "dream partner" [ Basically everything he wants in a significant other]

[Riddle Rosehearts|Leona Kingscholar|Azul Ashengrotto|Kalim Al-Asim|Vil Schoenheit|Idia Shroud|Malleus draconia]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆‧₊˚𓆉ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle doesn’t fall in love easily. He respects discipline, dedication, and intellect above all, so the idea of having a “dream partner” feels abstract—until he meets you.

You aren’t loud or reckless like Ace and Deuce, but you aren’t a pushover either. You challenge him without being combative. You’re graceful in your logic and gentle in your words, and he finds it disarming.

You never mock him for following the Queen’s rules. Instead, you ask thoughtful questions: “Why is this one important to you?” and he finds himself wanting to explain. He feels seen.

You remember his mother’s influence on him and subtly help him forge his own identity—one cup of strawberry tea at a time, one soft rebellion at a time.

You don’t demand his time, but your presence becomes the only calm in his rigid schedule. He starts clearing his calendar just to study beside you or walk you back to Ramshackle.

You help him unlearn guilt. Riddle always thought love was earned through perfection. With you, he learns that love can be freely given, even when he’s not “perfect.”

---

It starts with tea. It always does.

The heartslabyul garden is unusually quiet—no clattering saucers, no scolding of rule-breakers, just the hush of an early afternoon, and Riddle carefully measuring the temperature of the pot.

You’re curled up in the corner of the lounge, a book half-open in your lap, but you’re not reading. You’re watching him—softly, with the kind of patience that makes Riddle feel safe.

He pours two cups. One for you, one for himself. He stirs precisely three times clockwise.

“Riddle,” you say gently, “you can stop counting. It’s already perfect.”

He pauses.

Something shifts.

He sets the spoon down.

“I know,” he says, a little quieter than usual. “But… it’s hard to stop doing something you were told mattered your whole life.”

You nod. “I know. I’m not asking you to stop. Just… to breathe.”

Riddle sits beside you, spine straight, like he’s bracing for judgment—but you only lean into him, head on his shoulder, warmth threading between the two of you like summer.

“I was always terrified,” he confesses suddenly, voice barely audible over the garden breeze. “That no one would love me if I made a mistake.”

You reach for his hand. No flinching, no trembling. Just certainty.

“I’ll love you even if you burn the tea.”

A soft silence falls between you.

Then Riddle laughs.

Really laughs—not the polite smile he shows at Dorm meetings, not the tight-lipped smirk when Ace screws up. But something bright and boyish, something free.

He turns to you, red eyes glassy with a kind of awe.

“You make me feel like I don’t have to be perfect to be worthy,” he says.

You kiss the back of his hand, tenderly.

“You are worthy, Riddle. Just as you are.”

He thinks about that for days afterward.

Every time he breaks a rule that never made sense to him, every time he smiles without checking if it’s appropriate, every time he reaches for your hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours—

—he thinks of that moment in the garden.

And he smiles.

Because for once in his life…

…he’s in love, and it doesn’t hurt.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona is someone who’s used to being either dismissed or feared—so when you treat him with neither, he’s immediately intrigued.

You’re unshaken by his sharp tongue or lazy exterior. In fact, you challenge him just enough to be interesting, but not enough to be disrespectful.

You call him out without humiliating him. You respect his pride but never let it run unchecked. It keeps him grounded—and makes him feel safe in a way he didn’t realize he needed.

You’re smart. Not in the “look at my grades” way, but in the “I noticed you hide behind sarcasm when you’re actually anxious” way. And that kind of emotional intelligence? That’s rare—and it hits Leona right in the chest.

You never try to “fix” him. You just stay. That alone feels like a miracle to someone who’s always been compared, second-best, cast aside.

He loves that you don’t idolize him. You see the worst in him and still choose to be close. That’s love, to him. That’s real.

---

He thinks he’s alone in the botanical garden.

Leona’s sprawled out on the grass, arm thrown over his eyes, the faint scent of chamomile brushing past with the wind. The sun is warm, the air quiet.

Until you sit beside him with your legs crossed and your voice casual as anything.

“You skipped class again.”

He grunts, not even opening his eyes. “Wasn’t worth going.”

You hum. “Professor Crewel said that if you miss one more alchemy lab, you’re going to owe him a week of extra assignments.”

Still, no movement. Just a lazy exhale. “Let him bark.”

You don’t press. You never do. Instead, you pull a tupperware out of your bag and pop the lid. The faint scent of spicy, savory meat wafts out.

“Brought lunch.”

One green-gold eye peeks open.

His ears twitch.

“…That kefta?”

“Mmhm.”

He’s sitting up within seconds.

You hand it over with a grin. “You’re so predictable.”

“Shut up.” He takes a bite, eyes fluttering closed. “Damn, you really do know what I like.”

“Wouldn’t be a good partner if I didn't"

That makes him pause mid-chew. He looks at you—really looks at you. You’re not teasing. Not fishing for compliments. Just saying it plainly, like it’s already fact.

And somehow, that messes him up more than any flowery confession.

“…Tch. I should hate how smug you sound,” he mutters.

You smirk. “But you don’t.”

“No.” He huffs. “I really don’t.”

He leans against your shoulder, kefta still in hand, warmth pooling between you like a sleepy lion in the sun.

After a while, he speaks again, quieter this time.

“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He swallows. “This. You. You make it too easy to believe someone like me could be enough.”

You nudge his leg gently. “You are enough, Leona. Even when you don’t want to get out of bed. Even when you’re grumpy. Even when you’re too proud to ask for help.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just finishes the kefta, licks the sauce off his thumb, and leans his head fully against your chest now.

“…Thanks for sticking around,” he murmurs.

“I always will.”

And for the first time in years, Leona lets himself nap—not to escape the world, but because he feels safe enough to stay in it.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul’s ideal partner isn’t someone loud or flashy—it’s someone attentive. Someone who listens between the lines, notices when he’s fidgeting with his cufflinks, and knows that’s his subtle tell for anxiety.

You treat his ambitions with respect, not mockery. When others joke about his contracts or his “scheming,” you’re the one who says, “He’s smart. Strategic. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to build something.”

You’re calm where he’s stormy. Thoughtful where he’s impulsive. You remind him that success doesn’t always have to be won with claws out. It can be slow. Gentle. Honest.

You’re curious about his world—not for leverage, not to manipulate him, but because you care. He’s so used to people wanting pieces of him. You want all of him, with nothing hidden behind ink.

He adores how you never flinch away when he shows vulnerability. When he unbuttons his sleeves and admits to the pain of his past—his appearance, the bullying, the loneliness—you don’t pity him. You just stay.

You’re his anchor. His confidant. The person who reminds him that he doesn’t need to wear a mask to be loved.

---

You find him in the Mostro Lounge after hours, the soft glow of enchanted lanterns casting gentle shadows across the polished marble floor.

He’s seated at his desk, paperwork spread before him, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. His glasses lie forgotten on the side. The café is empty, the atmosphere uncharacteristically quiet.

“Azul?” you call softly.

He jumps.

Then exhales. “Ah… my pearl. Forgive me. I lost track of time.”

You smile as you walk closer. “It’s past midnight.”

“I know. These balance sheets aren’t going to organize themselves.”

You glance at the piles of parchment. “Azul, your handwriting is too neat for anyone to believe you were stressed about this.”

A soft, weary laugh escapes him. “I suppose that’s true.”

You reach over, gently pulling the quill from his hand. “Come on. You need a break.”

“I can’t,” he says too quickly. “I have to finish before the weekly close. If I fall behind—”

“Then you’ll do what you always do. Catch up. Adapt. Thrive.”

His eyes flick to yours. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not,” you say, brushing a lock of silver-blond hair from his brow. “But you’ve never been alone in it. Not since you met me.”

That hits something deep.

His shoulders sag.

“…You mean that?” he asks quietly.

“Of course I do.”

He reaches for your hand without thinking, threads his fingers through yours.

“I used to believe people only valued what I could give them. That if I wasn’t useful, I wasn’t wanted.”

“You are wanted, Azul. Not for your potions. Not for your profits. Just for being… you.”

His voice shakes. “But I’m—”

“Brilliant. Ambitious. Kind, even if you hide it.”

He looks down, voice barely a whisper. “Ugly.”

“Never.”

You kneel in front of him, so he can’t look anywhere else.

“You’re beautiful,” you say. Not just to comfort him, but because it’s true. “Because you care. Because you try. Because you fight for your dreams.”

He bites his lip.

Then leans down to kiss you—slow, hesitant, like he’s still not sure he deserves it.

When he pulls back, his eyes glisten, but he’s smiling.

“You’re dangerous,” he says softly.

You grin. “Because I saw the best in you?”

“Because now I never want to let you go.”

You squeeze his hand.

“Good. I’m not planning on leaving.”

Azul’s hand tightens in yours.

And for once, he doesn’t feel like the outcast. Doesn’t feel like the overlooked octomer in the shadows of others.

He feels like someone loved.

Someone enough.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim doesn’t dream of luxury—he was born into it. What he craves is emotional security. Someone who sees him, stays for him, and loves him, not his family name.

You’re patient with him. You don’t laugh when he forgets things or when he gets too excited and trips over his own feet. You just hold his hand and laugh with him.

Your grounding energy keeps him steady. You help him organize his chaotic thoughts. You understand when he’s overwhelmed and don’t expect him to hide it behind his usual cheer.

He loves how thoughtful you are. You remember little things—his favorite sweets, the song he hums under his breath, how he cries when he hears someone sing from the heart.

You always believe the best of him. Even when others say he’s naïve or too trusting, you know that Kalim’s optimism is a choice—a courageous, beautiful one.

You’re his safe place. The first person he doesn’t feel the need to entertain or impress. With you, Kalim gets to just be.

---

Kalim is buzzing with energy the moment he sees you.

“There you are!” he exclaims, bounding down the dormitory steps of Scarabia like the sun itself had grown legs. “I was looking everywhere!”

You smile as he skids to a stop in front of you, catching his breath.

“I was just in the garden.”

“I know, I checked! Then Jamil told me I should wait instead of chasing you like a sandstorm, but—” He pauses, eyes lighting up. “Wait, never mind. You’re here!”

He doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you, warm and full of laughter, like he’s never once doubted your place in his life.

“Did something happen?” you ask softly, gently brushing back his hair.

He leans into your touch, his voice suddenly softer. “Yeah. I was thinking again. About my family. About all the stuff people say behind my back.”

You blink. “What kind of stuff?”

He shrugs, smile thinning. “That I don’t deserve to be dorm leader. That I only got here because of money. That I’m not smart enough, or serious enough…”

Your heart tightens.

“I mean, maybe they’re right?” he says too brightly. “I do forget things a lot. I talk too much. And I always need Jamil to remind me of—”

“Kalim.”

He stops rambling.

Your hands cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks with care.

“You’re the kindest, most sincere person I’ve ever met.”

His breath hitches.

“You don’t lead Scarabia with force or fear—you lead with love. And that’s rare. That’s real.”

Tears gather in his eyes.

You pull him into a hug, one that wraps around his heart more than his body.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know your worth. Every silly, sunshine-drenched, forgetful, beautiful piece of you.”

Kalim sniffles against your shoulder. “You really mean that?”

You press a kiss to his temple. “Every word.”

And then he’s crying, not from sadness—but from relief. Because for the first time, someone doesn’t want him to shrink or tone himself down.

You let him shine. And more importantly… you stay.

After a moment, he laughs, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Okay, okay! Now you’re gonna make me write a song or something.”

You grin. “I’d love that.”

“Then I’ll name it after you. And make it the happiest, most sparkly love song in Twisted Wonderland!”

You shake your head, but your smile is helplessly fond.

That’s Kalim. Loud. Passionate. Open-hearted.

And completely, unmistakably yours.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil’s ideal partner is someone who sees him beyond the spotlight—beyond the roles, the poise, the crushing weight of others’ expectations.

You’re the only person who never treats his beauty like a pedestal or a weapon. You treat it with tenderness—admiration, yes, but not obsession.

You’re unafraid to tell him when he’s overworking himself. You bring him water when he forgets to hydrate. You quietly close his laptop at midnight and remind him that rest is just as important as routine.

You respect his standards. You never mock his skincare rituals or his intensity about health and elegance. Instead, you join him. You ask questions. You try. You show you care about what matters to him.

He doesn’t have to hide when he’s vulnerable. You’re there when he breaks—when he crumbles under the pressure, when he questions if he's enough, if he’s still beautiful, still relevant.

Vil never imagined he could find a partner who wouldn't just tolerate his discipline and ambition—but match it with devotion and quiet strength.

---

You find him on the balcony after a long day of class and filming—his posture perfect, his silhouette outlined in the pale lavender of twilight. His hair is still pinned from the shoot, lips lightly stained, but his eyes…

They’re tired.

He doesn’t turn when you approach, only speaks with that low, velvet voice.

“I stayed in character for ten hours. Not once did the director say, ‘Good job.’ Only: ‘Again.’”

You step beside him, your presence quiet but solid.

“They expect you to be flawless,” you say. “But that doesn’t mean you have to become the expectation.”

Vil doesn’t answer right away. He just exhales, long and soft. “If I let it slip, even once, they’ll eat me alive.”

