#like so long as he was appreciative and whatever

[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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[nanaslutt]

gun play with doctor zayne <3

ʚ cont: fem reader, gun play, orgasm control, praise, zayne is head over heels for reader, dom!zayne

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

It's almost too much—the pleasure that takes hold of your body with each thrust of Zayne's mercyless hips. Your body spasms, trembling around him with intensity that steals your mind to another plane entirely, but still, he doesn't stop. Doesn't stop thrusting. Rubbing. In just the right spots.

The cold press of metal chills your overheated skin as the barrel of a gun presses to the lithe of your throat, sliding upwards to raise your chin. "Look at me." The voice belonging to the male bringing you world-ending pleasure is as cold as his fingers, shrouded in patches of ice from his evol spiraling out of control. It seems you aren't the only one losing yourself to the bliss of another's body.

You obey. Jaw slack, obscenities in forms of beginnings of words, and half-hearted pleas tear from your ruined throat. Your eyes lock with his, half out of focus and clouded with lust--mirrors to your own. The barrel glides over your chin before the tip of the pistol introduces chills to the warmth of your plush lips. You part your lips wider on instinct--long trained from the expectancy of his fingers while he takes you from behind in the shadows before the sun bleeds color into the morning sky.

"Suck." Zayne orders, the plap plap plap of his hips echoing around the walls of his bedroom, bouncing around in your ruined brain like the clashing of a commotion much louder. Thanks to your heightened and ruined senses.

You welcome the barrel past your lips and onto your awaiting tongue, where the taste of metal blossoms like the bitter tang of mortality. "Good girl." He praises, eyes studying the way you accept his touch in whatever form he decides to give it to you. Zayne glides the gun in and out of your mouth in shallow, careful strokes that oppose the harshness in how he treats you below the belt.

The contrast is enough to make you dizzy, to send your eyes rolling back in your head while moaning around the gun—too fucked out and riddled with pleasure to care about the danger of such an act, no matter the fact Zayne has already emptied the magazine. He didn't tell you he did, becasue he knows how the thrill makes your cunt spasm around him until your roaring while your find your pleasure, but you know all the same.

"That's enough." He orders in that breathy voice of his so full of dominance that you are helpless to submit to the order. His hips still, and a whine lodges in your throat as he slides the gun from your parted lips, the metal exiting warm instead of its usual, unsentient cold. You're seconds from questioning him, from begging him to keep going, to stroke that spot inside no one else can--

The warm barrel presses against your forehead, and you feel yourself squeeze around his penetrating need. Your eyes snap open, more alert now as the gun rattles against your temple. Zayne's eyes appear to lack emption to an outsider, to someone who isn't used to reading between the cracks and lines in those gorgeous, overwhelming eyes--but to you, you see the softness, the appreciation that you hand yourself over to him like this, body, mind, and soul, and trust him entierly.

"Zayne…" You gasp, hips rolling on their own accord to still him into moving.

His jaw works under heavy teeth, clenching together with the weight of them. The pressure of the gun digs into your flesh harder, but not enough to sting. Just enough to remind you who is in control. "You aren't afraid of me." He says, not asks. You nod. "You like this." He says, and it's then that you realize his words are to reassure himself.

Reaching out while holding his seemingly impassive gaze, you brush your fingers against his waist and hold him there. "I like it." You whisper, nodding as he leans down, the gun slipping to the side of your temple. "I love it."

Zayne's cock throbs inside you, kicking against tight walls. "Yes." He moans, eyes flitting between your eyes, holding as much desperation in the depths of them as his own. His lips skim your own. "You…"

You nod, reaching your other hand in a silent plea. Your hand wraps around his own, that holds the gun to your temple. Zayne merely watches you, arousal twitching being the only sign of his love for this as you slide your finger over his that hovers over the trigger.

His lips part, and his hips jerk. Breaths caught between lovers lips grow harsh and ragged, trapped in the space where nothing exists save for the two bodies that have become one. He's practically panting as you apply pressure. His eyes turn glazed as he reads the hunger in the lines of your face, in the expression morphing your features.

You pull the trigger, and the gun clicks.

And Zayne?

Zayne groans as his body stills, and he finds his pleasure inside you.

[myhouse-mychair-myfics]

Building Bridges

Part 2 of Suppressed Bond

Ridoc Gamlyn x Marked!Reader

“You are still mopping over your princess, pay attention,” Aotrom chastised inside Ridoc’s head as he once again lost focus in class, daydreaming about you.

“Since when do you care?” Ridoc fired back, “besides, she’s not a princess.”

You weren’t. The daughter of a former Tyrrish lord, yes. Not a princess, but close enough in title that he liked to call you that. Liked to imagine you if you weren’t forced into the harsh hell that was this godsforsaken military academy. Liked to imagine the life you could have lived if not for the fate of your family.

“Demoting her doesn’t seem like a good first step in mating her.” Ridoc felt Aotrom’s laughter in his chest more than he telepathically heard it.

“Would you piss off?” Ridoc thought, scribbling notes in frustration.

“If you want any chance of getting near her in the sense you mean-“

“-She’s more than just a quick-“

“I am viscerally aware of all the things you feel for her, both romantic and otherwise. If you want to win her esteem and attention, you’ll have to get through her father of a dragon, first.” Ridoc imagined Aotrom preening at the next part. “For that, you will need my help. So no, I will not piss off.”

“Had to make it about you, didn’t ya?”

“Do you want my assistance or not, Gamlyn? Or are you content for Andell to scorch you on sight?”

“Cadet Gamlyn!” Professor Devera called over Battle Brief, “If I could have your attention, please? It would be greatly appreciated.”

“Sorry.” Then, to Aotrom, “Look what you did!”

“What I did? I am nowhere near. I remain an innocent bystander.”

“Innocent my ass,” Ridoc grumbled under his breath.

“Psst,” you whispered from your seat beside him, bumping him with your elbow, “what’s going on?”

Ridoc mimed the beating of leathery wings with his hands, pointed at his head, then made the yapping signal, eliciting a giggle from you.

Ridoc would swear in that moment, that sound, changed the shape of his eyes to hearts. He prided himself on making those around him laugh, part of his charm, he’d always said. But your laughter? The sound of your amusement? The fact that he could pull that sound from you after all you had suffered throughout your short life?

It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

And he’d do whatever he could to hear it again.

“Oh brother,” Aotrom complained inside his head, “this is going to be a long handful of days.”

Had Violet not been up to whatever weird and secretive shit she’d been dealing with from a day to day basis, she would likely have had something smart to say about him pouring over a book.

Colonel Kaori’s Guide to Dragonkind, to be specific.

“How do you get another dragon to like you?” Ridoc thought aloud, absently.

“If you want advice, you can ask me.”

“And,” Ridoc spoke to his dragon aloud, a fun little habit he’d unwittingly picked up from you, “you have made it clear you don’t have any interest in being helpful.”

“You are serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Ridoc exclaimed, tossing his hands up in the air.

“…Tell me about her,” Aotrom said.

“Seriously?”

A grumble of draconic impatience in his head.

“Well, she’s beautiful-“

“-By human standards, sure.”

“Ass.”

Aotrom said nothing, but there was a feeling through their bond that had Ridoc imagining the dragon sticking his tongue out.

“She’s smart, brilliant even. Violet doesn’t talk about it in any detail, but she was apparently indispensable during that battle in Resson-“

“Her having seen combat so early, with that relic on her arm, is likely not going to help Andell’s protectiveness…” Aotrom mused, sounding as if he really was thinking through the problem.

“I just want… I just want her to be happy. To see her smile. Make her laugh. She isn’t just another girl to me, you know. She’s… I… I’m in love with her.” Ridoc could hardly breathe, having finally voiced the inkling of a thought that had hung in his head for weeks.

Ridoc heard Aotrom hum in his head. “Wait,” he said, “you actually are going to help me?”

“As much as I enjoy getting my amusement at your expense, Gamlyn, I enjoy working with you, rather than against you. I also… happen to find this cause a worthy one. Of course I’ll help you.”

“Hey, uh, thanks,” Ridoc said.

“Keep the sappiness out of it.”

“Sure thing,” Ridoc laughed, “Sure thing.” He felt ghosts of dragon laughter, but let it go. “Alright, dragon expert, pun intended by the way, where do we start?”

“Are you alright?” Andell’s soft voice filled your head with his usual check in after most of your year filed out of the flight field. You did not have anything to compare it to, but something in you felt Andell’s voice was uncommon among his kind.

Someone had ambushed you leaving breakfast this morning. You had a bruise on your cheek Andell had already seen and fussed over, demanding to know if any rider was responsible so he could take it up with their dragon. You’d told him truthfully that it was one of those infantry thugs Colonel Aetos had been sending and he’d been summarily dealt with.

“Besides all the threats upon my life? Great!”

Andell snarled, his front claws churning the dirt beneath him.

“Not the time for jokes about that, noted.” You switched into mental communication for the next part. “How’ve you been doing? I know you know what I mean,” you thought, kindly but firmly.

A mental sigh reached you as Andell lowered his head as you approached. “This is a decent day. You?”

“I’ve had better ones in this regard. Two days ago would have been a family birthday.”

Andell’s head reached the right height as you held your hands out to either side of his face. Carefully, you held your foreheads together and just breathed. Your go-to way to comfort each other.