“Then let me be your shield tonight.”

He turns to look at you then, something unguarded in his gaze.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he murmurs. “Frustrated. Insecure. I’m supposed to be—”

“Human?” you interrupt gently.

Vil stiffens. Then softens. “Cruel of you.”

You take his hand, elegant fingers still slightly trembling from the stress he hides so well.

“I love you when you’re poised and powerful,” you say. “But I love you just as much when you’re raw. Tired. Even hurting.”

He doesn’t speak.

You reach up, slowly removing one of the pins from his hair. He doesn’t stop you. You continue, unpinning him piece by piece until his long blonde strands tumble around his shoulders.

It’s only then that he rests his forehead against yours.

“You make me feel… safe,” he whispers. “Even when everything else demands I be untouchable.”

You smile. “You don’t have to earn my love, Vil. You already have it.”

He kisses you—soft, deliberate. Not a performance. Not a statement. Just a truth.

When he pulls back, there’s something new in his eyes.

“Stay the night,” he says, not with demand, but hope.

You nod. “Always.”

And that’s the moment Vil realizes—

He doesn’t need the world’s approval when yours is the only gaze that makes him feel seen.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Idia Shroud:

Idia’s ideal partner isn’t flashy or extroverted. You don’t overwhelm him. You respect his space. And more than that—you understand it.

You never mock his interests. In fact, you ask to play co-op with him, or you watch his favorite streams and ask about his builds like they matter. Because they do—to him.

You’re one of the only people who makes him feel like being himself isn’t something to apologize for. You don’t treat him like a problem to fix.

Your presence is comforting. You don’t force him to leave his room on bad days, but you bring him snacks, or sit on the floor playing handheld games while he works.

He adores how you notice the little things. You never make him feel guilty for being awkward or overthinking; you notice when he’s overwhelmed and gently guide him out of it with quiet affirmations or a squeeze of his hand.

You’re the only one who makes Ortho comment, “You make Nii-san’s emotional meters go up faster than any system I’ve ever seen!”

---

The only light in the room comes from three monitors, casting a bluish glow on Idia’s hunched figure. He’s got headphones on, lost in code and lo-fi beats.

You knock, softly.

He jumps, flailing slightly, before turning to see it’s you.

“Oh. Uh. H-Hey.”

You smile. “Ortho let me in. Hope it’s okay.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah! Totally fine! Super fine! The finest fine that ever—uh, yeah. You can come in.”

You sit on the edge of his bed, folding your legs beneath you. “You’ve been in here all day.”

“I was just… debugging stuff. One of my AIs went feral again. Named itself King of Salt and tried to delete Ortho’s playlists.”

You blink. “King of Salt?”

“Long story.”

You nod. “You forget to eat again?”

He shrinks slightly. “…Possibly.”

You wordlessly open the bag you brought and reveal a neatly packed bento box.

His eyes widen. “Wait, you made this?”

You nod. “You said you liked tamagoyaki. And strawberry milk.”

His face flushes immediately—fiery pink at the tips of his ears.

“Y-You remembered that?! I only said it once… like three months ago…”

You grin, handing it over. “I always remember.”

He stares at it for a moment, before mumbling, “You’re like… a max-level NPC with the best side quests.”

You chuckle. “And you’re my favorite protagonist.”

He goes absolutely still, like his system just crashed.

You lean back on your hands. “You’re allowed to be quiet, Idia. To be awkward. To not have all the right words. I’m not here because I need anything from you.”

His head jerks up.

“I’m here because I like you. Just the way you are.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then whispers:

“That… might be the rarest drop I’ve ever gotten.”

And in that dim room, with glowing screens and buzzing silence, you’ve never seen someone look more loved than Idia does—bento box in hand, cheeks red, fingers trembling around your name like it’s his first save file in a game he never thought he’d get to play.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus’s ideal partner is someone who doesn’t treat him like a prince, a relic, or a threat. You speak to him like he’s just Malleus—and that’s more precious than any jewel in his hoard.

You’re never scared of his magic. You’re calm in the presence of his power. That trust? It humbles him. He’s not used to that kind of faith.

You make time for him. Even when no one else invites him to events or includes him in casual plans—you do. And you never make it feel like charity.

You listen to his long-winded thoughts about gargoyles, history, and ancient spells with genuine curiosity. You love that he thinks deeply, speaks slowly, and feels things profoundly.

When he asks you to walk under the moonlight, you say yes. When he offers his arm like a knight from centuries past, you take it without hesitation.

You bring humanity into his immortal world. You show him the warmth of shared meals, casual laughter, quiet mornings. He learns gentleness from you, and falls harder for it than he ever expected.

---

It starts with the soft knock of clawed fingers against your window.

You open it without question.

“Malleus,” you say, voice sleepy but fond.

The tall figure stands there beneath a moon-drenched sky, pale light catching in his green eyes.

“I did not wake you, did I?”

“No,” you lie gently. “Come in.”

He steps through the window like a ghost of old, the air shimmering faintly with his presence. You sit at the edge of your bed while he stands tall, fingers twitching slightly.

You tilt your head. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Not wrong. Simply… I wished to see you.”

There’s a pause.

“May I stay for a moment?” he adds.

You pat the bed beside you.

He sits, hands resting properly on his knees, posture so formal it makes you smile.

“I passed by a gathering earlier,” he says quietly. “A celebration of sorts near the dormitories. There were many lights. And laughter. Yet, no one extended an invitation.”

You don’t say “I’m sorry.” Because he’s not looking for pity. You say:

“They don’t know what they’re missing.”

His gaze sharpens, just for a moment. “You would have asked me to join?”

“Of course,” you say. “You’d be the first person I’d ask.”

He breathes in, slow and deep, like your words are incense curling around his ribs.

“You always speak so plainly. So kindly.” A beat. “Are you not afraid of what I am?”

You reach out, placing your hand over his. His fingers twitch—then wrap around yours gently.

“I know who you are, Malleus. Not just what.”

That’s the difference. That’s the thread of fate that ties you to him so tightly it aches.

He closes his eyes, lashes long against his cheekbones.

“I have lived centuries, but I never imagined I could feel this way.” His voice cracks like frost under sunlight. “This… fragile hope.”

You lean into his shoulder. “You’re not alone anymore.”

“I know.” He turns slightly, resting his head against yours. “Because you are here. Because you choose me.”

The silence that follows is not empty—it is sacred.

And in the dark, ancient heart of Malleus Draconia, something blooms where once there was only frost and solitude.

Something brave.

Something called love.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆‧₊˚𓆉ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

check out my masterlist for more

Twisted wonderland masterlist

[ouchmaster6000]

Maybe I'm just not watching the right isekai, but I can't remember a single one where someone just replaces someone in the middle of their life, it's literally always they are reincarnated as a baby, with the implication that their was never another person for them to replace in the first place. (Or in the case of Mushoku Tensei, I think in the light novels Rudeus finds out Paul and Zeniths baby would have been stillborn had Rudeus not been reincarnated, something he is relieved to find out cause he was legit worried he might have unintentionally destroyed the original soul by reincarnating in his body.)

Even My Next Life as a Villainess, where she replaces a canon character in a game, frames it as her hitting her head causes her to suddenly remember the past life she had all along. (Though I only saw the first couple episodes of that one.)

Also, in regards to OP finding the idea of a person having no friends or family in their old life as "profoundly sad", I don't personally see it that way?

Because that's all in the past and the premise is the person being reborn into (or transported to) a happier life.

A profoundly sad story would be one that has a tragic ending, not a tragic beginning. A lot of happy, hopeful stories have the characters start in a really bad place, and I don't see how this is any different.

I can also say that while I do have friends and family I would miss if I was isekaied, I can also say if the new life I got was significantly better with little downside, I would ultimately be happy I got isekaied.

So in more blatant wish fulfillment scenarios were a main character instantly gets a harem and super powers and their are no major threats that can cause serious damage to him, though it's a bit weird if from a character writing perspective when their past life NEVER comes up in dialogue or internal thoughts, I don't think it's all that surprising that a person in that scenario would still be ultimately happy about their situation and in no hurry to get back.

I feel like the only exception would be if the person had an actual wife and kids, but thats clearly not the target audience for these kinds of stories, so that's also not something the protagonists of these stories have. At most they will have parents, siblings and platonic friends.

And like it or not, the desire for a romantic partner is something that ultimately tends to triumph the desire for platonic friendships for most people who aren't aroace, and most people past a certain age are at least subconsciously aware their parents and older relatives won't be around forever and at least SOMEWHAT prepared for that inevitably.

Isekai just seems like a profoundly sad genre of fantasy by design. Yes you have rad JRPG powers now and you get to hang out with big tiddy elves who love you but do you not have like. Friends that you mourn. Family that you miss. Habits that you can’t practice now without tripping. Familiar sounds and smells you’ll never know again

Either you did and you don’t care in the face of JRPG powers and elf tiddies, or you didn’t, and both options are profoundly sad in their own ways

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬?‧₊˚──

(ft. sevika, vi, ambessa, grayson, ellie williams, abby anderson, kassandra of sparta)

Content/Warnings: x reader, no pronouns used but reader is described as wearing a dress and jewelry in ambessa's, some suggestive content for ellie's and kassandra's, mentions of smoking weed for ellie's)

A/N: this will probably flop but as i was driving home with my passenger princess butch beside me, i started thinking about all of my fave characters and what their driving preferences would be... a very important subject to ponder obviously. i'm working super hard to get part two of dancer!vi x dancer!reader and sweet as honey out, but i needed a little break so this brain dump ensued and i thought i'd share with the class. please comment your contributions to my theories, or you fail the socratic seminar! (kidding we don't do those i love you my fellow socially anxious babies)

anyway, here we go, starting off with my arcane sexies:

──˚₊𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚

୨ৎ okay so this may be controversial... but 𝐲𝐞𝐬, i think she is a passenger princess- BUT, only when she's with you. you're the only person she trusts with her life, so you're the only person she lets drive her, but for the longest time, you had no idea she preferred being in the passenger seat. she's a very chivalrous partner, so you got used to her volunteering to drive and assumed it was because she liked being the one driving; until, one day, she slipped up and let out a sigh when you mentioned an errand the two of you needed to run. it had already been a long day at work, friday evening traffic had been terrible on the way home, and frankly, she didn't want to be behind the wheel at all before her commute to work on monday. you ask her what the fuss is about, and she (very bashfully) admits that she actually hates driving. the poor baby is terrified you'll think she's a bad butch, but you assure her that you have no problem at all being her chauffer. she does enough for everyone around her as it is <3 (she still DD's tho that's a non-negotiable)

──˚₊𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭 

୨ৎ 𝐲𝐞𝐬, she is a passenger princess. no, this was not of her own volition, nor did she get a say. not after she rolled her window down at a red light to tell the jackass who cut her off alllll about himself. her first few trips in the passenger seat are spent with crossed arms and a pout (and when she was particularly annoyed, she'd do that thing where she turned her entire body away from you and faced the window so you knew just how begrudgingly she'd taken the spot), but nowadays, she's fully embraced her role as passenger princess. she likes being on aux, or reaching over to play with your hair- and oh, she takes the best naps in the car. just sleepily reaches over for your arm, wraps both of her own around it like you're a teddy bear (for all intents and purposes, you are vi's teddy bear) and conks the fuck out. it's safe to say she's come to appreciate what the passenger seat has to offer, and every once in a while, you'll even let her flip off the shitty driver that nearly hit you while they were merging because that's love

──˚₊𝐀𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚

୨ৎ 𝐲𝐞𝐬, ambessa is a passenger princess, but she won't let you touch the wheel either. instead, she hires a chauffeur, and the two of you sit in the back of the BMW together. she always has a possessive hand on your thigh and a proud grin on her face, and when you ask her what she's smiling at, she'll just say you look pretty in that dress you picked out on your trip to milan; that those diamonds look so much better around your neck than they did on the display in new york; that luxury suits you well. her secret, though, is that driving makes her a nervous wreck. she'd hired a chauffeur long before she met you, because she truly cannot stand driving. it's completely overwhelming, but again, ambessa would never admit this; would never admit a weakness. not that it concerns you, anyway. the only thing you should be concerning yourself with is sitting in the back of the BMW and looking pretty like you always do.

──˚₊𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧

୨ৎ grayson lovesss driving you around, so its safe to say that 𝐧𝐨, she would rather you take on the role of passenger princess in your duo. she loves the way the sun peeks in through the window and catches your eyes during golden hour joyrides, the way that the cabin of her car smells like your perfume as you're on your way to dinner in the city, the way you giggle as you stick your hands out of the sunroof during late-night drives. she loves the mundane, too; opening and closing your door for you every single time you enter or exit the car, dropping you off and picking you up from work, rolling up to a drive-through and resting her hand on the small of your back with a warm smile as you lean over and order your favorite milkshake. you are grayson's princess, through and through, spoiled rotten. essentially, whenever there's a chance for her to keep you from lifting a finger, she's taking it.

now for my TLOU II ladies...

──˚₊𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬

୨ৎ hell 𝐧𝐨, she all but gets off on you being in the passenger seat of her truck! and i could leave it at that! but of course i'll elaborate. on a real note, ellie does prefer to drive because she prefers to be one who's focused and in control on the road. if you insist, she'll let you drive, but it has to be in your car. no one drives ellie's truck but ellie. and yes, you tease her about it all of the time, but she lets you, because there's nothing like picking you up from work and smoking you out, watching with an amused smile as you get all loose and giggly in the passenger seat. and if you do the thing where you look up at her through heavy eyes, batting your lashes and asking for another hit in that voice you know makes her melt, she'll just hand the the joint over with a smirk pulling at her lips, knowing damn well her passenger princess is about to find herself laid out in the backseat.

──˚₊𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

୨ৎ so here's the thing: abby is suchhhh a backseat driver. it's one of the only things you fight about, and when you do, it gets ugly, because you know abby and that damn ego. she thinks she's right about everything. but it isn't one of these fights that lands her in the driver's seat for good; instead, it's the third missed turn in a row on a road trip back to your hometown. she asks you to pull into a gas station, and you assume it's so that she can figure out where the fuck you guys are and reroute the GPS, but then she reaches over to place her hand on your cheek and asks you- in that soft voice she only uses when she's speaking to you- to let her take over. and you realize, she was never trying to give you a hard time for your terrible sense of direction. she just wants to take care of her baby. so, you and abby decide that, 𝐧𝐨, she is not a passenger princess. plus, you've gotta, admit; she looks damn good with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh.

and last, but certainly not least, my favorite womanizer on the list:

──˚₊𝐊𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 (𝐀𝐂: 𝐎𝐝𝐲𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐲)

୨ৎ gonna try not to make this super thirsty or super long but gods help me she makes it hard. anyway. not sure why, but i headcanon modern!kass as being kind of a car girl. not in an obnoxious douchey way, though. she just likes nice cars. she's got a fancy sports car, manual like she's used to driving back home in greece, still spotless inside and out despite her having had it for years. so, needless to say: 𝐧𝐨, kassandra is not a passenger princess. not with a car that sexy. not when it drives that nice. sexy sports car aside, kass is a gentlewoman, so she prefers to drive you around regardless. the one time you convinced her to let you take the wheel was toward the beginning of your relationship; she'd just gotten back from her annual trip to kefalonia, and you offered to drive her home from the airport, expecting that she'd curl up in the passenger seat and get some much-needed rest. instead- despite the near 24 hours of traveling she'd just endured- she couldn't keep her damn heart-eyes off of you. eventually, she couldn't keep her hands off of you, so she booked a room in a nice hotel for the night. just to break up the trip home. no other reason. (okay that's a lie but can u blame her u hadn't seen each other in a month!) you don't get to drive her back home from the airport again, though, because it only took that one month away from you for her to decide she wouldn't be going back to greece without you.

thank you all for being passenger princesses in the ride that was my 2 am thoughts.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

[beanarie]

part 3 of buck takes a mental health break. things get kind of epistolary (ish) from here on out.

~

Los Olivos is... nice. Super nice. Buck has driven through a couple of times, but he's never stopped here. He squints at his phone, triple-checking the address, before he rings the bell.

The door opens, and it's like the sun came out. "Buckaroo!" Carla smiles big and wide. "You get in here right now." Her arms wrap around him as unabashedly as they always did. He gleans as much warmth and comfort as he can before she lets go to give him a once over. "Look at Mr. Universe! My goodness, so much more of you to love now. Come in, come in. I hope you're hungry. I've been cooking since late morning, but if you'd shown me a recent photo, I would've started yesterday."

He manages to put away most of the ribs she put in front of him, with her husband Elden polishing off the rest. After ignoring her protests and helping load the dishwasher, he takes in the photos taking up most of the wall space and several surfaces.

She chuckles at the one he stopped in front of. "That's from the wedding of, uh, you-know-who."

"It's a beautiful photo." Elden is wearing a suit a similar shade of blue to the one Buck wore to his and Abby's disastrous first date. If he closes his eyes, he can still hear Bobby's voice in his ear, giving last minute advice as he helped Buck with his tie.

That part of it was a good memory.

"You okay?" Carla asks.

Buck shakes himself, seeing a way out that's sure to be worth it if only to see her reaction. "Uh, hey. Do you remember how Abby had that ex that kind of smashed her heart into little pieces?"

"Oh, yeah. She was hung up to an embarrassing degree. Her mom used to talk about the guy, too. She loved him."

"I forgot about that," Buck says under his breath, suddenly thinking about Tommy hanging out with Abby's elderly mom, being mildly caustic at each other while playing scrabble or doing a puzzle.

"Why would you bring up whatshisn-?"

"Uh, Tommy."

She tilts her head, intrigued. "Good memory."

Later Buck is proud of himself for making sure she's sitting before he gives her the story. As it is she laughs so hard she almost falls off the couch.

"Your life, I swear," she says, wheezing. "I don't know why I'm even surprised."

Buck finds himself grinning along, wider than he has in a long time.

"You know, you lit up a little when you talked about him. You still like this guy?"

"Yeah," he says, only a little doubt in his mind. "I think so."

"He really thought you were in love with Eddie?" She has an incredible gobsmacked face. "Now, I adore that man, and the two of you would be pretty as hell." She winks and Buck snickers. "But he has a talent for making things hard, and you, Evan Buckley. You deserve something easy."

~

(Hen): Hey, Eddie told me what he said. Say the word, and Karen and I will get him ostracized from every parent group in the county.

(Buck): Don't do that.

(Buck): It affects Chris.

(Hen): Good point. We could do gyms. You have no idea how important gays are to that scene.

(Buck): I might not be Gay-gay but I have spent a little time in gyms. I know.

(Hen): Right, that's fair.

(Hen): You seemed like you were managing. I should've noticed you were making yourself smaller.

(Buck): Thanks, Hen.

(Hen): You're missed, just so you know. Not just during shifts. You'll always be one of ours, understand?

(Hen): Buck?

(Hen): Maybe you don't understand. That's on me. I'll do better in the future.

(Buck): I miss you, too. The lady who served me at this truck stop diner had glasses like yours.

(Hen): I hope you gave her a good compliment.

(Buck): Of course I did. And a big tip.

~

Oakland is next, Lucy doesn't have a spare room ("My partner's brother is staying with us for a while. He's a funny little shit. You'll probably be best friends.") but she does have a pullout couch, and when Buck lies at an angle, his feet don't dangle off the edge.

He and Lucy get just this side of absolutely trashed. When they've toasted to Cap's memory multiple times and the stories slow to a trickle, she grabs his phone. "I'm gonna find you a not-nice boy on grindr."

Buck sits back in his chair and gives a have at it gesture. He watches her, always so comfortable in her own skin. "When did you first, y'know, know?"

She doesn't hesitate for a second. "Eleven. Heather Edison. Sixth grade English. She read for Juliet in class and I wanted to be Romeo so bad."

"Who did you get instead?"

She makes a face. "Tybalt. Ugh."

"What's it like growing up knowing pretty much the whole time?"

"Well, I got a couple years on you. It was a lot of sussing people out and very carefully figuring out who was safe to share that part of myself with." She picks up her shoulders breezily. "Sometimes I was wrong. It happens."

"That sounds terrible. I'm sorry."

"Price of admission," she says. "Now, do you wanna stick with the Greek god aesthetic, or do you feel like broadening your horizons a little?"

Sheree, the girlfriend, brings him coffee the morning after.

"Do you miss it?" she asks. "The job? If you're anything like Lucy... She broke her wrist once and the whole time she couldn't be out there it was like she was locked in a glass case full of water."

The job is what killed him, Buck thinks idly. But even now, he recognizes that it's also what kept him going as long as he did. Buck sips at his coffee. "It's only been a few days," he says with a little teasing smile. "Right now it barely counts as time away."

~

(Eddie): Chris said it's my fault you left and then he stopped talking to me again

(Eddie): it's not really is it?

(Buck): I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that. It feels like no matter what I do it's wrong, so I'd rather not engage at all for a while.

His phone rings. Buck rejects the call, then pulls over and drinks half a water bottle.

(Buck): I know this was hard on you, but finding out after the fact was not worse than being there. It wasn't. Bobby's face that night will be with me on my deathbed. Maybe you'll always remember how Chris looked when you told him, but you get a lifetime of new memories to replace it with.

Buck plugs all that in from the notes app, then immediately has a thought.

(Buck): If you ever talk to me like that again I'll transfer for good.

Hands shaking, he turns off alerts from Eddie. Then he texts Chris a photo of himself and Carla at her house. The amount of exclamation points he gets in return chips away at the concrete block around his heart.

~

(Buck): Am I exhausting?

(Buck): Sorry. Hi how are you?

(Tommy): Too late, you already set the tone. Exhausting? You did tire me out on a regular basis

"Oh," Buck says to himself.

(Tommy): in the bedroom. But I'd never say you were exhausting, that's not how I think of you at all. I don't see how anyone could.

(Buck): Oh

(Tommy): Howie told me about your sabbatical. Where are you now?

(Buck): A couple hours outside Salt Lake City.

(Tommy): Exciting stuff. Don't let the mormons get you.

(Buck): Truck driver fell asleep and caused a pileup. That was pretty exciting.

(Tommy): Not for an old pro like you. Did you have to bust out your skills?

(Buck): For a bit. No fatalities, that was good. Mostly just concussions and whiplash.

(Tommy): Look at you, working on your vacation.

It's such a simple exchange, but the concrete block feels even weaker now. He remembers Bobby saying He's good for you, at a time that they later found out was him saying his goodbyes. That taints it, somewhat, but Buck can't get over that Bobby thought he'd be leaving Buck in a good place, with Tommy.

(Buck): Thank you, Tommy

(Tommy): For responding to your texts? It was a real hardship. I'll never get those 90 seconds back.

(Buck): For making me smile. You always do that.

(Tommy): You're pretty good at that yourself. Drive safe, Evan.

[melodiesz]

hihi! this is my first time requesting smth (T_T) i wus wondering if you could do what their first time "sleeping" w their lover wuld be like with levi, beel, n satan from obey me? (*_*)

Their first time with you ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

ft: Leviathan, Beelzebub, & Satan x gn!reader

LEVIATHAN

❀ Levi is SO nervous. This isn’t just his first time with you, it’s his first time ever.

❀ That being said, you would definitely have to be the one to initiate it. While binging TSL together in your room, all it takes is for you to cuddle a little too close to him and suddenly he’s hardening in his pjs. ❀ Don’t be surprised if he passes out the second you take your shirt off. He’s a blushing mess, eyes wide and darting all over the room like he can’t decide if he wants to bolt or lean closer.

❀ And if you tease him? Maybe some grinding on the obvious tent in his pants and sucking on his neck? Oh, he’s coming in his favourite boxers with an embarrassed but pleased gasp of your name.

❀ He is SO loud, whiny moans and whimpers leaving his mouth when you finally sink down onto him, riding him while he buries his face in your neck.

❀ Has no clue where to put his hands, would let you guide them wherever you want. Would let you use him however you want, completely fine with being overstimulated if it meant you felt good.

❀ I actually feel like he would know how to please a partner surprisingly well for his first time (probably from reading some freaky ass stuff….), he knows to angle his hips a certain way so that he hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

❀ Again, just wants to make his favourite person feel good. Would die from embarrassment on the spot if you pointed this out, though.

BEELZEBUB

۶ৎ As the tallest out of all of the brothers, it’s common knowledge that Beelzebub is big.

۶ৎ So really it’s hardly a surprise that he has an equally large dick, just to be proportionate! ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

۶ৎ Ever the gentle giant, Beel decides to prepare you to take him by eating you out. He just gets a little distracted in the process and instead eats you out for hours in the sloppiest, filthiest way you’ve ever experienced.

۶ৎ He pulls orgasm out of orgasm out of you, holding you down with his massive hands splayed over your thighs when you try to squirm away from the overstimulation.

۶ৎ The idea of fucking you is long gone from his brain, happy to spend eternity between your legs. Beel could seriously cum from the taste of you on his tongue alone.

۶ৎ Lost in the sauce would be an understatement. His sounds are almost animalistic, deep grunts muffled by the sloppy sounds your messy eater is making during his feast.

۶ৎ By the time he finally lets up you’re so fucked out that you just lay there in a daze as he leans over you, pupils blown and a mess of drool and juices dripping down his chin. He gives you puppy eyes like he wants to ask for ‘just one more time’ (aka ten), but instead asks if it was good.

۶ৎ With your hair a mess—drool dry on your chin and eyes glazed over as you stare into space—you feel like you don't even need to answer that yes, yes it was good.

SATAN

❥ Now with how much Satan reads, I seriously think he’s a romantic. At least some of those books have got to be romance novels that he can’t help but fantasize about recreating with you.

❥ Your first time together is nothing short of sweet. He wants to show that he loves you, with that passionate look in his eyes that tells you you’re in for a long night.

❥ He guides you through it with a gentle dominance, you on your back on the bed while he traces over your body like he wants to commit your form to memory.

❥ He’s the type to be genuinely insulted if you hide your sounds from him. He wants to be gentle with you for your first time, but he will play dirty and edge you until your sweet voice is begging for him.

❥ He wouldn’t make much noise himself since he wants to hear you, but would talk you through it the whole time.

❥ His low voice whispers encouragements in your ear, telling you to take it or asking if you want it faster, harder, whatever you need; your perfect boyfriend will provide.