You smiled at him as you sat down at his feet, resting your back against his leg. You could feel Andell sigh contentedly as he curled his front around you. The two of you alone in the field, resting your weary souls together.

You were not alone in the field for long. Andell sensed it just slightly before you. He shifted his leg, protecting you between his claws as he raised his head slightly in the direction of crunching dirt.

“Hey!” A familiar male voice called, “funny catching you guys out here!”

Andell’s growl rumbled in his throat, but you placed a hand on his leg.

“Play nice,” you said, “it’s just Ridoc and Aotrom.”

Andell’s attitude did not change.

“Relax, Ridoc’s a… friend. You can trust him,” you whispered, shifting fully into telepathic communication for the next part, “I know you’re jumpy after everything but my friends aren’t part of the whole Post-Resson shit.”

“Not what I’m worried about…” Andell grumbled, his gaze flicking between Ridoc and Aotrom. “And watch your language.”

“Very funny,” you said sarcastically, earning a chuff from Andell.

“Ridoc,” you addressed, moving beyond Andell’s protection a fraction. Enough that Ridoc could reach you without getting his head bitten off, but not enough for Andell’s anxiety to spike. “What brings you by?”

“Well,” Ridoc drawled, crossing his arms behind his head as he flashed his boyish smile, “you two always seem to have fun sitting out here. I’ve had a lot on my mind, I thought it might be nice to sit out here too! Take the edge off.”

“A lot on your mind,” you said, amused, “that can’t be good. Like what?”

“Like,” Ridoc began, but then his eyes finally lit on your cheek, at the fresh purple bruise there. “Like who the hell did that to you.”

“Challenge accident, my fault” you said, easily, the go-to lie.

“Respectfully, Princess,” Ridoc said, a bit of outrage mixing with his voice, “that’s horseshit.”

“Ridoc?”

“I was at challenges with you, I watched all your fights. No one hit you there. You never let them.”

Shit. That’s right.

The dragons were silent as they watched you both, Andell taking an ever so slight step forward. He didn’t care if Aotrom was right there, if Ridoc proved to be a threat to your safety, to the fragile happiness his beloved human had to chisel out of this place with a pickaxe, he’d tear the boy to shreds.

Instead, Andell was surprised when he heard Ridoc snarl, “who did this to you?”

“Ridoc, it’s fine,” you said, “I’m putting a salve on it and it’s healing just fine. I don’t need you to-“

“Who did it?” Ridoc asked again and you fell silent. You’d never seen Ridoc this angry. Both dragons were shocked too, their heads pulled back, eyes wide.

Sensing your unwillingness to answer, Ridoc continued his tirade. “Is it some bullshit about your family? Of all the shitty things to do. I’ve seen the other marked ones beat up as well. This is about that isn’t it? You guys are being targeted.”

“Ridoc-“

Ridoc was lost in the other world that was his outrage. He was furious at the injustice of it all and said as much, “Why the fuck isn’t leadership doing anything!? You guys are already forced to be here! What more blood do they want!”

“Ridoc!” You finally shouted and he stopped, wide eyes gaping at you.

You crossed closer to him, mildly surprised that Andell did not voice any trepidation at your movement.

You placed a hand on Ridoc’s shoulder and said, “while I find your outrage on my behalf sweet, I can fight my own battles. The cadet who did this won’t be doing it again. Tyrrish kids are made of sterner stuff than most. I’ll be fine.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to like seeing you hurt,” Ridoc said, almost a whisper.

“Then let’s do this, hmm? We can take care of and look out for each other, stepping in when asked or absolutely necessary. That way neither of us lose our cool or pull a Dain, sound fair?”

“Yeah,” Ridoc said, “look there’s been something else I’ve wanted to tell-“

Ridoc stiffened as Aotrom spoke to him in his head, his eyes taking on that same glazed quality whenever their dragon spoke to them. Present in the moment but listening to something only for them. Once the sharpness returned to Ridoc’s eyes, he glanced fearfully up at Andell.

Your dragon stared down his snout again, blowing a stream of steam out over him. No one moved until the smoke dissipated. Ridoc’s eyes remained on Andell as the dragon stared at him again for a long moment, expecting him to run. Ridoc stayed right where he was, softly holding your hands.

Andell’s head bobbed slightly once in a way you couldn’t even figure out the meaning of.

The moment came and went as you turned back to Ridoc, “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“Uhh…” Ridoc gulped.

The shout of your last name and Ridoc’s over the flight field suggested that the two of you had been missing for too long. Andell leveled his head in the direction of Dain’s voice and growled, loudly.

“No, no, we should go,” you said, not in the mood to pick another fight, verbal or otherwise. “I’ll see you later big guy,” you told your dragon who you could almost swear pouted before surging off into the air, Aotrom soaring quickly behind looking for all the world to be nagging your older dragon.

“Come on,” you said to Ridoc, mentally preparing for the rule laden speech you’d receive from your Wingleader.

Ridoc tried to come up with something to say, some joke to make, but for once he was at a loss for words.

Maybe appeasing your dragon was the easy part.

A/N: And yes, I am absolutely planning on writing a third part! <3

[navybrat817]

Roosted

Pairing: Motocross!Steve Rogers x Motocross!Female Reader, Platonic Curtis and Female Reader

Summary: Steve falls for you more when you go off on your best friend.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Crush, longing, slight insecurities, swearing, nicknames, pissed off reader, Motocross!Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: If you read Hardpack, you know why you're popping off. Oh, these boys. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

“So. What’s up with Everett?” Bucky shook his hair out when he took his helmet off and nodded to Curtis who sat a few feet away on the ground. Dirt never bothered him. “Seems a little broodier than usual.”

Steve took his helmet off, too, his brows furrowed. Curtis wasn't the chattiest racer, that honor went to Jake, but he was unusually quiet today before and after he hit the tracks. Steve would’ve thought he was angry from the scowl on his face, but his eyes told a different story. 

“He does,” Steve agreed. Did something happen at work? Was he okay? “I think he may have you and Levinson beat in the brood department.”

The brunette scoffed. “I’m not that broody, Stevie.”

“Yeah, your personality really improved once Spitfire waltzed into your life,” he half teased. Bucky was sure as hell a lot happier since he got his girl, which made him happy. “But I couldn’t tell you what’s up with Everett since he hasn’t really said a word to any of us today.”

He hit the track like he either had something to prove, or like he was trying to forget.

A knowing smirk crossed his best friend’s face. “You could always ask Daisy,” he said with as much subtlety as a brick to the face.

Clearing his throat when your beautiful face popped up in his mind, Steve did wonder if it would be worth asking. It would give him an excuse to talk to you since you were close to Curtis. His eyes narrowed and unease filled his stomach, but only for a moment. There was nothing to be jealous of since you and Curtis were just friends and Curtis said more than once you both saw each other as brother and sister.

Steve also had no reason to feel jealous since you weren't his girl. 

Well, not yet.

“Maybe,” he said, gripping his helmet tight. 

“C’mon. Just ask her.” Bucky nudged him. “And I don’t mean asking about Curtis. Bite the bullet and ask her out.”

Steve sighed. Growing up with Bucky, girls always paid attention to his best friend, and no one gave him the time of day. He was used to it until the pit lizards started throwing themselves at him, which he didn't want. You were different. He wanted you to notice him, and he wanted to take you out and treat you well. You deserved that.

Bucky nudged him again, snapping him out his thoughts. “Seriously. What have you got to lose?”

Everything.

He shook his head a little. “Maybe I can-”

“Everett, you ASSHOLE!”

Steve stiffened when he heard you yell and turned to look your way so fast, he nearly gave himself whiplash. Your beauty took his breath away, and seeing fire in your eyes had him falling for you more. It was hot enough for everyone to feel the burn. Ari had to pull Jake out of your path, both of them staring after you with a mixture of shock and concern as you stormed toward your best friend.

Bucky’s smirk slipped off his face, too, staring after you like everyone else. “Oh, she looks pissed.”

“Yeah, she does,” Steve said. You were one of the sweetest riders out there and hardly ever raised your voice. He was half tempted to stop you to see if you were okay, but he didn't when he saw the guilt written all over Curtis's face.

Whatever happened, your best friend likely deserved your wrath and Steve wasn’t about to stop you from unleashing it. 

Curtis shut his eyes once you got close enough. “Daisy…”

“Don’t you ‘Daisy’ me! Get up so I can kick your ass!” you demanded, yanking Curtis by the arm when he didn't move fast enough. 

“She sounds like Spitfire,” Bucky whispered with a wince. “I’m not kidding. I’m pretty sure she has said those exact words to me.”

“Shh,” Steve whispered back, not wanting to miss what was being said. It wasn't right to eavesdrop, wasn't right that any of them were, but he wasn't about to walk away. 

Curtis put his hands up. “Listen, I know you’re upset, and I get it,” he tried to reason with you. 

“Of course, I’m upset! What is wrong with you?! Why the hell would you go off on Princess the way you did?! She should've kicked you in the balls,” you snapped, smacking your best friend hard on the arm. The guys knew all about Princess since some of them overheard you recently teasing Curtis. His boss used to tear up the tracks until he retired. What the hell did Curtis say that had you so fired up? “I might kick you in the balls.”

Curtis instinctively covered his crotch. Steve was pretty sure half the guys watching did. “I said I was sorry.”