❥ His aftercare is top notch, massaging ointments into your sore muscles and hand feeding you your favourite snacks like you were a monarch. Besides, with how you have him wrapped around your finger, you might as well be.

a/n: tysm for the request !! I I’m sorry I took so long getting this out, life has been so busy .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

[janecafe]

FAMILY RELATIONS PAC: what do your parents think of you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

plus your future in-laws thoughts on you!!!

𝗨𝗡𝗢 - 𝗗𝗢𝗦 - 𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗦

𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗢 𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗘? from the left side to the right side. pick which picture is drowning you with, pulling you in. take a deep breath in and out and start to visualize all of the images above. trust your intuition and set aside your aesthetic preferences. enjoy and have fun! 🍀✨

⠀⠀ ⠀𐚁 ❪ヵめへ❫

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• reblogs for „ huggies

• 𝗨𝗡𝗢

i. your parents

your parents are quite worried about your well-being. they could sense the scheming mind lurking behind that self-control facade. they think you have a good judgment somehow a peacemaker in conflicts. they think you are quiet, smart and somehow aloof.

they think you are independent and have a strong nature. they think you would never be disappointed in this family and clan rather they are proud that you are cautious and make no mistakes so far although they love the part that you are finding ways to relieve your financial needs, they may not say it but i think you deserve to know this. they think you gonna bring a legacy and success to them, they can vision that among all.

perhaps, you may feel them being so supportive and telling you how much they love you but you can't feel the genuine affection nor connection with it. it's like, it's lacking. and you are seeking for more. a validation for freedom because your parents, they are the ones who i can see here that stoping you to achieve that "i wanna live alone" moment. despite not being a headache to them, they see you as a responsible person and they are kinda proud with that part.

ii. your in-laws

these people will think you are indeed have a good judgment, they noticed how you are someone who plays safe with its character and attitude. they think you are grounded and have a comfortable aura. although, some of them may not like you at first for your future partner but as time elapses they will love you than your future spouse, they gonna treat you as if you are the original part member of their family instead of your future person which will bring a childish jealousy and satisfaction to your future spouse's side.

although, sometimes your opinions and perspectives in life were annoying and irritating to hear. i think these people think of you as a very talkative individual and have a lot of knowledge to share perhaps you may find yourself shocked by that fact.

if you have a small height, they may find it cute and adorable if your future spouse has cousins and/or siblings they may tease you a lot because of that. you will find your comfort with these people.

i also think you bring brand new ideas in their mind and eyes while you bring imaginative taste inside of their mouths. if you are into cooking and baking they may find it a love of eternal loop whereas some of these people complaining to you that they're on a diet but they can't resist eating the foods you've cooked for them.

★ check the previous pac

• 𝗗𝗢𝗦

ii. your parents

you always surprise these people with your actions and words. for example, if they are struggling with money for the bills and foods the next day, you bring it to the table. perhaps, you may be an unplanned pregnancy or an unexpected child? for them you are an angel and their hope and savior.

otherwise, they think you are unique, someone who is different from your siblings and is someone who can bring anything at the table. they think you are resourceful and you know your responsibility, they love that. when you are not around, they always talk to each other how unpredictable you are. in their eyes you can be a star ⭐.

you are unexpected news that came into their life that turns out a favorable gift. they may not be vocal with their thoughts about you but once they did, they love to show you off to other people whether it's your achievements and winnings. they are your secretly number one fans. they think you are contented and happy-go-lucky individual despite them not meeting some of your needs. they admit to themselves they are lacking as parents towards you but you seems understand this situation.

they may feel sad too about not meeting all of your expectations. they think you are a funny child who likes to spend their day with their family. although, they are worried about your decision and what you are into, like if you are into divination, spirituality or astrological, they think it may effect you negatively.

ii. your in-laws

technically, they are kind of people who bravely show how much they don't like you for your person. they think, you are after your future spouse's money.

perhaps, you are fearless enough for any challenges that they may give in to you. they may think you are a lionhearted individual. they think you have a large family? some of them are timid when you are around. they think when you are mad, you are unstoppable and geez, they may even think you can kill any of them if you ever had an opportunity to reach a knife haha😂. you are really different from these people's perspectives. i think your feelings are detached with these people, it probably you and your future spouse live far away from them. they question you too a lot and then comparing you to others especially to some members of their family who reached great achievements.

most of them will enjoy your company but i don't know why this feminine energy in your person's, they literally don't like you no matter what you do. they won't like you and won't show any interest to get to know you.

★ check the previous pac

• 𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗦

i. your parents

god, the diarrhea of harsh opinions these people have. they may think very highly of you but also prefer to sabotage you? it's like "you are good at art but i can draw better than you". i think in this lifetime, you achieve higher than your parents which makes them feel bitter and threatening. it's like at your age, they don't reach the things you've done which made them instead of uplifting and supporting your achievements they're the ones who's bringing you down.

i think your parents is very idolism of their beliefs, tradition and how they were raised as a child. no offense to your parents and their beliefs but they holding it and stuck with it. they may want and keep forcing you to do the same thing which you think wasn't your responsibility at all because you have your own ways. they may hate you for that and may be find it irritating. i think they always compares you to them which is ridiculous. these people think you are good and talented but somehow they lack of actions and words to show it, it's like they can't accept the fact you are doing well. perhaps, i sense that one of them — probably view you as someone know how to stand firm to your perspectives in life. i think your family is type of a clan where one decision and opinion is everyone else decision and opinion.

they think you got the potential but they likely shrug it off and ignore this fact. otherwise, they think you can break a generational curse especially with finances. they would think you are rebellious. they may be scared of you.

ii. your in-laws

i thought i would end this pile with a heavy energy luckily it's a no. you will find your comfort with these people. the changes with your future spouse's attitude and aspects are very clear. they think you bring changes in them. this person's mother or aunt, will literally love you and may treat you better than your future spouse, this person see their younger self in you, that's why. they think you are the best decisions that your spouse ever decide. you gonna deeply enjoy this people company, they will make you laugh non-stop.

they're gonna be interested in your backgrounds. i think these people have different beliefs and practices and backgrounds than you. they may also think you are amazing because you know more than two languages, i think you are bilingual. they may even want to learn your mother tongue language. with them, you are welcome with a wide arms open. if you have any problems with your spouse, you can rely on them. they won't judge you and will give you advices you deeply need in a certain situation. you will experience golden days with these people.

★ check the previous pac

˚⊱🍀⊰˚

jane, the bean fiend tarot reader

[nejiverse]

‘FLYING OBJECTS’ AND THEIR BIG MOUTHS..

Kinich, Ifa

In which Ajaw and Cacucu reveal all their partners’ hidden feelings. Fem! Reader

cw: kissing, hope they arent ooc🥹

1104 words

Y/n was walking a good few steps ahead of Kinich and Ajaw, humming a tune Kinich couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he would soon find out that was the least of his worries.

Ajaw, who was always looking for something to pester Kinich about, noticed how the male threw multiple side glances at Y/n's retreating figure.

At this, a sly grin spread across his face.

"Oho what's this?", Ajaw echoed suddenly, loud enough to make a few qucusauri frantically scatter.

"Is our proud warrior tripping over his own feet just watching her walk?!".

Kinich rolled his eyes and swatted ajaw away but to no surprise he came right back.

What he said wasnt completely off the mark, but it wasnt just her walk. It was her posture, the way she carried herself, and most especially the way she would quickly glance back to make sure they werent too far behind, accompanied with that small smile that if interpreted into words would say 'im glad youre still there'.

Kinich would find himself counting down the minutes until she would give him another quick glance.

"I'm not, now stop annoying me", he scoffed.

"You so are! I'm telling Y/n~", he sang as he made his way to her side before Kinich could even attempt to grab him.

Kinich swore to himself that after today, Ajaw would never see the light of day again as he hurried to catch up to the two, now only a few steps behind the girl.

"I will end you", he mouthed as to not attract Y/n's attention but Ajaw was unfazed.

Being by Y/n's side gave Ajaw confidence to say whatever he wanted. After all, Kinich would never do anything rash in front of her.

"Honestly, it's adorable", the dragon lord mocked. "If you write Y/n a poem i'm absolutely reading that out loud!", he snickered.

Y/n laughed at Ajaw's antics. "A poem you say?", Y/n turned around now walking backwards. "If you write me one I expect a dramatic delivery! Bonus points if you pathetically cry halfway through", she teased.

Kinich folded his arms. "If I were to write a poem it’d be about someone who steals my food and calls it bonding".

He didnt miss a step, but inwardly he was pleading ajaw wouldnt take it further than he already had.

"See? he hates me!", Y/n frowned. “And it’s not stealing...its tactical aquiring..".

"Actually, lover boy over here has a huuuuge crush on you!".

"Quit it ajaw—", after he saw Kinich's hand coming out to grab him, he swiftly manoeuvred to Y/n's other shoulder.

"Like a trip-over-your-own-feet, cant-look-her-in-the-eye, i-hope-she-doesnt-think-im-being-too-cold kind of crush!".

Y/n stopped in her tracks and closed what little distance was between them, her eyes meeting his own. "Really?".

Kinich was quick to avert his gaze.

"You know how Ajaw can be—"

He was cut off when her hand combed back the hair at his ears, a red tint now coating them.

They two had known each other for a long time, she knew all his tells.

He grunted in embarrassment, eyebrow twitching involuntarily.

Y/n placed her hands at either side of his face ultimately forcing them to make eye contact.

"Is it true Kinich? Your answer will determine what I do next".

What should he do? Just say no and play it off as ajaw being a nuisance? Or maybe not answer at all? Or—

"..yes", he said at last, gritted and honest. "It’s true".

And without another word, she placed a kiss on his lips.

Ajaw huffed. "Bleh. so much for light teasing and tragic denial".

Y/n was helping out Ifa with the saurians when Cacucu blurted. "Yo, bro Ifa has a crush".

Ifa nearly choked on air, internally cursing Citlali.

It was only yesterday, after Citlali had figured him out that he went home muttering to himself and had no idea Cacucu could hear him. "I have a crush on Y/n? How could she even know that?”.

He noted to himself to keep his schizophrenia in his head.

Ifa ran a hand through his hair. "That was supposed to stay between me and the cold side of the clinic tent Cacucu..". And also Citlali but that part was against his will.

Y/n perked up like a tepetlisaurus. "Wait—hold on. Hold on. You have a crush? On who? I wanna know!".

Ifa pointed a finger at Cacucu. "Just so you know, you’re banned from talking until moulting season".

"Ifa has a crush on Y/n!". Why cacucu kept going was beyond Ifa, he felt simply betrayed.

"Cool, love that for me", he muttered with a dry voice.

"Wait..me?", she pointed at herself in disbelief.

Ifa had a lopsided grin. "Yeah its you. Obviously. I mean, you’re out here tending to saurians with me, laughing at my awful jokes, making the hatchlings fall asleep with your voice, and im just supposed to not feel something?".

The pair's conversation was cut short when Ororon bursted into the clinic blabbering about how he messed up and how Citlali was gonna kill him.

So a short while later when the noise had settled down and Ifa and Y/n had finished up for the day, the two sat down against a tree, the last stretch of Natlan’s sunlight making its final appearance.

"Sorry about earlier", Ifa rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm just so used to fixing things, not feeling them", he admitted.

Y/n gave him a reassuring smile. "Well you're doing okay so far", she nodded. "And besides, it adds to your boyish charm", she teased.

Ifa chuckled softly. "Yeah?".

"Yeah".

There's a pause — soft, steady. The kind of silence that feels like it's holding its breath.

Ifa studied her face like he's still not sure he's allowed to want this. His fingers brushed up along her wrist, feather-light, as he leaned in just a little closer.

"...Can I?", he said with a low voice, almost unsure.

He raised up his hand, careful, fingers curling just under her chin to tilt her face up. His gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips.

"You're really asking? After all that?".

She laughed softly, and the sound is so gentle it tugs something loose in his chest. Her hand moved to cover his, holding it in place under her chin. "You better."

And that's all he needs.

If only she knew how long he had been waiting to do that.

masterlist :)

[aventurineswife]

Remember that one post where Reader wears their s/o's jacket? What if they wore their entire fit? How would their partner react to it? And would it suit them? (Veritas, Kaveh, Aventurine, Welt, Phanion.)

“You wear my clothes, but do you wear my heart?”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Welt x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, Fluff, Romance, Humor, Appreciation, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Mild Language, Implied/Light Suggestiveness, Slight Angst (?).

Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling

You stand before the mirror, slipping on Ratio's jacket. His black vest is a bit large on you, and the golden shoulder pieces catch the light in an almost regal fashion. You tie the cloth over your shoulder and adjust the blue arm braces, your eyes widening at how they feel—powerful, yet foreign.

Ratio, who had been deep in his work, glances up as you approach him. He freezes, his reddish-pink eyes scanning you from head to toe. A faint blush tinges his pale cheeks, but he quickly masks it with his usual demeanor. "What are you—" He pauses as his gaze falls upon you, processing the sight before him. "That—you're wearing my entire fit."

You turn, giving a playful spin, admiring how the outfit looks on you. "Do you think it suits me?"

His lips curl into a bemused smile, though there's an edge of admiration beneath it. "You—" He shakes his head, clearly torn between amusement and a touch of pride. "It's… surprisingly flattering. Though I must admit, it’s a little strange seeing someone else in my clothes." He steps closer, brushing the fabric gently with his fingertips. "It’s almost as if you’re wearing a part of me. But," he adds with a hint of smugness, "don’t get used to it. These are still mine."

You laugh, pleased by his reaction. "I can’t promise I won’t."

You smile to yourself as you slip into Kaveh's ornate outfit. The outfit in front of the mirror make you feel a little more like him—a mix of confidence and artistic flair. The gold accents, the feather tucked into your hair, the elegant red cape all come together beautifully, but the feeling of wearing someone else's creation is surreal. The cape drapes across your shoulders as you adjust the tassels at your waist.

When Kaveh steps into the room, his eyes widen as he sees you in his clothes. "Wait, no way," he exclaims, his voice both surprised and impressed. "You—how do you—"

You give him a playful twirl, feeling the weight of the cape flow behind you. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

Kaveh takes a step closer, a hand running over the golden ornament on your collarbone. "It… it looks perfect on you." He pauses, his fingers lingering over the fabric. "But don’t get any ideas, alright?" he teases, though his eyes are warm with affection. "I’m not sure if you’re trying to steal my style or my heart, but it works either way."

You smile, feeling his words warm your heart. "Maybe both."

Aventurine, with his usual cool detachment, doesn’t notice at first when you slip into his extravagant outfit—until you walk into the room with an unmistakable confidence. The feather earring, the bold colors of his suit, and the dramatic presence you carry seem almost tailor-made for you.

He looks up, his eyes narrowing in surprise as he observes you. "What in the stars…?" he murmurs, his usual charm giving way to an almost disbelieving stare. "That’s… my outfit. How do you—"

You strike a pose, grinning as you run your fingers through the feathers at your ear. "How do I look?"

Aventurine leans back in his chair, clearly amused but intrigued. "It’s… dangerous, wearing my clothes. But," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, "I must admit, it suits you. The boldness, the mystery—very fitting for you."

He tilts his head, considering you for a moment. "But beware. Not everyone can handle the gamble of my attire. You may just attract more than you bargained for." His eyes glint mischievously as he adds, "Still, I can’t say it doesn’t look good on you."

You laugh, loving the playful tension between you two. "Maybe I’ll wear it again."

You carefully put on Welt's attire, adjusting the intricate folds of the jacket. The high collars, the refined silver accents, and the sophisticated air it gives you make you feel much more regal than you’re used to. The scarf drapes over your shoulders, and as you stand in front of the mirror, you notice the elegance that the outfit demands.

Welt enters the room just as you examine yourself, and his expression shifts from casual to one of surprise as his eyes land on you. "You’re… wearing my clothes?"

You give him a soft smile, straightening your posture to fully embrace the elegance of the outfit. "How do I look?"

He takes a step closer, his usually reserved face softening as he eyes you. His voice is calm, but there’s an undeniable warmth behind it. "It suits you. You carry the weight of it well," he says, his hand brushing over the fabric of your scarf. "Though, I must say… it’s strange seeing someone else in my attire. It’s as though I’m looking at a different version of myself."

You smile at him warmly. "Maybe I just wanted to try being as strong as you for a moment."

Welt's gaze softens even further, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "You’re already strong in your own way. But I appreciate the sentiment."

You slip into Phainon’s coat, the regal white, blue, and gold silk feeling almost like a second skin. The material is delicate, and the way the light catches the colors gives you an ethereal glow. You adjust the hem and the folds of the coat, and the cool air feels just right as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Phainon enters the room, and his steps falter when he sees you dressed in his armor-like regalia. "What are you—" he starts, but then stops, blinking in astonishment.

You turn to him with a small, teasing smile. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

Phainon’s eyes widen, and for a moment, his usual gentle and cheerful demeanor fades. He takes a few slow steps toward you, his hands hesitating as if to touch the fabric but unsure whether to. "It looks… it looks stunning," he admits quietly, his voice tinged with admiration. "But, please, don’t wear this into battle—"

You laugh, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep it for special occasions."

He nods, though his expression is still a bit dazed. "It’s strange… seeing someone else in my coat. It’s like I’m looking at a reflection of myself—yet not quite."

You step forward, playfully adjusting the golden embroidery on his coat. "Maybe it’s because I’m your reflection… just a little different."

Phainon’s cheeks flush slightly as he smiles warmly at you. "Perhaps. Just promise me you’ll be careful. It’s a heavy mantle to bear."

"Don't worry, I’ll wear it proudly."

[miifu666]

Detective and Killer Househusband Au!

An idea thats been fermenting in my mind maybe because ive been rewatching brooklyn 99! Buttt Househusband Wukong and his detective wife hihihi. Took me a while to make this cause I was confused on which role would they have but some moots in discord helped me so! HOUSEHUSBAND WUKONGG. This is modern normal AU? Ish???

Detective! Suklha

A well respected detective who managed to have the most cases broken in her youth, yet somehow a new case stumped her. The motives are sporadic and unpredictable, there has been dosen of detective investigating the case before but eventually it was handed to her as a referral.

Her advice are considered to be the highest priority. Less anyone has a different opinion, Suklha is ready to drain them dry for any reason why, will went as far as chasing them at every corner. She will never let anyones opinion go to waste and accepts criticism.

Is known to be Cold and mysterious, some officers learnt she has a soft spot but only a few and is an obscured knowledge in her precinct. They never would’ve guessed she’s married to the neighborhood’s well known monkey.

Was offered promotion a couple of times but rejected it. Already comfortable with her position and reputation, she works for her passion rather than money. Fortunately shes good at money managing, and Wukong has a good way of using his knowledge to do household chores as cheap as he can but still effective.

Introverted, she strictly works alone without a partner. For her own purposes, less she gets overstimulated she claims. In truth, she just hates social interaction when its unneeded and has a lot of trust issues she wont work on. Has been in therapy for a couple of times but in the end showed no improvement due to her stubborn attitude.

Met Wukong during her therapy session, talked to him while waiting for her. Turns out they both had the same psychologist. A psychologist who specializes in addiction and behavioral issues.

Cant stop obsessing over theories and plans, although she makes this habit of her into a job. It also made her highly paranoid, to the point she’s afraid to work with a partner. This however died down after she got married, has been taking better care of herself or should i say a certain monkey has?

This bias towards her husband, someone she deeply trusts. Made her blind from making him a suspect, doesnt help that Wukong stalks every move on his own case.

People has seen her blush an occasional time, the day she had a fever while clocking in and when she had to introduce her husband. Which shocked a lot of officers, it was the first time a police department went silent.

Yan! Househusband! Wukong

Met Suklha while he was going to therapy. Lied about his issues to get on her good side. Kept it up since then. In truth, He has an obsessive disorder.

A househusband who is well known in the community especially to the elderly, very active in terms of community services and also kind hearted. He’s very extroverted and warm. Some elderly calls him “The monkey who’s equal to heaven” referring to the many good deeds he has done.

Has a habit of giving baked goods to new members of the community, occasionally gives out free food for Suklha’s precinct because “he accidentally made too much”

Wouldn’t it be funny if his Ruyi Jingu Bang is a folding staff that he disguised as a broomstick? The name comes from Suklha cause each time she tries to use the broom it always detached itself from the broom and so far only Wukong is able to use it? Its also very heavy lmao.

Gossips with EVERYONEE its his way of getting intel and he feels like it helps Suklha in a way besides stalking her throughout her work yk-

Has a large network of “someone i know”, Macaque is the only one who knows of his bad habits and what he’s fault for. Tried to tell Suklha before they got married, after that he kind of stays out of the couples way.

Killed some people because he thought he’s lessening his Wife’s workload, even went as far as making sure they’re considered “missing” butt when the case got onto Suklha’s hand. He realized it’ll only gave her more overtime and late night, he stopped for awhile. Till he started again when he found out some cops arent… able to keep their hands to themselves when its about his wife.

Got the name “Heaven’s Sage” because the internet has been blowing up about him doing “Gods work” only killing suspected killers and perverts so far. In a gruesome and bludgeoned way, notable trademarks of his victims are : Marks of blunt objects, fatal multi-organ inflammation, left barren without clothes or valuable.

VERY obsessive of his wife, its been going on for almost a decade now… he is NOT joking. He can tell if she walks funny or smells differently.

Taglist : @phoenixeclipse-lmkau @skymoral @tuskstudioart @whatisev04 @forge-the-idiot @masterqueso @monkieshad0w @lilchickie @mehiwilldoitlater @missrosiesworld @sleepingdramaqueen @epochal-oracle

[honeydippedfiction]

Joe x Angel Angst Prompt #42 “You Promised” with #14 “Don’t you dare walk away from me” with fluff prompt #35 “ I just want to be there for you.”

Whew this one is a lot… prepare your heartstrings (also takes place when they’re still engaged so pre-Zariyah era)

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#42 “You Promised”, #14 “Don’t you dare walk away from me” & #35 “ I just want to be there for you.”

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Angel adjusted the gold necklace resting just above the neckline of her sleek black dress—the same one Joe had picked out for her birthday last year during a surprise trip to New Orleans. She could still remember the way he’d stood behind her in the boutique mirror, arms wrapped around her waist, whispering that she looked like everything the world didn’t deserve.

Now, in the quiet of her hotel suite’s bathroom, she stared at her reflection. Flawless makeup. Confident eyes. The ESPN badge clipped to her waist was a reminder that she’d earned this. After years grinding on the sidelines, chasing quotes in freezing locker rooms, she wasn’t just reporting on college football anymore.

Tonight, she was hosting—live, in front of the country—at the College Football Awards.

It was everything she had worked toward.

The moment she’d dreamt about when she was pulling double shifts during grad school, when she was the only Black woman on set, when she was told to smile more and talk less. All of it led here.

And Joe had promised he’d be there. Not just as her fiancé, but as her partner. As her biggest supporter.

She could still hear his voice from the week before, warm and certain: “Babe, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’ve supported me through everything—now it’s my turn.”

But he had missed it.

Three hours after the stage lights dimmed, after the cameras stopped rolling and the congratulatory hugs faded into the background, Angel stood alone in the driveway of their Cincinnati home. Her heels dangled from two tired fingers, her arches aching, but that pain was nothing compared to the tight, bruised feeling in her chest.

The sky was a soft charcoal above her, clouds hanging low, the kind of Midwest night where the air tasted like rain even if it never came.

She took a breath, lingering at the driver’s side of her car, part of her still hoping—still foolishly clinging to the idea—that maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe he had made it home early and was waiting upstairs, half-asleep in his clothes, her segment paused on the TV. Maybe there was a good reason.

She unlocked the front door quietly, slipping inside. The familiar scent of pinewood and lavender greeted her. The living room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the lamp beside the couch.

And there he was.

Joe was curled up on the sofa, hoodie loose around his frame, legs stretched out, his face bathed in the cold blue glow of his iPad. One headphone dangled from his neck. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, locked onto film breakdown, fingers tapping occasionally to rewind or freeze a frame.

He didn’t look up until the door clicked shut.

“Hey,” he said casually, glancing at her like she’d just come back from the grocery store. “How’d it go?”

Angel didn’t speak right away. She just stared at him. Her hand tightened around her keys.

“You weren’t there,” she said quietly.

Joe’s smile faltered. The guilt on his face wasn’t sudden—it had been there, simmering just beneath the surface. He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.

“Angel… I know. I—Coach called a team meeting last minute. There was new breakdown footage from practice, and he needed us to—”

“No.” Her voice sliced through the space between them, sharp and clean. “Don’t start with that.”

Joe’s brow furrowed. “I’m not making excuses. I just—”

“You promised, Joe.”

He sighed and set the iPad on the coffee table. “I swear, I wanted to be there. I was watching the time the whole meeting. But it ran long, and by the time I thought about leaving, it was—”

“Wanted to be?” she repeated, her laugh sharp and bitter. “That’s supposed to be enough now? Wanting?”

Joe stood, rubbing his hands down his thighs like he could scrub the guilt off. “Angel, come on. You know what my schedule’s like. It’s not like I was sitting here playing Xbox. This is my job. You knew this is what life with me was going to be.”

“Exactly,” she snapped, stepping closer. “It’s always your job. Always football. Always something more important than me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders drawn tight. “What’s not fair is standing on a national stage, my first time ever doing live television, with my heart in my throat, looking for your face in the crowd and praying you'd walk through the doors. Thinking maybe you got caught in traffic, maybe you were running late, maybe—maybe—you gave enough of a damn to show up. But you didn’t. Just like last time. Just like every time.”

Joe’s jaw clenched. “You knew what this life was when you signed up for it.”

Angel blinked. Slowly.

Her voice dropped an octave, calm now. Dangerous. “I didn’t sign up to be a footnote in your life, Joe. I signed up for you. I thought we were building something together. But I’m starting to feel like I’m doing the building and you’re just passing through.”

The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating.

Angel turned sharply, walking down the hallway without another word. The sound of her suitcase rolling open and the zip of fabric felt louder than any argument.

Joe followed, pausing in the doorway of their bedroom, watching as she began throwing clothes into a duffel bag with a methodical, practiced rhythm.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight.

“To Monica’s.”

“You’re seriously leaving over this?”