A bitter laugh crept from your throat. “Oh, you have not begun to say you're sorry. You are not only going to apologize again, but you are going to give her an explanation as to why you were an asshole beyond the fact that you were in a bad mood. Piss poor fucking excuse and you know it.” You poked his chest. Hard. Curtis didn't flinch, accepting every bit of your anger. “Apologize again. I'm serious. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” he said. 

As angry as you were, you seemed to deflate just as quickly. “I’m so fucking disappointed in you, and you know I’m disappointed since I’m swearing so much.” You slowly shook your head when Curtis looked at the ground. “I just don't get it. You care about her, and I know you do, so why be an asshole?”

Bucky put a hand on Steve’s shoulder when he took a step forward. He thought he heard tears in your voice, and he wanted to comfort you. Bucky was right to stop him. You needed to finish your conversation with Curtis without him trying to rescue you.

“She’s too good for me,” he muttered. 

Steve frowned. Curtis wasn't a bad guy. Far from it. He was a hard worker, too. Why would he think he wasn’t good enough?

“With how you acted, yeah, she is,” you bluntly stated, making your friend’s head snap back up. “Oh, don't you dare stare at me like I just kicked a puppy. I’m being a best friend and telling it like it is.”

Steve smirked. He couldn't help himself. It took guts to call out someone you cared about. It was also nice that you were defending Princess so fiercely. 

Curtis clenched and unclenched his fists. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did, and you better fix it,” you said, kicking a bit of dirt on his boots. “If you don't, I really will kick your ass.”

“I know you will.” Curtis swallowed hard. “Do you really think she’s too good for me?”

There was a hint of a smile on your face, looking more like your normal self. “No I don’t. The only one who thinks she’s too good for you is you. So prove yourself wrong,” you replied, kicking a bit more dirt at him. “Okay, I’m done snapping at you. For now,” you added softly.

Curtis sadly chuckled. “I deserved it and more.”

You looked around, noticing the audience for the first time. “Show’s over, boys,” you teased, your gaze landing on Steve. Your usual smile was back on your beautiful face, and it made his heart race. “Hey, Champ.”

“Hey, Daisy,” he smiled back. He felt a sense of pride since he was the only one you called out. Hell, Hal had his shirt off and you didn't spare him a glance. 

You giggled, but quickly stopped when you pointed at Curtis. “Text me after you apologize to her.”

“I will,” he promised. 

Everyone watched as you walked away, stunned silent by what they just witnessed. 

Hal was the one to finally speak up. “Need some ice for that burn, Everett?” he smiled. 

Curtis snarled, but he didn't look at all embarrassed. If anything, he looked determined after your verbal ass kicking. “Don’t you need to pose in front of a mirror, Carter?”

Hal glanced down at his washboard abs. “I’d rather pose in front of Belle’s camera.”

Laughter filled the air, the atmosphere back to normal. Steve hardly paid any attention since was still staring after you. Beautiful and sweet with a protective streak. He had it bad, and anyone with eyes could see that.

“So, when are you asking her out?” Bucky asked loud enough for Curtis to hear. 

Steve locked eyes with Curtis who had an unreadable expression on his face. He didn’t think the man would stop him from asking his best friend out, but what if he did? Curtis could object all he wanted, but Steve was a determined man. He was a man who would treat you well, too.

Any worry faded when he got a nod of approval.

“I’ll ask her as soon as I see her again,” Steve promised.

Steve would hopefully get his girl, and maybe Curtis would get back in good graces with his girl, too.

These men need to get their asses in gear. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

As I Whisper in Your Ear, “I Wanna Fuckin’ Tear You Apart”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (at some point)

Summary: Just smut. Minimal plot. A hint of longing.

Warnings: Poorly written smut; dom/sub dynamics (both); choking (but not really - just don’t wanna trigger anyone)

You had learned the workings of Daryl’s mind long ago when your tryst had begun. You knew his boundaries, his desires.

And he knew yours.

Sliding his vest over his shoulders, you unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes on your hands as your fingers deftly worked. When he was bare from the waist up, you tapped the top of his boot with your bare toes. “Take them off.” You ordered whilst pulling your own shirt over your head.

Waiting for him to toss the boots aside, you pressed your chest against his, reveling in the feeling of his hot skin. His expression was unreadable as he bent forward to press his lips to yours. It was almost gentle, dangerously close to romantic.

Fuck that. Not today.

Today, you wanted rough and primal.

You gave him a shove and his back collided with the wall, inciting a grunt. Daryl straightened and opened his mouth, but you quickly countered, capturing his lips while raising a knee to grind against his groin. If it hurt, he didn’t say so. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth when you pulled away—just slightly—enough to fit a hand between the two of you.

His stomach muscles twitched as your fingers brushed over the skin and dipped into the waistline of his jeans. Daryl hissed when you took him in hand, gliding your soft palm over his heated skin once, twice. His hands glided up your sides and moved inward toward your chest, but you used your free hand to swat him away. “Behind your head.” You ordered, darting forward to take his left nipple between your teeth.

You continued to stroke him while soothing the pain from your bite with your tongue, trailing soft kisses up his collarbone, his neck, before coming to a stop by his ear. His hesitation was noticeable but eventually, he obeyed and interlocked his fingers behind his head. You stifled a chuckle when he grunted and closed his eyes in obvious restraint. “You know you like it when I tease you.” You emphasized by tightening your grip, delighting in the arch of his back and the breathy moan in your ear.

“Whatever ya say.” Daryl groaned when your tongue slid across his earlobe. There was a noise of protest when you released him and stepped back, tilting your head to admire the sight in front of you. The rugged survivor—the man who would jack a jaw at the slightest provocation and gut a walker with his bare hands—bare-chested with his hands behind his head. Sweat was glistening on his skin and you could see his desire for you straining against the dark denim of his jeans. His normally bright blue eyes had darkened with need and were watching your every movement.

“You’re beautiful.” You purred, reaching out so your fingertips could appreciate the twitching muscles of his abdomen. “Tell me what you want.” You pressed yourself against him again, pushing your thumbs into the waist of his jeans at each hip. You licked your lips and watched his trademark scowl capture his features. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours without claiming them.

“On your knees.”

You granted his request, dragging the last of his clothing down with you. He stepped out of the garments and kicked them to the side, looking down at you with renewed enthusiasm. You locked gazes with him as you took him into your mouth, an unbidden shiver wracking his frame. It was an instant reaction to bring his hand to your hair, twisting his fingers into your locks. He didn’t realize his mistake until your teeth grazed his sensitive skin. You pulled back and admonished him with a disappointed glare, shaking your head. “I didn’t say you could move your hands.”

You grinned smugly, moving painfully slowly into continuing your ministrations, enjoying looking up at Daryl’s frustrated expression. It was your guilty pleasure to dominate the gruff archer, watching him come apart at something as simple as your touch. It was absolutely maddening to hold that much power over a man like Daryl Dixon.

With a hum, you wrapped your fingers around the base of his length and squeezed, your lips engulfing him once more. There was a loud thud above you as your mouth chased your hand, and you looked up to find that he had slammed the back of his head against the wall. He had likely reached for you again but pulled back. When he growled through clenched teeth, you felt a surge of heat at the joining of your thighs. Sliding your mouth off, you flicked the tip with your tongue before standing.

“Daryl.” You pressed your lips to the front of his throat, smiling against his adam’s apple when he tilted his head, his hands remaining where you had ordered them. “Do you wanna touch me now?” He was still, looking down his nose at you.

“Ya know I do.” He all but whispered, voice shaking.

You hummed approvingly and reached around his head to wrap your fingers around his left wrist, tugging at his hand. “What else?” You nipped at his bottom lip as you guided his palm to your chest. He immediately caught your nipple between his fingers, kneading the sensitive bud between his knuckles. He brought his other hand down to rest on your hip, sensing he no longer needed to wait for your permission. You pushed yourself closer, trapping both his hand and his arousal between the two of you. You were kissing along his jaw and up to his ear when you grew impatient and bit down on the lobe so hard that you expected to taste blood. “What else?”

Daryl growled and released his hold on your breast. He grabbed your shoulder and spun you—somewhat roughly—to press your back against his chest. His arm snaked beneath your own, crossing your chest to hold you in place while his other hand traveled over your shoulder to wrap around your throat. He wasn’t hurting you—not past the point you enjoyed. “Anything I want.” He breathed. “An’ you’re gonna let me, ain’tcha?”

You moaned when his hand left your throat and slipped into your panties to cup the apex of your thighs.

“Cause ya like it.” He spoke in a forced whisper, low with dark promise. You thought you would cum from his voice alone. That was before he slid one finger past your slick folds, his palm stimulating you as he pumped in and out. Head dipping over your shoulder, he placed his lips on your pulse, licking and sucking with the intent to bruise.

You were panting now, pressing your head back against the front of his shoulder. You were certain he had left a mark on your neck that you’d have to explain later, but it was quickly forgotten at the feel of his teeth on the shell of your ear. You moaned loudly, grabbing at his wrist to slow his pace. “Nah.” He scolded, adding another finger and seemingly delighting in your quickened gasps. “Wantcha to scream.”

“Daryl.” You panted, feeling your climax nearing. “Daryl, the window’s open.” You were riding his fingers at this point, his steady breath against your ear driving you. The wet sounds of the moment only added to the debauchery you were certain all of Alexandria could hear.

“Guess they’ll know who’s makin’ ya feel so good then.” He chuckled, pressing the side of his thumb against your clit. “C’mon now. Scream.”