Angel paused at the dresser, her hand hovering over the engagement ring that had once symbolized the future they were building together. She looked at it for a long moment—her finger, the precious metal, the diamond that had been a promise, now feeling heavier than ever.

Then, without a word, she took the ring off and set it gently on the counter. The sound of the band meeting the stone felt louder than it should have in the silence of the room.

She looked at him. Her eyes were tired now—not angry. Just disappointed.

“I need space, Joe.”

Joe took a step forward. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

That stopped her cold.

Angel slowly turned, her face unreadable. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“Angel—”

“No,” she said, yanking her arm back when he reached for it. Her voice cracked, but her stance held. “Until you can respect me—until you can treat this relationship like it matters—consider our engagement over.”

It hit him like a blindside sack. His lips parted, but no words came.

She slung the duffel over her shoulder, grabbed her keys off the dresser, and walked out. No tears. No dramatic pause. Just the sound of the front door clicking shut, quiet and final, as if the house itself exhaled in her absence.

Joe remained where he was, still trying to make sense of what just happened. His legs felt like lead, his hands trembling, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. Not now.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the house, like the softest slap of finality. No tears. No dramatic pause. Just the quiet, irreversible exit.

And then, she was gone.

Joe stood there in the silence, his heart pounding, his mind racing with all the things he should’ve said, should’ve done. The house around him felt colder somehow. The weight of Angel’s absence pressed in on him, suffocating the air. And there, in the center of their once-shared home, was the ring. The promise that had slipped through his fingers.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

The night air hit Angel like a slap the moment she stepped outside. Cold. Final. The door shut behind her with a dull click, but inside her chest, it sounded more like a door slamming shut on something sacred.

She didn’t even remember getting into her car. Her hands moved on autopilot—key in the ignition, seatbelt pulled, drive. The streets blurred as she drove through Cincinnati’s quiet neighborhoods, the city lights casting shadows across her dashboard.

And still, no tears.

Not at first.

It wasn’t until she pulled up to Monica’s apartment complex—a beige three-story building tucked behind a row of oak trees—that the adrenaline wore off. That’s when her breath caught in her throat. That’s when the first sob ripped out of her like it had been waiting all night.

By the time she reached Monica’s door, she was trembling. Her fist knocked harder than she intended, but her control had slipped. All of it had slipped.

The door opened within seconds. Monica appeared in plaid pajama pants, a bonnet secured over her tight curls, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand and a face mask half-applied. Her eyes widened immediately.

“Angel?” Her voice sharpened. “Girl, what the hell—what happened?”

Angel tried to answer. Tried to say I’m okay, or It’s nothing, or Can I crash here for the night? But the only thing that came out was a choked sob.

And then she broke.

Monica didn’t hesitate. She stepped aside, looping an arm around her best friend’s shoulders and ushering her inside like she was guiding someone out of a burning building.

“Okay. Sit down. I got you.”

Angel dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto Monica’s couch, tears streaming freely now, her body shaking. Monica knelt in front of her, one hand holding Angel’s and the other reaching for a blanket from the armrest.

“Breathe. Just breathe, okay?”

Angel nodded, but her breath came in gasps.

Monica waited, rubbing her thumb over Angel’s knuckles until her breathing finally slowed. When Angel was able to wipe her face and speak, the first words came in a hoarse whisper.

“He didn’t show.”

Monica blinked. “What?”

“For the awards,” Angel said. “He promised me, Monica. He swore he’d be there.”

Monica sat back, her expression darkening. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Angel shook her head. “I kept looking at the crowd, thinking maybe he’d walk in late, maybe he’d surprise me. But he didn’t come. I got home, and he was just there. On the couch. Watching film.”

“You’re kidding me,” Monica said flatly. “Watching game film?”

Angel nodded, another tear slipping down her cheek. “Like it was just another Tuesday. No apology, no flowers, no effort.” Her voice broke. “And I—I just snapped.”

“Damn right you did.” Monica stood up, pacing now. “After everything you’ve done for that man? After all the times you’ve canceled things for him, traveled with him, bent over backward to support his ass—and he can’t show up for the biggest night of your career?”

Angel looked down at her lap. “I told him I needed space. That I was coming here.”

“You did the right thing,” Monica said without hesitation. “He needed to hear it. He needed to see that you won’t sit around waiting for him to finally remember you’re not just the woman in his house—you’re the woman who’s next to him, or supposed to be.”

Angel winced. “I told him to consider the engagement over.”

Monica stopped in her tracks. “Good.”

Angel looked up. “Mon—”

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “If he can’t treat you with the respect you’ve earned, then he doesn’t get to wear that ring like it’s a badge of honor. You’ve always been more than someone’s fiancée. You’re Angel Carter. You don’t need a man who only shows up when it’s convenient.”

Angel wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, her voice small. “I still love him.”

Monica’s expression softened, and she returned to the couch, taking Angel’s hand again. “I know. And maybe he loves you, too. But loving someone means more than saying it. It means showing up. Not just when it’s easy. Especially when it’s not.”

Angel nodded slowly, her tears finally slowing, her body exhausted.

“Get some sleep,” Monica murmured. “I’ll make waffles in the morning. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had carbs and clarity.”

Angel managed a soft, tired smile through the ache in her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too, babe,” Monica said. “And just so you know, if I do see Joe in the street tomorrow, I’m fighting him. That’s not a threat—it’s a premonition.”

That pulled a short laugh from Angel, a watery one, but real. It wasn’t healing yet. But it was the first breath after drowning.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

The first night at Monica’s, Angel barely slept.

She spent most of it curled on the couch under the weight of a fleece blanket and her own thoughts, staring at the ceiling fan slowly spinning above her. Her phone buzzed twice—both messages from Joe.

She didn’t read them.

She couldn’t.

The next morning, she awoke to the smell of cinnamon and the distant hiss of Monica’s waffle maker. She shuffled into the kitchen, hair tied up, hoodie draped over her petite frame. Monica handed her a plate and a side-eye full of sisterly concern.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Angel said preemptively.

“Didn’t ask,” Monica replied, pouring syrup like it was holy oil. “But I’ll listen when you’re ready.”

Angel spent most of that day in sweats, watching reruns of A Different World and only half-listening. Her mind drifted back to that moment in their hallway—Joe reaching for her like he could fix everything with a hand on her arm. The way his face had changed when she told him to consider the engagement over.

She hadn’t said it to be cruel.

She had said it because it hurt too much to pretend anymore.

By Thursday, her emotions had shifted. The anger wasn’t gone, but now it was folded beneath layers of sorrow and confusion. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped. What if he was saying the right thing now? What if he wasn’t saying anything?

She didn’t check. Not yet.

Friday came with silence. Monica went to the studio for a podcast taping and left Angel with the apartment to herself. Alone, Angel found herself scrolling through old photos—tailgates at LSU, their first NFL Draft night, the weekend in Miami when Joe told her, “I don’t know what the future looks like, but I know you’re in it.”

She had believed him.

By Saturday, the air was heavier. Something about weekends had always made Angel feel closer to him. Their lazy mornings. Coffee in mismatched mugs. Her feet on his lap while they watched film or movies. The ritual of love, in quiet moments.

But tonight was different.

They had planned dinner at Joe’s parents’ house weeks ago. Robin was making her infamous shrimp étouffée. It was supposed to be the kind of warm, casual night they both loved—family, wine, a break from the chaos.

Angel stayed on the couch, her phone on silent beside her, as Monica made sangria in the kitchen. She couldn’t face Robin. Couldn’t put on a brave face and pretend that everything wasn't unraveling.

Across town, the Burrow house was quieter than usual.

Dinner was ready. The table was set for six, though only five were seated.

Robin stirred her wine and looked at the empty chair beside Joe.

“Where’s Angel?” she asked casually, not yet suspicious, just curious.

Joe didn’t meet her eyes. He poked at his rice and shrugged. “She couldn’t make it.”

Robin blinked, surprised. “That’s not like her. She’s never missed a family dinner.”

“I know.”

Silence settled over the table, but Robin didn’t let it rest.

“She okay?”

Joe swallowed hard. “We, uh… we had a fight.”

Robin set down her wine. “What kind of fight?”

Joe shook his head, still not looking up. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“She just… needed space.”

Robin let the words hang there for a beat. Then, without a word, she reached for her phone, walked out of the dining room, and stepped onto the back porch.

She didn’t need to ask for Angel’s number. She had it saved.

It rang twice.

“Robin?” Angel’s voice came on the other end, hesitant.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Robin said gently, but there was a steel edge beneath the warmth. “I missed you tonight.”

Angel’s breath caught. “I’m sorry. I… I couldn’t come.”

Robin’s voice softened. “You don’t have to apologize to me, honey. But I would like to know what happened.”

There was a long pause. Angel considered dodging, softening the truth. But she was tired of pretending.

“He promised he’d be at the College Football Awards,” she said quietly. “He didn’t show. I came home to find him watching film like it was just another Tuesday night. And I broke.”

Robin exhaled sharply. “He didn’t show up for you?”

“No. And not just that night. It’s been building for a while. I feel like I’m standing alone in this relationship, and when I told him that, he got defensive. I told him I needed space… that I was leaving.”

Robin’s voice went cold. “And he let you?”

Angel didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.

There was a beat of heavy silence.

“Well,” Robin said finally, her voice rising just slightly, “you may not be my daughter by blood, but I love you like one. And I’m not going to sit back and watch my son sabotage the only good thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Angel closed her eyes. Her heart ached from the kindness, from the clarity of being seen.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Robin didn’t respond right away. But when she did, her voice was low, firm, and meant for one person only.

“I did not raise him to be this man. And if he doesn’t wake up soon and check into reality, he’s going to lose the only woman who’s stood by him through everything. And believe me, Angel—he knows it.”

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

Robin stepped back into the house, the sliding door gliding shut behind her with a soft click. But the shift in her presence was anything but soft. The warmth in her smile was gone, replaced by a cool determination that made everyone at the dinner table sit up a little straighter.

Joe looked up instinctively. The second he saw her face, he knew.

He’d never been afraid of his mother. Not as a boy, not as a man. But right now, seated at the table like nothing was burning around him, he felt something close.

Robin crossed her arms and stared at him.

“Get in the kitchen,” she said.

A few glances darted across the table. Everyone else fell silent as Joe pushed his chair back with a scrape and followed his mother into the kitchen. He didn’t need a map to know where this was headed—he could feel the storm coming before she even opened her mouth.

Joe blinked. “What?”

“I said get up. Now.”

The scrape of his chair against the hardwood was the only sound as he followed her. Once they were out of earshot of the others—just past the pantry, near the fridge—Robin turned on him.

“I just got off the phone with Angel.”

Joe’s heart sank, but he kept his jaw tight. “I figured.”

Robin’s voice was low, sharp as a blade. “You figured? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he muttered, but it sounded weak, even to him.

Robin leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “Don’t you dare minimize this. You broke a promise to her. Not just any promise—a big one. Her night, Joe. After all the times she’s been there for you. After all the ways she’s had your back, stayed quiet, made space for your career, smiled for cameras when she wanted to cry. And you couldn’t show up for her once? She didn’t come tonight because she couldn’t bring herself to sit across from you and pretend like you didn’t break her heart.”

Joe’s stomach sank.

He opened his mouth, but Robin wasn’t done.

She raised a hand, and he immediately fell silent.

“No. You don’t get to talk yet. You get to listen.”

“Do you understand how lucky you are that that girl even looked at you twice, let alone stayed with you through everything? Through the chaos, the injuries, the relocations, the media—she’s been there. Constant. Loyal. Proud of you. Loving you out loud, in front of the world. I’m not saying this as her friend. I’m saying this as your mother. You want to be a franchise quarterback? A leader? A grown man who earns respect? Then you better start with the woman who’s been holding you down since LSU.”

Joe’s chest rose and fell, slow and tight. He’d felt guilt before—but this? This was something deeper. A sinking realization that he hadn’t just made a mistake—he had wounded something sacred.

“And you couldn’t be bothered to show up for her,” Robin said. “Her night. A night she earned, worked for, dreamed of. You left her alone in that room, looking for your face and realizing you weren’t coming.”

Joe’s shoulders tensed. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there—”

​​“Wanting isn’t doing,” she snapped. “She didn’t need you to want to show up. She needed you to be there. In the seat you said you’d sit in. Supporting her like she’s supported you through injuries, media storms, trades, and a schedule that devours every minute of your life.”

“Mom, I—”

“No.” Her voice dropped, quiet and lethal. “Joseph Lee Burrow.”

Joe froze.

That was it.

The full government name. Robin hadn’t said it since he was sixteen and wrecked her Camry backing out of the driveway too fast. Back then, he’d known it meant he’d crossed a line.

Now, hearing it again, as a grown man, the shame hit him in the chest like a linebacker.

“You didn’t just miss a dinner,” Robin continued, voice trembling now—not from anger, but from disbelief. “You missed her. And then, when she called you on it, you let her walk out that door instead of fighting for her. You let her pack a bag and leave. She told me she called off the engagement. Do you even get what that means?”

Joe’s throat was dry. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” she snapped. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting at this table acting like you’re just giving her space. You’d be on your feet, in your car, at her door, doing whatever it takes to win her back.”

He looked down at the tile floor, hands braced on the edge of the counter. The image of Angel walking out—her bag over her shoulder, her eyes full of fire and heartbreak—played in his head like punishment.

“I didn’t raise a man who hides behind excuses or expects the people who love him to always be the ones bending. I raised a man who knows how to apologize. A man who knows when he’s wrong and makes it right.”

Joe’s throat tightened. “I know I messed up.”

“Messed up doesn’t even cover it, Joseph,” she said, using his full name now. “She left your house. She’s staying at Monica’s. And she told me to my face that she called off the engagement.”

He flinched.

Robin took a breath, softer this time. But no less serious.

“She loves you. But love isn’t a one-way commitment. And you are this close—this close—to losing the best thing that’s ever happened to you because you’re too buried in game tape to notice the person in front of you is drowning.”

Joe leaned against the counter, hand to his face. “I know,” he whispered. “God, I know.”

Robin stared at him for another moment, and then walked closer, her tone dropping to something gentler.

“I adore that woman,” she said. “She’s strong, she’s brilliant, she’s loyal. She chose you—not the NFL, not the spotlight. You. And you’ve got one chance, maybe two, to make this right before she walks away and never looks back.”

Joe nodded slowly, the weight of his mother’s words settling into his bones.

“Figure it out,” Robin said, pointing a finger at him like it was gospel. “Because if you don’t, she’s not going to be the one who regrets it. You will.”

Robin took one last look at him and let out a breath like she’d just set something heavy down.

“I raised you better than this. So act like it.”

With that, she turned and walked back toward the dining room, calm as ever—leaving Joe alone in the kitchen, heart pounding, shame burning like fire in his chest.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

Four days.

That’s how long it had been since Angel left.

Each one stretched endlessly, heavy and hollow, the kind of days that don’t tick forward—they drag. The kind of days that make a man sit in silence and realize just how loud a quiet house can be.

Joe didn’t go back to the facility. Not after the fight. Not after the dinner at his parents’ place where his mother, with every ounce of love and fire she had, peeled back the armor he’d been hiding behind and forced him to look at himself. Really look.

He told Coach he needed a few days. Told the team he had something personal to handle. That was true, at least in part.

But what he really needed was her.

And she wasn’t answering.

Not the simple Hey. Not the full paragraph that started with I’m sorry and ended with I don’t expect a response, but I hope you know I love you. Not even the one that just said: I miss you.

Joe had always known Angel was special. Since the beginning. Since LSU. But these four days stripped away every distraction, every assumed “tomorrow,” every excuse.

He wasn’t losing some girl he casually dated. He was losing the woman who had rooted for him when he was a backup quarterback, who had defended him when no one thought he had an NFL arm, who had stood in the shadows of stadium lights so he could shine—without once dimming her own brilliance. The woman who made him, him.

And he had let her down. In front of the world. In front of herself.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

That fourth night, just after 9 p.m., Joe stood outside Monica’s condo building, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie. The spring air wrapped around him with a quiet chill—the kind that seeps past cotton, settling in your chest, reminding you that time keeps moving whether you’re ready or not.

He shifted his weight on the concrete stoop. His breath fogged faintly in the porch light as he looked up at the door. From the outside, everything looked normal. Cozy, even. But inside those walls was the woman he’d spent the last four days aching for—and she hadn’t given him a single word.

He deserved it. That silence. And still, it hollowed him out more than any hit he’d taken on the field.

Joe exhaled once, a breath that rattled in his chest, and knocked.

The door creaked open a crack.

Monica appeared, bonnet wrapped tight, arms crossed, eyes sharp as nails beneath arched brows. Her sweatshirt read Don’t Try Me, and she wore it like a mantra.

She didn’t blink. “If you’re here to start drama,” she said flatly, “turn around now.”

Joe didn’t flinch. He nodded once. “I’m not,” he said, quiet and low. “I just… I need to talk to her.”

A long pause stretched between them. The kind of silence that measures character.

Monica narrowed her eyes, then sighed. She didn’t soften, but she stepped back just enough to let him pass.

“She’s in the back,” she said, tone clipped and cautious. “And if she tells me she wants you gone, I will personally help her pack your ego into a suitcase.”

Joe managed a small, broken smile. “Fair enough,” he murmured. “I understand.”

The condo was warm—light jazz playing low from a Bluetooth speaker somewhere in the living room, candles flickering from a side table. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus, cocoa butter, and the vanilla lotion Angel always wore at night. The familiarity of it almost made him dizzy. He didn’t deserve the comfort—but he took it in anyway, like a man gasping for air at the surface.

He moved down the hallway slowly, like each step mattered.

Because it did.

Every one of them was an apology. A plea.

He reached the end of the hallway just as she stepped out.

Angel stood barefoot in Monica’s oversized T-shirt, joggers hanging low on her hips, her curls pulled back into a loose pineapple bun. There were faint smudges beneath her eyes, the kind that didn’t come from makeup—but from not sleeping. From carrying too much.

She looked exhausted. And somehow, impossibly, still stunning.

Joe’s heart twisted hard in his chest. She was right there—so close—but he could feel the distance between them like an entire ocean.

He cleared his throat, voice low.

“I messed up,” he said.

Angel didn’t move. She didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t cross the room. But she didn’t walk away either.

That was something.

“I told myself I could balance it all,” Joe said, eyes searching hers. “That football and us could live in two separate lanes. But that’s not how love works. You’re not something I fit into the margins of my schedule, Angel. You’re the center. You’re home. And I haven’t been treating you like that.”

Still nothing. But her arms fell from their crossed stance. Her fingers laced together in front of her like she was holding herself still.

Joe stepped closer, slow and careful.

“I keep saying I love you,” he said. “But love isn’t missing your biggest night because I was too wrapped up in game film. Love is being there. It’s showing up. And I didn’t. I didn’t show up for you—and that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.”

Finally, Angel’s voice cut through the quiet—soft, steady, and sharp.

“Do you know how hard I’ve worked to be taken seriously in this field?”

The words were simple. But they carried years inside them. Years of being questioned. Overlooked. Undermined.

“I do,” Joe said, voice hoarse.

Angel’s jaw tightened. “No. You think you do. But you don’t. I’ve stood on the sidelines in the snow, gotten talked over in press conferences, been told to smile more and speak less. I’ve had people call me lucky for being on air—as if I didn’t earn every second with sweat and receipts. That night… it wasn’t just about the award, Joe. It was about being seen. And I needed you there. Not as my boyfriend. Not as the NFL quarterback. As my person. The one who claps loudest, even when no one else is watching.”

Joe closed his eyes briefly, the weight of her words sinking into his bones.

“You’re right,” he said. “I failed you. I see that now.”

Angel looked down, blinking fast. Her arms hung loose at her sides now, like even holding them up took too much effort. When she spoke again, her voice trembled—not with anger, but with fatigue.

“You let me stand alone in a room full of people who didn’t expect me to be there in the first place. And you were supposed to be the one face I could find. The one person I never had to doubt.”

“I know,” Joe said, taking a tentative step forward. “I can’t fix the moment. But I can do better. From this moment on.”

He looked at her, bare and open, no defenses left.

“I just want to be there for you. Every time. No more excuses. No more ‘next time.’ You deserve more than promises. You deserve action.”

The silence between them stretched long—thick with history and hurt. And love.

Angel’s gaze lifted. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the kind you don’t cry because they carry too much. She looked at him for a long beat, like she was deciding whether to believe again. Whether to let him back into the soft, vulnerable places.

Then, quietly, she said:

“I don’t need perfect.”

She took a step forward.

“I just need present.”

Joe nodded, voice caught in his throat. “I can be that,” he whispered. “From now on… I will be.”

No dramatic music played. No world paused. It was just her—moving closer. Slowly. Until she was in his arms again, wrapping herself around him like she belonged there.

And she did.

Angel pressed her cheek into his chest and let out a breath that seemed to collapse four days of holding everything in.

Joe buried his face in her curls and held her like she was gravity itself.

No, it wasn’t forgiveness—not fully. And it wasn’t forgetting.

But it was hope.

It was us.

It was the start of something new, built from the rubble of everything they’d nearly lost.

In the hallway of a quiet apartment, beneath the hum of candles and the weight of a love still learning how to grow, Joe and Angel didn’t fix everything.

But they chose each other.

And sometimes, that’s enough to begin again.

Joe didn’t move right away. He just held her, arms wrapped tight like he needed the physical confirmation that she was real, that she was here, that she hadn’t slipped through his fingers completely.

After a long moment, she pulled back slightly—just enough to look up at him.

Her eyes were still glassy, lashes clumped from tears that hadn’t fallen. But her shoulders weren’t so tense now. The storm in her chest was settling.

Joe reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and slowly pulled something out—small, delicate, shining faintly under the hallway light.

The engagement ring.

He hadn’t let it out of his sight since the night she left. It had slept on his nightstand, sat on his kitchen counter while he ate cereal he couldn’t taste, pressed against the palm of his hand when he paced the house in the middle of the night.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice quieter than it had been all night.

Angel looked down at the ring, then back up at him. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching.

She didn’t answer with words.

She held out her left hand.

Joe took it gently, like he was handling something sacred, and slid the ring back onto her finger—slow, deliberate, like a promise being made for the second time.

It glinted under the warm overhead light. And this time, it meant something more.

Not just love—but earned love.

He looked back up at her, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So,” he said. “Do I get a kiss, or...?”

Angel lifted one brow, her mouth twitching into the smallest smirk. Her voice was soft, but teasing.

“Don’t push your luck, Burrow.”

Joe huffed a laugh, the first real one in days, as she shook her head—but didn’t pull her hand away.

He didn’t lean in. He didn’t need to. That one look, that one line—it was hers. It had always been hers. And he’d take it gladly.

In that quiet hallway, no kiss was exchanged.

But the ring was back where it belonged. Her hand was still in his. And his heart—finally—was back in the right place.

They had a long way to go. But they’d go together.

And that made all the difference.

[jyn-mother-fucking-andor]

Thinking a lot about the ending of Andor and my own little head canons.

Honestly, the more I sit with it the more I think that both things can be true in that Cassian loved Bix but also is at peace with how they left things. Of course he misses her. Of course he thinks about her. Of course he wonders what their life could have been. And yet, once she’s gone, he just seems so much lighter.

There’s no question that they loved each other deeply and that he was devastated when she left. How she left. But ultimately so much of their relationship was him “saving” her or trying to protect her from the empire, from her trauma, from herself. The poor man was exhausted and was desperately clinging to the idea of a life with her that he couldn’t see the life they actually had. How isolated they were together, even on Yavin 4. While I take some issue with the way Bix left him, the “I’ll wait for you” speech, and the pregnancy… I’m grateful that she took that step back. Sometimes the most profound act of love towards another person is to let them go. She loved Cassian but I think she was also honest with herself about what their relationship had become. That ultimately they were not in a space to be healthy together.

When we see Cassian about two years or so after she’s gone, he’s more relaxed than we’ve seen him in the entirety of when they were together. He has built a little life for himself, a community, a home on Yavin 4. Maybe isn’t exactly what he envisioned, but it’s the life he needs. Sure, he’s lonely but he also just seems to be at peace. When Vel tells him to reach out to Bix, he shrugs. He says maybe but it feels like he’s saying no. Why? Because he’s moved on! He’s finally feeling like he can let her go, that their story is over. I’m sure he still has love for her but it’s shifted into something else and he’s found peace with her on his own way.

Then Jyn comes along.

She’s so different from Bix and yet the love she feels and the heart she brings to the rebellion reawakens something in Cassian. Hope was fading away, then there she was, bringing it home. It knocks the wind out of him and you can see it in every look he gives her. He’s impressed and terrified and transfixed. She’s a walking hurricane and yet she’s his mirror. She’s the echo in his shadow. Jyn’s the partner he needs to make that last push against the rebellion. As Luthen said, they burn for a sunrise they’ll never see and it’s a beautiful thing that they can hold each other when the end does come.

In that final scene, we learn Bix’s fate and see that she also found a home and community as well. She gets to take solace in knowing that in making the choice for her and Cassian, she saved him in a way. She saved herself. She finally found her peace. I like to think she met someone and that they reignite something she felt was long gone or that she’d never have after Cassian. I hope she was able to move on too and that they help her raise her baby and that she feels seen and cared for and loved. Of course she’ll tell her child about their father and the legacy he left behind with the rebellion. But at the same time, I have no doubt that that child will grow up in a better world because Bix left.

Who knows, maybe if the Rogue One team had lived, maybe Cassian and Bix would have reconnected? Maybe. Maybe not. But I like to think that if they had, it would be as friends. Sure, their family wouldn’t be the most conventional and there would undoubtedly be some awkwardness in the beginning, but they’d find their way. They’d co-parent and I do honestly believe that Jyn and Bix would have a lot of respect for one another and would be great friends. Jyn would love that child like her own and would be a bad ass step mom.

All this to say, at its core, Rogue One and Andor (pretty much all of Star Wars for that matter) is all about hope. Hope through rebellion. Hope through friendship. Hope through love in all forms.

[bidisasterevankinard]

Ravi the matchmaker

based on this and for @thecarrott who loved it

Ravi fixes his shirt, loving that Buck and Tommy decided to semi-formal style for their wedding and he didn’t need to sweat in a hot uncomfortable suit, staying near Buck and watching Tommy cry, when Buck said ‘I do’.