And scream, you did, grinding against his hand until you were too sensitive to even be touched. Before you could even catch your breath, he was tilting you to the side and bending to sweep an arm behind your knees. He carried you over to your bed and threw you down, your body bouncing on the soft surface before he used his knee to part your legs. The archer crawled up your body like a predator, dragging his tongue up your sternum whilst tearing your panties to discard them someplace neither of you currently cared about. You gripped his biceps, feeling the firm muscles flexing there as he held himself above you.

It was you to reach down and guide him to your entrance, biting your lip in anticipation. He didn’t wait. His hips surged forward to sheath himself inside your heat, giving you no time to adjust before he set a rhythm that brought your bodies crashing together. Any hope you had of remaining quiet was soon vanquished when he brought an arm down to hook behind your knee, pushing your leg up toward your shoulder. The move sent a wave of pleasure ripping through you.

“Fuck, right there!” You wouldn’t last much longer like this.

But he didn’t hold the position long. Sitting back on his knees, he pulled you up to meet him, capturing your lips. Seated on his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist, you rolled your hips, nearly tipping over the precipice when Daryl moaned into your mouth. Starting slow, you eventually set a pace that had his mouth hanging open, breaths coming in short gasps while his eyes were screwed shut. He held your hips with bruising force as your nails dragged over his ribs, leaving thin red lines in their wake.

Chewing your lip, you watched him eagerly. You had spent so many nights in his company; bandaging his wounds, talking him down, and attending to his primal needs. And then he would leave. He would always leave. And you wanted more tonight. You needed more.

But you could want and need forever and it would likely change nothing. So you focused on the moment instead.

Stilling your motions, you watched his eyes open, pupils blown wide. “Lie back.” You commanded, lifting yourself off him and waiting for him to move. He stared for a moment before finally obliging, shifting himself to lie back on the pillow. Throwing one leg across him to straddle his hips, you leaned forward to dip your tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat. Daryl keened, arching against you, but you rendered him still with a hand on his chest. “I’m gonna ride you until you can’t think straight.”

The way he looked at you in that moment—awed and hungry—sent a hot wave right between your thighs. You lifted yourself just enough to sink down onto him, starting a rhythm that was anything but slow. His hands alternated between gripping your hips and your thighs, his head thrown back and teeth bared. Looking down at him, you could see his muscles twitching, chest heaving, and you could feel his hands trembling. You yourself were beginning to shake, chasing after your own pleasure as well.

Daryl began to thrust upward to meet your movements, grinding into you and throwing you forward to grab the headboard. He was gasping as if he’d ran a marathon, movements stuttering. “Fuck!”

And that was enough to send you over the edge, painting where you were joined with your desire. Daryl let out a strangled cry and followed you, coming apart with your name on his lips. You rode him through the pulses and aftershocks before collapsing onto his chest. The two of you laid quiet and still for several minutes, regaining control and slowly drifting down from your individual highs.

Somehow, the moment felt right. It felt real.

Daryl interrupted the silence, clearing his throat. “I should go.” He gave you a gentle push, and you lifted off him to roll to the side, gathering the blankets up over you as if suddenly self-conscious.

Lying on your side, propped on your elbow, you watched him while he sat on the edge of the bed. Your claw marks stood out on his tanned sides. You were glad he couldn’t see your smug grin. The archer jerked his head to the side to pop his neck and began to stand. With no memory of granting permission to the action, your hand shot out to grab his wrist, leaving you just as shocked as him.

“Stay.” Your voice was so quiet that you wondered if he had even heard you.

Daryl looked over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow. “Stay? Stay here?” He squinted, that certain tick of his that told you he was mulling something over. You nodded, able to breathe again once all the sharpness had melted from his features. “A’ight.” He turned to put his legs back onto the bed, pulling up the portion of the blankets you offered to just above his hips. He laid on his back, one arm behind his head, and stared at the ceiling until his eyes slipped closed.

You remained on your side, watching him silently. Eventually, you moved one arm—only slightly—so that it touched the one not tucked under his head. He opened his eyes for a moment, but said nothing. He didn’t bristle at the contact as he used to, which told you that he was feeling the changes between the two of you as well.

You knew he’d be gone when you awoke, but your mind was still able to shut down and sleep soon came to claim you.

When the sun came up, you were beyond shocked to find he was still there. Awake and facing you with an unreadable expression.

“This okay?” He finally asked. There was a hint of vulnerability in his gaze, a confirmation that had your lips curving into the softest of smiles.

“Yeah.” You whispered, reaching out to brush his hair away from his face. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

[overwhelmed-alien]

ER Nurse/Firefighter Hangster 🧑🏻‍🚒❤️🧑🏼‍⚕️

Inspired by an episode of “The Pitt”. You’ll know which one.

The hydraulic doors opened with a whoosh of air and immediately the din of the waiting room assaulted his senses. Bradley Bradshaw sighed as he pocketed his keys in his hoodie. No matter what day - no matter what time of day - he visited his husband in the emergency room, the waiting area was packed to capacity. Over-capacity most times. Babies screaming, children crying, adults griping and complaining about the extended wait times. Coughing and hacking and moaning and yelling into phones. He didn’t know how the ER staff did it day in and day out without going crazy.

He stood behind a frantic mom bouncing a feverish toddler and waited his turn at reception. This was Jake’s third double this week. All hospitals in the area were severely understaffed, but two maternity leaves in day shift threw this one into an upheaval trying to keep up.

Bradley hadn’t seen Jake much lately; he’d come in shuffling like a zombie with just enough energy to shower and eat a little of the dinner Bradley had put away for him - more than likely his first meal in twelve hours - and then stretch out on top of Bradley on the couch to watch a movie. He’d usually be fast asleep within the first ten minutes. But Bradley didn’t care. Not about the drool on his chest, or the damp hair tickling his chin, not the quiet snoring or being pinned bodily to the couch by dead weight. He loved quiet nights cuddling in their pajamas, getting to hold that precious being in his arms, close to his heart, exactly where he belonged. He knew they were each other’s safe place. He knew that because Jake always held him after particularly difficult shifts, as well. Would make him his mom’s banana nut bread and thread his fingers through Bradley’s curls. Jake was everything to him. His safety, his sanity. Bradley knew Jake felt the same about him because he’d said so in his vows.

“Are you gonna just stand there looking dopey, Fireman, or do you got somethin’ to say?”

Mary the receptionist was Brooklyn to her bones. She’d worked at this San Diego hospital longer than Bradley had been alive and hadn’t lost a bit of her accent. He was pretty sure after these three years of him being a regular (both visitor and patient) that she knew his name, but she still referred to him simply as Fireman. Her Coke bottle glasses emphasized the blue eye shadow as she raked her gaze down his body appreciatively. He suppressed a shudder.

“Mary, sweetheart!” He smiled at her. He knew this song and dance by heart. “How are you, beautiful?”

“I’m almost as full’a shit as you are, bub. This is my third break.” She gestured to the Check-In window to emphasize she was, in fact, still working. “What brings you to my humble domain? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Ya wanna scoot back here “real quick” to definitely not defile the storage closet with the life size Ken doll again, huh?”

“That was one time, and there was no defiling. I told you, he was looking for gauze and tripped-“

“-face-first into your crotch, yeah yeah. What do I know about gravity, right, I’m not Isaac Neutron or whatever. Meanwhile, he probably needs some stress relief after the incident earlier.”

Bradley frowned. “Incident?”

“Oh yeah, some asshole built like an Oakland linebacker came in a few hours ago screaming about having to wait so long, and your boy toy flew out here like an avenging angel and chewed his ass out in front of everyone. It was like David and Goliath all over again. Your boy can string some inspiring words together when he wants to. Gigantor turned tail and walked out, quiet as a rat. People, am I right?”

He nodded, brows still furrowed. That did sound like Jake. As sweet as he usually was, he had no tolerance for rudeness, and held no qualms about confrontation. “Yeah. People.”

“Go on, get outta here, Fireman. Anyone asks, I didn’t see you.”

The door to the right unlocked with an audible click. He beamed and gestured a quick but genuine “thank you” before heading through the door to the emergency floor.

He’d just gotten off his shift and had swung by the Hibachi place Jake loved for a couple takeout plates. If Jake wasn’t busy they could eat together in the break room, if he was, he’d stick the box in the communal fridge for later and head home. Mostly he just wanted to lay eyes on his husband and make sure he was taking care of himself. When Jake got busy he always forgot to eat. Forgot to stop and rest. Bradley took his job to remind him very seriously.

Almost immediately, Bradley clocked something was off on the floor. There was always an air of frantic anxiousness back here in the ED, but it felt different tonight. The hairs on his neck bristled. He disregarded the patients and locked onto the different faces of the personnel, their body language as they hovered over screens and flitting around the stations.

They were angry. A cold, quiet, seething anger, kept at bay by professionalism, but it was there, and it was obvious.

He didn’t see Jake.

He did see Beau. It was hard to miss Dr. Simpson, he was a big man, a Navy man as well, one of his godfather’s good friends. Well, Ice’s good friend, he tolerated Mav. His handsome face was pinched tight as he rushed out of the corner unit in the back and wheeled around the main nurses station in the middle of the floor. He’d just picked up the phone when he met Bradley’s eyes. He put the phone down.

“Rooster.” Beau looked grim. There was blood staining his scrubs. “Who called you?”