And now time for his best man’s speech.

“Ladies and gentlemens, for those little who don’t know me, I'm Ravi. Once I was a probie who was trained by Buck and now we’re partners on heavy rescue. But the reason I was chosen by Buck is not just it. You see Chim, as he said, was the reason this couple whose love we celebrate today,” Ravi raises his glass to shit grinning Buck and Tommy whose two pairs of  bright and happy eyes, but red from a lot of happy tears, “met almost three years ago. And I,” Ravi proudly smiles. “was the reason they,” Ravi looks at kids, “hang out one night and leave each other wanting more and pining with the idea that it’s not done yet,” everyone laughs.

Then Ravi blushes, sending hate look at the Buck, “but I also the reason they got back together. And even though without me they’d be pining for god knows how long, they still with another best man bullied me into telling you the whole story. So prepare to laugh. And remember I had a lot of tequila in me thanks to one Evan Buckley… Sorry Buckley-Kinard. ”

-

Two years ago

“And that is h-h’w Hen and Karen’ found the way to each other again…” Chim hiccups, “and here we are,” he makes fake bows when Eddie starts applauding.

Ravi smiles at the happy couple, hoping to one day be as happy as them. It’s sweet to know you’re so loved.

But Ravi sees how the smile on one face doesn’t reach the eyes of one person who tries hard to hide it. Buck. The person who got really quiet during the whole story, looking lost, and taking two more shots, as if trying to get away from something.

Ravi knows from what. He saw Buck look at Tommy’s number during the night several times. All the time closing the contact information, before opening it up again.

That won’t do it. Ravi saw them together, listening to Buck talking about Tommy and saw the way Tommy smiled when he saw Buck that night in the bar weeks ago.

If those old schoolers won’t grow up and talk, it seems Rvai had to make them.

“Hey, Buck, my phone’s dead. Is that ok if I’ll call my sister to come and get me?”

Man just nods, opening up his phone, and Ravi smiles at him, patting his shoulder.

“Thanks, man you’re the best.”

Ravi doesn’t sway when he’s walking. But just barely. Two or three last shots were too much. But Buck paid, so it’s fine.

Quickly making sure Ravi’s alone outside, he opens the phone, finding the number he needs.

Please, don’t be on shift

“‘Van?” a sleepy voice answers, “what’s wrong?”

“Tommy, it’s Ravi,” Ravi makes his best sad voice, but then thinks that it’s unfair to say ‘it’ to Tommy even for a second. He can’t say that Buck’s dead. Not even for a moment to get them back together. What if it’ll break Tommy’s heart? 

But he needs a plan. And quickly. He remembered Buck’s home screen. Buck holding baby Han, smiling like it was him in labor and now has his baby in his arms.

The lamp bulb brightens up.

“Tommy, Buck’s in labor. It’s yours baby. There were complications. The baby and Buck need you.”

Silence.

Ravi checks that the call is still there.

“Chim told you how he got Hen and Karen back together,” Tommy asks without any sounds of him moving to get here and Ravi feels sad. Doesn’t he love Buck even a little bit?

“Yes.”

“And how much tequila did you have?”

“Much.”

“Yeah, I figured. But you had this bright idea on your drunk head. I was mentally building the crib for a second on a sober one.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with my plan,” Ravi pouts. It was a good plan if only he remembered that Tommy was around when Chim did it to Hen and Karen.

“Ravi,” Tommy seems to try and control his laugh, “Evan is cis man. He can’t get pregnant even if I’d give my best shot,” Ravi’s pretty sure he hears the whisper ‘and god did I give it my best shot’.

Blinking, Ravi feels like wires that tequila unplugged in his head are plugged back. He can’t stop himself from laughing too loud.

“Oh fuck. Please can you not tell anyone?”

“Nuh, Ravi, sorry, when Evan tomorrow will ask me what made me come and talk with him, I’ll tell him the truth. But I promise to keep it from Chim till the wedding.”

Ravi can live with it.

“Wait, you will talk to Buck?”

He hears a deep exhale that sounds too hopeful.

“You wouldn’t try and matchmake us if there was nothing for me to hope about, so yes. I’ll talk to him. Now go and give Evan his phone back. And delete this phone call.”

“Yes! Good luck, Tommy.”

Ravi does as he’s told, deleting the call history and then calling his sister, faking to everyone that she was not answering the number for a while.

Buck🦌

Next evening he has the new texts sitting in his notifications.

Thanks, Rav❤️

You can’t imagine what it means to me

Even if I can’t believe you said Tommy that I was in labor 🤣

-

Everyone in the room laughs too loud and Ravi can’t feel bad because that evening might have actually never happened or happened not soon enough if he didn't.

And he definitely is ok with some other people's jokes because it’s him who is going to be the godfather of baby girl Buckley-Kinard that is expected to be born next month.

He’s sure he and Skylar Robbie are going to be huge friends.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Hey it wouldn't be me, in a fandom, if I didn't write some kind of ficlet about a character's hair, right?

The post-canon Viktor and Jayce I'm imagining here are very close to the ones from this amazing fanart by @kidovna because I'm obsessed with the idea of Viktor having a chest scar that looks like that one 3D character model where he's all spongy inside.

Viktor's body knits itself back together, after. Into something human, more or less. A silver-white starburst of scar tissue spread across his chest, in the place where the blast from Jayce's hammer punched him open.

His hair looks like it did in the commune, falling nearly to his shoulders, the ends bleached pale in places. There's a new tuft of pure white blooming from the spot where his hairline touches the thin scar bisecting his face. Jayce catches him staring at it in the bathroom mirror, rearranging where his hair is parted to hide or reveal the white bits.

He shuffles into the tiny bathroom, standing behind him, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

"Your hair got long," he says. Trying to make it sound as if that's the only thing that's changed.

"It's...strange." He sweeps back the chestnut-auburn curtain of it and then lets it fall back around his face. "Didn't know many people with long hair, growing up. If you worked in the factories, short was better. Safer. Easier to get clean."

He holds his breath. He can count on one hand the number of times Viktor has mentioned anything about his childhood.

"Before," he says, and Jayce knows he means in the commune. "I didn't think about it. I didn't feel like I was...in my body...a lot of the time."

"Do you like it like this?" He reaches up to brush an errant strand back from Viktor's cheekbone. Catches the tiniest flicker of a smile at the touch.

"You like it like this."

"It's your hair, Viktor. I'd like it no matter what you did to it."

Viktor shoots him a skeptical look. "Even if I shaved myself bald?"

He shrugs. "Really make your eyebrows stand out." Viktor elbows him in the ribs. But his smile cracks a little wider.

"You do like it, though. You can't stop putting your hands in it." And he realizes his hand is already in it, running up from the nape of Viktor's neck to tangle in the strands behind his ear.

"Can't stop putting my hands all over you." His other hand is on Viktor's waist, sliding up under the hem of his shirt. He can't touch him enough, now that he knows he's allowed. Crowding him up against the sink, the narrow column of his body pressed against him from head to toe. He uses the hand in his hair to angle his head--not pulling, just gently guiding him to expose the long line of his throat so he can kiss him there.

"Mm," Viktor hums. "I've noticed."

Later, when they're lying together sweaty and satisfied, he finds himself running his fingers through Viktor's hair once again.

Viktor's breathing is soft and even, and he's starting to think that he's fallen asleep, when Viktor says, very quietly: "I like that you like it."

"I do," he admits. "But...don't keep it this way just for me. If you want to cut it, I'll help you. Or if you just want it out of your face, I can braid it up for you. I can do braids like you wouldn't believe."

From where his head is resting on Jayce's chest, Viktor snorts. "Really?"

"Consequences of having your only friend be a teenage girl." He can feel the twitch of Viktor's smile against his skin.

"I don't know. How I feel about it yet," Viktor says after a long moment of silence. "I don't know...what I am now."

"That's easy." His hand settles on the back of Viktor's neck, the soft ends of the hair there tickling his wrist. "You're my partner."

[katnipp]

hello hello!! i have a request 🫩🫩 could u nake a fic about popularcheerleader yoonchae with lowkey nerd/geek reader, both of them get assigned on a oroject and yoonchae is very curious abour reader cause shed never really heard of her(theyve had many classes together) but readers disant and makes sure not to talk alot cause shes not trying to get bullied by yoonchaes friends, time goed by and they both notice that they arent as bad as they thought anf they both like eschother anf then boom they r together

according to the rubric, we’re in love— jeong yoonchae

genre: FLUFFFF

synopsis: she kept her head down. yoonchae never looked her way—until they were forced to work together. now she’s the only one yoonchae sees

—

yoonchae had never really noticed y/n before.

okay, that wasn’t entirely true. y/n sat three rows in front of her in chemistry, and two seats to the left in english. she was always there, quiet and scribbling notes with her head down, half-hidden behind oversized hoodies and thick-rimmed glasses. but she’d never heard her voice. not once. not until now.

“uh… we’re partners?” y/n asked, voice so quiet it almost got lost in the shuffle of students moving around them.

yoonchae blinked, caught off guard. “yeah. looks like it.”

y/n nodded, clutching a notebook to her chest like some kind of shield. “okay. um… cool.”

and just like that, she turned and walked back to her seat without another word.

yoonchae stared after her, a little confused, a little intrigued.

huh.

⸻

yoonchae wasn’t clueless. she knew how people saw her: cheer captain, effortlessly social, always surrounded by friends who talked more about lip gloss than books. she was used to being liked—or at least noticed—in every room she walked into.

but y/n didn’t look at her like that.

y/n barely looked at her at all.

and that? for some reason, yoonchae couldn’t stop thinking about it.

⸻

the next day, she slid into the chair beside y/n at the library and tapped her pen against the table.

“so,” she said casually, “you like star wars?”

y/n blinked up at her. “…what?”

yoonchae pointed at the small, worn patch on y/n’s backpack. “that’s the jedi symbol, right?”

y/n hesitated. “…you know what the jedi symbol looks like?”

yoonchae grinned. “my brother’s obsessed. i know more than i want to.”

y/n looked down at her notebook again. “oh. cool.”

silence settled over the table, a little awkward. but not uncomfortable. not completely.

⸻

yoonchae could tell y/n didn’t trust her. not really. she caught the way y/n’s eyes flicked toward her friends when they passed by. the way she tensed when loud laughter filled the halls. like she was waiting to be the punchline.

but she wasn’t going to be. not with yoonchae.

and besides—y/n was kind of… interesting. she was smart, for one thing. really smart. and even though she barely spoke during class, whenever she did say something, it was quick and sharp and kind of funny.

and she always smelled like spearmint gum and vanilla shampoo. which—yoonchae had no idea why she noticed that, but she did.

⸻

project meetings slowly turned into something else. first library sessions. then sitting together at lunch—far from yoonchae’s usual table, tucked into the back corner of the cafeteria like a secret. just the two of them.

they didn’t talk about the project much anymore.

instead, they talked about movies, space, comics, and why yoonchae’s favorite k-drama had a totally unrealistic ending. y/n would argue, soft but firm, and yoonchae would pretend to be offended just to get her to roll her eyes.

she liked that.

she liked her.

⸻

“you’re not what i expected,” y/n said one afternoon, half-buried in her hoodie, eyes flicking to yoonchae’s and then back to her fries.

yoonchae tilted her head. “what’d you expect?”

“someone mean,” y/n said after a pause. “someone who’d call me weird behind my back.”

yoonchae’s smile faltered. “do you think i would?”

“not anymore.”

“i’m sorry,” yoonchae said gently. “if my friends ever said anything—”

“it’s okay,” y/n said quickly. “they don’t know me.”

yoonchae reached across the table and nudged her pinky against y/n’s. “well… i do.”

⸻

she brought y/n a slushie at the game that friday. didn’t even ask, just handed it over with a grin and plopped down beside her on the bleachers.

y/n was typing something on her laptop. she accepted the drink with a quiet “thanks” and a smile that made yoonchae’s chest feel weirdly warm.

they watched the game in silence, knees barely touching. yoonchae kept sneaking glances, trying not to grin every time y/n’s brows furrowed at her screen.

“hey,” she said finally, leaning in just a little. “you’re kinda cute when you smile.”

y/n almost dropped her slushie. “wh-what?”

“you heard me,” yoonchae said, biting her lip, clearly amused. “i am flirting.”

y/n’s face went red.

yoonchae thought it was the best thing she’d ever seen.

⸻

the project was finished a week early. but they kept meeting up anyway. library after school. quick chats between classes. texts that started as reminders and turned into late-night convos about favorite books, stupid hypotheticals, and why yoonchae’s cat definitely hated her.

one day, yoonchae caught y/n by her locker. her hair was a little messy. her hands fidgety. but her eyes were steady.

“so,” she said, “we’re not working together anymore. but maybe we still could? i mean… hang out. just us. not for school.”

y/n blinked. “like a date?”

“yeah,” yoonchae said, voice softer now. “like a date.”

y/n hesitated, then smiled. “okay.”

and just like that, the cheerleader and the nerd

—

the girl who had everything and the girl who hid in corners—

fell into something real.

and this time, yoonchae really noticed her.

because how could she not?

—

a/n: SORRY IF ITS SHORTER THAN USUAL☹️