Bradley’s heart sank into his stomach. “Wha-…nobody called me.” He shook the bag in his hand. “I - I brought Jake food.” He looked around again for a familiar blond head. “Beau, where is he.”

Beau could read him as well as Bradley could read everyone else. He probably sensed the impending meltdown because he was in front of Bradley in two long strides, strong hands gripping his shoulders. “He’s okay. He’s gonna be fine, son.”

The bag of hibachi dropped to the floor. “‘Okay’ and ‘gonna be fine’ are two different things, which is it.” He could see the pulsing of his heartbeat in his vision. Nurses were avoiding his gaze. “Where is my husband, I’m not asking again.”

Beau sighed, rubbed his hands down his face. He looked exhausted. “Dr. Benjamin is checking him out now-“

“-Why is Penny-“

“-Because she’s a neurologist,” Beau cut him off. Bradley fell silent and let the older man guide him through the nurses station toward the corner unit. “There was an…altercation…in the waiting room earlier. Jake confronted an erratic man causing a scene. You know how mouthy he can get. The man left, we thought nothing else of it. Jake…he went outside for a break a few minutes ago, the guy snuck up behind him and sucker punched him in the face like a fucking coward.”

He drew the curtain back and Bradley felt his knees give out. He caught himself on the foot rail of the gurney in front of him.

There was so much blood.

It covered much of his husband’s beautiful face, wrapped grotesque tendrils around his slim neck. The scrubs he wore were soaked. In Jake’s blood.

Bradley saw red.

“Hey baby.”

Jake’s tired, slightly slurred voice cut through the wrath-fueled haze in Bradley’s mind. He hadn’t even noticed the pretty green eyes - swollen and blood-red and wrapped in bruises already turning shades of blue and purple - staring up at him. Awake and alert. He was awake. Bradley shook out of Dr. Simpson’s hold and frantically reached for his husband, knocking the empty chair out of the way in his rush. He stopped short, not knowing where to put his hands that wouldn’t cause any more pain or damage, but needing to touch him more than he needed oxygen.

Jake must have sensed his husband’s desperation. He reached out with both arms and pulled Bradley in by his hoodie, forcing him to sit beside him on the gurney. He was sitting upright, not lying down, and he squirmed until Bradley’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned into his husband and breathed a deep sigh, the tension melting out of him.

“Would you please be still,” Dr. Penny Benjamin was as beautiful as ever, even with the tight jaw and furrowed brow. Bradley hadn’t even noticed her sitting in a rolling stool beside the gurney. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and winked at Bradley. “Hey, Roo. Think he’s trying to absorb you through osmosis.”

“I’m fine with that.” Bradley croaked, his voice cracking, and squeezed a little tighter. He looked down at the love of his life. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t wrap his head around all the blood. Jake wasn’t supposed to be hurt. He had the dangerous job, not Jake. Never Jake. Jake was supposed to always be safe. He could be tired or angry or upset, but never hurt. “…Honey?” He didn’t even know how to speak to him in this state.

Jake held no such reservations. “I’m fine, B. Fucker blind-sided me like a pussy. Sorry, Penny.”

Penny huffed, but she was smiling. Bradley understood why Mav walked nose-first into a door when Penny smiled at him that time. “He’ll be okay. Took a hard fall, and head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but he doesn’t need stitches, just glue. His nose took the brunt of it, but thankfully it’s not broken. His stunning good looks will be intact once the swelling goes down, everyone will be happy to know.”

Beau let out a breath like he’d been holding it. “We’ll get him cleaned up and you can take him home.”

“Bullshit, I’m staying. I’ve got four hours left in my shift.” Jake sat up straighter and glared at Beau through his bruises. He looked exhausted and miserable. Bradley drew him in closer.

“You most certainly are not-“

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face, Cy.”

“While that doesn’t surprise me at all, we’re still going to follow concussion protocol-“

“I’m a fucking combat medic, not a fucking candy striper, I’m fine.”

“What’s a candy striper?” A young med student walking by whispered to another, who shrugged. Beau shooed them away and pulled the curtain closed.

“Jacob,” Penny gently grasped his chin and shined a light in his eyes, gauging pupil responses again. “Straighten up or I’m taking you down to imaging and stuffing you into a CT scan.”

“But I can-“

“Bradshaw!” Both Jake and Bradley visibly flinched. Penny Benjamin was scarier than any drill sergeant. She pocketed her penlight and stood up to lean over him. “Sensitivity to light and sound. Anxiety and mood swings. You’re a little uncoordinated, a little slurry, and I bet you have one hell of a headache. I love you kid, and nobody is denying that you’re tough as nails, but you have a concussion, and you need to rest.” She reached over to pull Bradley in by the scruff of his neck. “Let your adorable puppy of a husband take you home and fuss over you for a change.”

“Go home, son.” Beau added. “I don’t want to see you in here for three days unless you’re getting checked out.”

Jake shook his head, drew in a sharp breath. Bradley could see the tears in his eyes, hear them in his voice. “We’re so short-staffed already.”

“We’ll survive three days without the mighty Jake Seresin Bradshaw, I promise.”

Bradley was elbowed in the gut as Jake flailed to stand up and prove his capabilities. He stood up, too, and caught Jake by the waist when he wobbled precariously. Blond hair tickled his face as Jake leaned his forehead into Bradley’s neck seeking comfort. A single, strangled sob escaped his throat before he tamped it back down. Bradley knew. These tears weren’t from pain, or even anger. They came from a place of helplessness and frustration and exhaustion. He’d had this conversation with Jake before.

It never ends. He was there to help, spent his time trying to make people feel better, live a little longer, and all he got in return was sucker punched. Spit on. Yelled at. Cursed at. Day in and day out. He saw the absolute worst in people, and fought like hell for them anyway. They all did. Every doctor and nurse and receptionist and janitor in this understaffed emergency department had a desperate need to save people, and it was taking its toll, some days more than others.

“I’m taking you home, sweetheart.” Bradley’s tone left no room for discussion. Jake just nodded against his neck, his exhaustion suddenly palpable. He sat the blond back down on the padding and dropped a lingering kiss to his forehead, making sure his mustache tickled Jake’s skin. “Let Penny clean you up a bit, okay, hon? I’m gonna step outside and talk to Beau a minute. Be right back.”

He gripped Dr. Simpson’s bicep and pulled him away from the cubicle. “I need a name, and I need it fucking now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Beau don’t fuck with me, I’m gonna find out anyway, you may as well save me a few minutes of interrogation.”

“We’ve already got the police involved, let them handle it.”

“What, for him to get a slap on the wrist? Fuck no-“

“Need I remind you that the last time Jake got hurt here and you went all “Navy SEAL” on everybody, Ice had to get the fucking governor of California involved to keep your ass out of jail? Hmm? You think that’s gonna happen twice? Who’s gonna look after Jake if you’re in prison for attempted murder?” He stopped before he was actively shouting and took a deep breath. “You are one of the most intelligent people I know, but when it comes to that boy in there you turn into a knuckle-dragging dumbass.”

Bradley opened his mouth to defend himself but Beau cut him off. “This isn’t the first time one of my staff has been assaulted, and it won’t be the last. Understand that. It comes with the territory. We’ve all been hit and kicked and pissed and spit on. Every one of us. Jake doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to fight for him. He’s a tough kid, respect his capabilities. Right now the only thing he needs is a caring and attentive husband. Be that for him, Bradshaw.”

Simpson was right. Of course he was. Bradley knew he was a hothead when it came to Jake and his safety. He’d wanted to protect Jake Seresin the first time he’d ever laid eyes on him, even though it was, in fact, Jake protecting a wounded Bradley at the time. Every cell in his body vibrated with a primal need to protect that man, the love of his life and every life beyond.

The curtain pulled back and Jake was there, a little unsteady, Penny guiding him. Most of the blood on his face and neck had been wiped away; his scrub top was missing, the white undershirt a little less gruesome. Bradley met Beau’s eyes and nodded, reached out to shake the man’s hand briefly before hurrying over to Jake’s side where he belonged. He unzipped his Station 86 hoodie and wrapped it around Jake’s shoulders before zipping it up to hide the bloodstains on his collar. Jake looked up at him and smiled. “I would’ve stolen it anyway.” The Texas twang heavy on his lips. God, he looked so tired. On a soul-deep level.

“I know, angel. You wear it more than I do, anyway, guess I stole it from you. Just giving it back.”

“You know concussion protocol, I’m assuming,” Penny handed him a packet of papers with a knowing smirk.

“All too well, ma’am.”

“He’ll sit here and you can go get your car and pull it around to the ambulance bay. We’ll meet you outside.” Beau pushed a wheelchair behind Jake, who balked for a second before admitting defeat and flopping down into it.

“Yes, sir.”

“And then you’re going to take him home and put him to bed, and I don’t want to see him for three days. At least.”

Jake whined petulantly. Bradley bent down and dropped a peck to his hair, smiling into it. “Three days of couch cuddles. I’m totally down for that.”

Jake perked up significantly at that. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Beau nodded sagely. “As long as you keep the supply closet shenanigans to a minimum.”

“Oh shit-“

The End

[starkeyvhs]

enviers goin’ to envy

PAIRING: best-friend’s brother!rafe x fwb!fem!reader

SUMMARY: envy gets the best of you when you hear about rafe and a new girl. 

WORD COUNT: 1132

WARNINGS: suggestive content; casually dominant rafe; mentions of sex; light swearing

EDITH SPEAKS: I haven’t written in god knows how long, and even though university was a major contributor, my country’s current status contributed just as enough, if not more. I’m extremely relieved to say that things have simmered down quite a bit, but nothing is certain so I don’t want to get my hopes up. I hope that anyone else who lives near the borders is safe and sound <3

Besides this, I’m really glad I was able to write something after so long! I was watching cmbyn for the very first time, and the reference is right in the first line. When I heard that line, trust, I immediately opened my doc and started writing this piece without even seeing what happened next in the movie :p so yeah! I hope you like reading this 💞💞 feedback is always highly appreciated xx

masterlist / join my taglist / requests

“We almost had sex last night… Eliza and me,”

Well, that caught your attention just as he had intended. 

You lifted your head up from your plate to catch a glance of Rafe from the corner of your eye, and you saw how he was just busy eating, his gaze on his plate, but you could see it: the hink of a smirk on his face. 

There were multiple things going on in your head. The thought on the forefront was what kind of topic this was to bring up on the dinner table? And why was everyone acting so unfazed? Was his sex life a regular dinner topic at their house?

But, besides this extraordinarily loud thought, the other thoughts mainly revolved around two names, which also somehow became the main characters of your life; an entirely unintentional move from your side. 

Rafe Cameron and Eliza Cooper. 

“Wow, sounds interesting,” Sarah rolled her eyes from next to you, going back to eating her greens. You could feel Rafe’s gaze on Sarah and you, so you made sure to not lift your head up even once from your plate.

“Oh trust me, it was more than interesting,” he said, and his pride was dripping from every word rolling off his tongue. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one cares Rafe,” Sarah snapped back, and you mentally thanked your best friend from stopping whatever seizure Rafe’s probable next words would’ve given you. 

“Oh please, everyone’s interested enough,” and Rafe’s gaze was set on you. You could feel his eyes practically seeing through you – all your thoughts and emotions, and exactly just what his words were making you feel. 

You didn’t know what this complex bundle of emotions was inside you, yet you felt Rafe knew exactly what it was. 

“It was at Topper’s party yesterday, we found ourselves in a nice bedroom, things were going absolutely great. I could tell, she really, really wanted me,” 

Wow. Now he was just being straight up evil. 

“Rafe, son, as eclectic as this conversation is, I’d prefer it if it doesn’t happen on the dinner table yeah?” Ward spoke up, and that shut Rafe up the way you had wanted since that mouth of his had opened. 

Everyone fell quiet, the only sound being of forks and knives scraping across the ceramic plates. 

“I think I’m going to ask Eliza to be my girlfriend–”

“I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Your words were quick, cutting smoothly across Rafe’s voice as you immediately stood up from your chair. Everyone looked at you, and you just knew everyone could see how the color had practically drained from your face. 

“You okay sweetie? You look a little… pale there,” Rose said softly. You looked down and you saw how tightly you were gripping the fork in your hand. You let go of it and kept it in your unfinished plate with a light clatter. 

“I’m fine, just- just need to use the washroom,” you muttered, and left the dining table. You could feel everyone’s gaze on you as you left, but Rafe’s– Rafe’s gaze just felt like a laser beam. 

You were quick to enter Sarah’s bathroom, where you stood in front of the mirror, and looked at yourself. 

Eliza? His girlfriend? Was he fucking serious? 

You knew what it was: just a random girl he met, something to make you feel extremely jealous when you broke off your deal with him. 

You thought you could stay away from him. 

Yeah, yeah you could. 

You could 100% stay away from the insanely sexy brother of your best friend, who you had a crush on for as long as you remember. 

What a clown.

That’s what you thought you looked like when you looked at your reflection in the mirror. With shaky hands, you turned the tap on and splashed cold water on your face, as if that water could wash away all the thoughts from your mind. 

Only if it was that easy. 

With your head ducked down, you began to wipe your face off with a towel. 

But as you lifted your face up to look at yourself in the mirror, you realised you were no longer alone. 

“Rafe–” 

Your words got cut off when Rafe’s palms pressed into your sides, the warmth of his chest spreading through your back. 

“Shh,” he hushed quietly, his chin resting in the crook of your shoulder. His arms wrapped firm around your waist and he pulled you into him, the action causing your breath to get hitched in your throat. 

“My girl got so jealous, didn’t she?” Rafe murmured, his lips pressing to the shell of your ear. 

The way he was holding you, the way his chest was pressed right up to your back, and the way his voice was travelling through your ear; you knew you were turning into a mush. 

A mush only Rafe Cameron could make of you. 

When you didn’t respond with anything, Rafe chuckled softly, beginning to press the most gentle kisses to the skin behind your ear. 

“Hm, I know you were,” he whispered, kissing a trail down to the side of your neck. Your body wasn’t under your control anymore, with the way your breathing picked up pace and you leaned your head to the side to give him space. 

“And you know what?” He whispered further, now kissing in the crook of your neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot that made you gasp softly, “that was exactly what I wanted. To see my girl jealous. Now I know she wants me.”

Rafe’s hands were swift to turn you around, so that you were facing him. Your back pressed into the sink behind you, and you were efficiently trapped between the cold sink and Rafe’s warm body. 

He could see you were avoiding eye contact, so a finger came right under your chin to direct your gaze back at him. 

“Am I wrong?” He whispered, his other hand exercising a firm grip on your waist to keep you in place. 

You shook your head, your lips parted just slightly as short breaths escaped them. 

“Good girl,” he murmured softly, and god that praise did something to you. 

And just as you thought Rafe would do something to help with the ache of pure need that lit up every nerve of your body, he let go of you and stepped back. 

“It’s rude to leave your dinner unfinished,” he said, his hand already on the doorknob to open the bathroom door. “Be there in two, yeah?” 

And with that, he left. 

Now, if it would’ve been any other man commanding you this way, you wouldn’t have tolerated it for even a second. 

But this wasn’t any other man. 

This was Rafe.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mccaffreyswifey / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @kaileashiftz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @acidfeens / @r4fe-cam3ron

tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall

[scribbledghost]

Hi! I absolutely adored your inhuman! Vessel fics and was wondering if you could do any short fics about little things that he does, like domestic relationship stuff and random fluff or other scenarios? If not, totally fine! You're work otherwise is highly appreciated 🙌

Note: Absolutely! I'm so glad you're enjoying inhuman!Vessel, I love writing for him! Here's a short little thing that I've been thinking about off and on for a few days now.

Vessel picks up very early on what your favorite literature genre is. Whether it be fantasy, drama, nonfiction, horror, etc., he becomes almost fixated on recommending you new material to read any time you are even nearby the manor library.

As your relationship progresses, so do his book habits in relation to you. Simple recommendations turn to reading two copies of the same book which turns into you resting with your back against his chest as you two read the same book.

A natural progression is him reading to you.

It is often done later in the evening, when the day is winding down and you both find yourselves ready to relax and end the day on a peaceful note. He will tuck you into his side, or have you otherwise rest on his person, and he will continue to read where he had previously left off until you either fall asleep or request him to stop so you don't miss anything.

Sometimes you will surprise him and offer up a book of your own, saying it is one of your favorites and you would love for him to read it to you when he has the time.

You don't comment on how he has never once told you he was otherwise preoccupied when you do this. Even the time when you had found him in the middle of his bedroom floor, surrounded by sheet music and attempting to piece them together, he had immediately left the paper unattended and had pulled you to the bed and next to him.

His dulcet tones are soft and steady and low, like the ambient hum of an engine when one falls asleep in the backseat on a drive home.

When you are the one to bring him novels, he will readily admit that it feels like an intricate courting ritual. Like some animals do, where they bring their beloved small trinkets and shiny things in order to connect and prove they can contribute.

Often, if he is ever known to be busy attending to his worshiper duties or if Sleep commands him travel for any reason, he will leave you a small pile of books to peruse in his absence.

Inside each of them, multiple times, are hidden small notes. Each one bearing words of affection and care, whether that be reminding you of his love or asking if you have eaten recently. Some will bear his own thoughts of how he misses you and longs to return to your embrace, even if he is in the same manor but otherwise occupied.

If Vessel is simply busy attending to Sleep, one of his favorite sights is witnessing you around the manor clutching one of the books he sat aside for you. Like a visual confirmation that he has done well, that he has pleased you.

Still, as much as he enjoys seeing you read whatever material he has chosen for you, he still vastly prefers to have you in his arms, nestled comfortably on the couch or in bed as he reads softly to you in the low light of the evening.

[andcars]

franco colapinto on a triump and honda, 1G-07 13 15 21 37 41 42 FOR A RACE WEEKEND, Well, if it's not too much to ask, I would like it to take place in a college universe where the reader is younger than Franco and studies international relations while he is a frat!boy who plays some sport (of his choice)

I love your fics so much 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

SETTLING DIFFERENCES ━━ FC43

﹙ 43 ﹚ ─────── what makes it feel better

franco manages to get you into bed, he's more into the fact that he's taking your virginity than anything

relationship(s) franco colapinto/you

tags alternate universe — not f1 drivers, bareback/unprotected sex, virginity kink, thigh fucking, jealousy, riding ; "We'll only be caught if you're loud" "You want me to beg? I don't think a winner should beg"

wc 2k

౿ MASTERLIST ⠀REQUEST ME ⠀ TAGLIST⠀ PATREON GUIDE

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!"

▶︎ ❝ slow motion ❞ jonah marais, ryan lewis

College is the worst time to be alive because half of the time, you're quite unreasonably stupid. Inviting Franco Colapinto to your shared dorm room was a mistake and a half. Your head can't keep up with reasoning as you're pursued by the lips on yours. Like a magic word, or a plea, you're enticed to be with him.

It's bad. It really is. Your only excuse is that it's college. So with fevor, you kiss him back. The mattress beneath you molds with your body and his hands beside your head. For as long as you two kissed, all logic was thrown out the window. Your world bundled down to the bed the dorm provided you with.

Franco is as good as a kisser as he is a soccer player. Hands are placed by your waist, pulling you flushed to his chest. It's almost romantic. He pulls away to smile, to lick your lips, to peck you, and to kiss you again. That was fucking dizzying. You wanna be remembered to be the woman Franco kissed like that.

Yet, you're not so sure you were the only woman kissed like that.

He inclines. You're dragging yourself back to the kiss before you could catch yourself. Laughing, Franco doesn't break his eyes from you as he starts to undress. The body he's built is perfect for an athlete like him. The man is toned, yet not sharp. He feels soft—he puts your hands on his stomach—in all the right areas.

"Like how it feels?" he asks, accent slipping. "You think you could sit on that?" Fuck. He's guiding you so you're sat on top of his stomach. You're allowed to look, yet you only look at his face as you hear the sound of him unsheathing himself from his jeans. The sound is haunting. Your heart races and he's smiling at you like he's in love with teasing you.

Second by second, your resolve crumbles. He has a hand behind you, your eyes without the privy to see, as he's palming himself or he's stroking himself or whatever. "You're so cute," he smiles. "You blush so cutely."

Your cheeks aren't hot, or at least you don't feel it. It might be the time to admit it. "I'm—..." the word is out before you could think about it more—"It's actually my, uh, first time. Like. Ever."

His movements still. You've heard of guys unwilling to take people's virginity. No fucking way Franco is one of those people, right? Shit.

Before your mind could ram itself with ways he could reject you, he pulls you by the collar and locks lips again. It's different this time. It feel restrained. He's kissing you with the same gentleness yet now he has a hand hovering just above your back, afraid to touch. His hips cautiously move up, as if trying to cop a feel.

There's desparity, almost. He whispers, "You gonna give it to me? You're... fuck." Hearing it out loud almost makes you want to back out. Giving your virginity to the guy who maybe has STDs from fucking girls around campus is not the brightest notion. The thought is troubling.

"Don't make me regret it," you say, he laughs. Virginity is an old concept anyways. You were bound to lose it to someone. The first is always rough, you think. It's a lousy excuse to stop your racing heart.

There's talking outside. Then, there's knocking. You put a hand to your mouth and you beg in your head that no one comes in. Franco stills, his cock already between your thighs as his arm encases your waist. This is a bad fucking positition to be caught in. Not to mention that now you feel your cheeks burning.

Your name is called on the otherside. "Yeah?" you respond, sounding sleepy if anything. Franco doesn't stop, in some way. His kisses are wet behind your neck. "What... what is it?"

"Jacob's here," you squirm as you feel teeth against your neck. "He said he left something here the other night. His... what?" There's a conversation faintly yet all you can focus is how Franco started moving again. "He said his sweater is here."

You take the time to swallow your moans. His hand moves further south as he tugs on your clit. The jolt of pleasure sending you curving. "Um, it's in the laundry. Actually. Downstairs. He could get it tomorrow."

Words muffle through the thin walls and you're begging for Franco to stop. He laughs at your pleas. "Come on, you like it," he tempts you like a serpent. "You're getting wetter, see?" His cock pushed between your folds and your breath holds stationary. Fuck. The slide is wet and easy. You're getting turned on by the fact you're a second away from being exposed to your teammate.

"F-Franco—"

"Shh, hold on," Franco sighs, fucking his cock directly to your clit. "It feels too good. Just don't get too loud, hm? We won't be caught if you shut your pretty moans down."

His praise don't help drown out pleasure. What you just barely hear is a faint goodbye from a masculine voice—Jacob—and the sounds of your ragged breathing. Squeezing your eyes shut was a mistake. It only makes you feel him more. The way his hips fuck against your ass, his cock in and out of your thighs, and he's moaning into your ear like he's the only one allowed to be loud. It's too much.

"Sweet girl, come on," he groans. "You feel so good like that. How come no one has ever fucked you? Did you secretly wait for me?" His hand works your clit and lips play overtime on the sensitive parts of your neck. Franco matered putting you on a pedestal. The man is too good at it. He tells you, "I'm really enjoying how you're letting me do all this—" before his words fall into his native tongue. All the perverted words were silenced, for once.

You're encouraged to lay still on your side as he drives into you. He's telling you he wants to take his time with you but here he is, showing you how he fucks. It's rough, it's desperate, it's bruising and all the more overstimulating. "Just like this for me, huh?" He moans, struggling to wrap his thoughts. "Not for Jacob?"

The name catches you off guard.

He cups your mound before you could question him. "You only gave this to me, didn't you? Giving me your sweet virginity because you like me more. Right?" You're not responding to him, you can't. Whines slip through as you feel your pussy throbbing from the use. It's ridiculous to cum like this. Yet, you've been at the edge for so long that your body is taking everything it could get. You're greedy. You want to fucking cum.

"Oh... Oh fuck," he curses your name out as he pulls out. You want to reel him back. Yet, you're only left with the feeling of drenching between your thighs. "If your thighs feel like that," he pants, audibly grinning, "I wonder what your pussy feels like."

"God, Franco," you whine; he responds, "Only Franco is fine."

You're being moved above him again. He's sat himself up with his hands behind his neck. Franco eyes you like a meal as you're gathering the strength to straddle his thighs. He told you, "You can take control. Be rough, be gentle, do it however you want. You can use me, amor" and it set a fire inside of you—r core.

Scared, you prop yourself up. You suspend yourself above his cock, the wet tip rubbing against the edges of your entrance. One hand is intertwined with his, and the other rests on his chest. It was bad to look at him—so fucking bad.

His mouth was open, in awe. You see how his gaze is locked onto where the two of you are joining. Franco breathes heavily as he watches you sink down onto his cock. It's a tight fit. Both of you are moaning into the small room as you adjust to the size of his cock. It's not like you never played with yourself. This was different. He was hot and pulsing inside if you. Franco felt so fucking real. You're spinning with the excitement of having a cock inside of you.

"Dios, fuck," he gasped. "You're so tight. Really fucking right." It doesn't sound like a problem to him. He puts his free hand on your waist, almost guiding you to move your hips. You do. Franco is left speechless with the sensation of your pussy undoing itself for him. For him—no one else.

A groan leaves him. It's been a moment since you moved and his hands are twitchy. "Come on," he moans your name so good, "start moving. Don't make me beg. I'm not a man who should."

You almost want to stay still longer. The thought speaks for itself when a smile plays on your lips. "Don't be like that," he whines, a hand to your cheek now, "go and move. Don't make me ask twice."

God.

Fuck.

Okay.

With shaky posture, you start to grind your hips. It's in small movements like this that you really feel him. His cock fills your insides snugly. Each bump and curve hitting your walls like it's electrifying it. There's this deep sensation in your stomach that just makes your brain a little bit empty.

When you actually start moving, it amplifies. You can barely hold yourself up as his cock moves up and down. It's different from your fingers. It's way fucking different. First, he's panting to your face, then you're clenching down on something this large, and his fingers twist to your ass for a grip.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he moans. You're riding him and it feels like both of you forgot to keep quiet. "Like that... Like that, oh amor." He sounds too good to be quiet. Franco resorts to silent, open-mouthed moans as his eyes don't leave your crotch. He's enamoured. You're lost. You keep moving like it's a race, you're chasing this newfound pleasure. The abundance of it too much and too little at the same time.

"It's so good," you finally speak, mind rambling too loud to keep it in. "F-...Franco. it's so—so fucking good."

"Yeah? Yeah?" He gets repetitive as he starts to move along. You have clamp your mouth to keep quiet. "Good? It feels good?"

Both of you are losing your speech. "Yes, yes, oh my God," you want to cry out so you strangle the sound down. Your head falls to his shoulders. "It feels really good. So g—"

"Better than anyone else's?" He butts in, his hi snapping. "You won't have anyone else than me. You won't want to."

He's right. You're marking his neck with your teeth as you let Franco fuck up into you. He's keeping you still by the waist as he forgets the plan to take you take the reign. It's alright though, you think. You can barely think with all your sensitive spots being rammed into. You can barely think when Franco holds you close and fucks you as if he was abandoned.

There's this tightening sensation. You gasp into his skin as your thighs try to shut close. He's there to stop it. "Come on, be quiet," he reminds you. "You close, yeah? Keep quiet. Come on."

You only know one way how. Desperately, you kiss him as your legs fight the urge to pull away. He's pistoning his hips mechanically while he kisses you like a human lover. The contrast was an overstimulating place. When you cum, you feel it through your entire body. Your legs shake and he's forcing you up as he releases his own orgasm.

Both of your lips are bruised, you think. You're practically smothering him when the pulsing of your cunt keeps continuing. It lasts long as your body struggles to keep still. All the while he's only holding you, hand still intertwined. "You're good, so good," he whispers to the kiss, almost like a secret. "God, you're great."

It might be a big mistake and more than a half. But your first orgasm from a cock is nothing less but 'great'. You're still shaking when he flips you over to kiss your entire body. If this is how he fucks all the girls, maybe you're more willing to see him again.

@delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144

[thewindinmyblues]

Satoru (almost) crashing out due to the heat.

Not proofread. Please bear with me since this might have grammatical errors. English isn't my first language.

Warnings: Satoru x Implied!Southeast Asian reader. Not proofread. Comments and suggestions are appreciated! Just say it nicely.

I feel like Satoru is the type who can't stand being out in the sun for too long.

Yet unfortunately, you're in a music festival? In a dessert? Where it feels like its 75 degrees Celsius? (For him, because his skin is extra sensitive) And the both of you have been out in the sun and have been walking back and forth, because God forbid, your favorite artists are performing in different areas.

And Satoru of course, that man loves you. He brought sunscreen since he knows the sun will COOK THE BOTH of YOU!! He's got both of you some sunglasses. A lot of water. And small handkerchiefs like towels! Even when he gets icky when walking out on the blazing heat, his love endures! And of course the man won’t let you go alone. Since, duh! Whatever thing you love, is what he also loves!

Albeit even the strongest has his limitations, most especially when it feels like he's about to melt.

He is all red. The heat is starting to tan him. And his tumbler is EMPTY! He is wayyyyyy too thirstyyyy! He doesn't want to ask for yours since you might need it too. But deep inside everything is getting into him, he wants to cry! The speakers everywhere are loud, he's sweaty, and his feet hurt from walking.

And the man later on just taps your shoulder as you yourself try to walk to the next set (You have to make the most out of the tickets you bought even when this event is torturing you).

And there you look at him.

He's all teary! Red and worn-off.

“Toru?” You asked, worry laced into your voice as a trickle of sweat slid on your sideburns.

He huffs exaggeratedly and with a whiney voice he huffs:

“B-babyyyy!!” His voice a little hoarse.

“I'm so tireeed,” Oh no, poor Gojo. He was already seated on the grass, breathing deeply.

“Oh myy…” You immediately tend to your boyfriend, immediately fanning him and wiping his sweat. He held out his arms like he wanted you to carry him. You got him up and supported his weight so you could go to a nearby tree which provided a lot of shade.

“Where is your water?” You inquired as you reached for his bottle. It was empty.

“He…he…” He chuckled as he wiped his sweat off.

“What??? Why didn't you say that you've no water left…I still have a lot with me!” You lectured him as you opened yours and made him drink.

“But you need it too…” He replied after he finished all of the liquid off of yours.

“Have you forgotten I've lived almost my whole life in Southeast Asia? Toru, I am used to being in the heat.” You put your hands on your hips and sighed. “I should have known that this would have put you at risk for a stroke!” You shook your head. Some people were already looking at the two of you.

“Yet it's me, my choice, since I wanted to come with you.” The flushed white haired man pouted cutely.

You still furrowed your brows and replied: “But Toru…you should have told me sooner that you were already tired of walking.” Your voice softens with worry as you continue to fan him with your hands.

He only smiled sheepishly and did not answer anymore. You let him rest for a bit before deciding that you should go back to your hotel for now.

Before your boyfriend dies out of heat exhaustion.

Inspo from this Tiktok.

Edit: Here's an extra.

[notyourmamasdeerbat]

Thursday Bangers! <33

AAAA I LOVE THESE PROMPTS SO MUCH! Huge, huge thank you to @woundedsoul12 for their excellent taste and sweet tags.

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays). 

I'm prepared to sacrifice my life

I would gladly do it twice - Mercy by Shawn Mendes 

Very much inspired to put forward for @datvcompanionweeks and their legendary events, as this is so truly Davrin flavored for his upcoming week! He deserves all the love, so I just let Rook and I ramble. Post-Weisshaupt comfort under the cut!

Twin, light knocks on the wooden doorframe. “Davrin.” 

He stiffened from where he sat, staring into the fire with Assan’s head in his lap. “I don’t know, Rook. I think I just need some time.” 

“I know,” Rook said gently. “But I brought you something to eat.” 

Assan chirped loudly, as if to exaggerate his interest, nudging the Warden’s hand encouragingly as the Veil Jumper set down a small plate of fruit and cheese. They tossed a strip of jerky to the griffon, who snapped it out of the air with a few clicks of his beak and a pleased trill. 

The Grey Warden sagged, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

Rook hesitated. “You gotta eat.” 

“I know. Please don’t hover.” He sounded so tired. 

“I’m really good at it though.” Frowning, Rook nudged over one of the crates beneath the hanging green glasses of sand and sat. They leaned forward, elbows on their knees. “You don’t have to talk. But you have to eat.” They held out a small bronze flask. 

Davrin didn’t answer, but he took the flask and a long swig. He screwed up his face with a choked off ‘ugh.’ “What is this?” 

“Harding found it. Chasind sack mead? Not my favorite. Thought you might appreciate it.” 

He swallowed. Considered. Drew from the flask again. 

Rook toyed with one of the apple slices on the plate, before crunching into it themselves. For a long moment the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the rustling of Assan’s feathers as he sprawled at their feet. 

Davrin spoke slowly, his voice a low rumble. “Last time I asked for space, you said ‘heard’ and flitted out like I had burned you.” 

“Yeah, but that was days ago.” Rook crunched on their apple alice. “Not that you can’t still need space, but I’m here to check in and commit.” 

“Commit?” 

“Yeah. I’m kind of a scaredy cat when it comes to stepping on other people’s toes. I’m not going to get where you’re coming from, Dav, but hell if I won’t try. I do know I like having you around, and to keep you you’ve got to eat. And sleep.” 

“Sleeping’s the rough part.” 

“Warden dreams?” 

“And some regular ones.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Is what it is.” 

“Small price to pay?” 

“...A price.” 

“I am glad you are here, Davrin,” they said, more slowly. Firm. 

The elf gave a crooked little smile. “You keep saying that.” 

“I thought I was going to lose you. Just when I was really starting to like your style.” 

The Warden offered up a soft, rumbling chuckle. 

“I mean it,” Rook insisted quietly. “There is no one who could replace you. And while I am truly sorry for your losses— and I know how shit that sounds. How empty the words are, believe me— but what we did not lose is just as important.” 

“I don’t know if I want a speech right now,” Davrin sighed. 

“Okay. Well, I was done anyway.” Rook’s lips quirked. 

“It was pretty good,” he acquiesced, idly reaching for a small chunk of soft cheese. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Motivational. Short and to the point. You should do more public speaking.” 

“Eh. Last Warden I tried it on tried to get me arrested, and I punched his lights out.” 

Davrin laughed. Rook’s pensive look cracked into a grin. It was so excellent to hear him laugh. “Hi! There you are.” 

“Yes, I’m here.” 

“You keep staring into the fire, it makes me wonder where you go.” 

“...Home. In some aspects.” 

Rook smiled, somewhat sadly. “I get that.” 

“After leaving, and all the years hunting, fighting, then this… Well. I was ready. Or, I thought I was ready. I would have died twice over if it’d save the lives of everyone at Weisshaupt. It was my duty. My right.” 

“I know, Dav. I don’t know why this time it was different. But selfishly, I’m glad it was.” 

Davrin sighed, shoulders sagging. “You said it would take a lot more gingerwort to get to where we want to be.” 

“And I stand by that,” Rook agreed, solemn. “Your work’s not done.” 

“No. There’s twelve feathery butts relying on me out there.” 

“Thirteen.” Assan purred from where he lay, and Rook smiled. “Closer than they appear.” 

Davrin groaned. 

“You love it. Besides, you’re not doing it by yourself. I can’t cure the nightmares, but I can bring you snacks. You’ve got Bellara to tell you stories, Neve to reminisce about gritty jobs with…” 

“Right. I know.” Davrin sighed again, leaning back in his chair to shut his eyes. “Thanks, Rook.” 

“Don’t mention it. I’m just the messenger.” 

His lips quirked. “Right. And I’m just the coachman.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means thank you, Rook. You can just nod along and take the credit for cheering me up a little. It won’t kill you.” 

“What if it does though?” Rook grinned. 

“Then you’re not as tough as I thought you were.” 

“Hey!” 

“Well, don’t die from a compliment and you’ll be fine.” 

“Alright, alright. Okay. I’m good.” Rook made a big show of holding two fingers to their pulse, frowning. “...Maybe.” 

“I’ll wait.” 

The Veil Jumper giggled, and Davrin’s gaze softened further. He didn’t have much else to say. The ache in his chest was still there. Heavy. Voidant. All consuming. The weight had names, faces, carved into the dark that he could never speak to again. Then there was the pit in his stomach, where the dark belonged to him. Where he should have vanished. 

But something about the light coming in from the Fade, and the memory of Rook hoisting his shield over them both as a gout of acid splattered across the metal… Emmrich’s thrown torch, Taash’s weight hurled against the massive fortress double doors beside him… and they’d made it. They all had. 

It was important, he supposed. He took a slice of apple and plucked his whittling knife from his belt— the new collection of figurines lining the shelves of Wardens lost looked on. He pared the apple slice between thumb and forefinger and ate what he could stomach. Slow going. Maybe it would be worth it. It was a sweet apple. 

Rook took an experimental swig from the flask he’d left on his knee, grimaced, and replaced it in his lap. “No.” 

“Mn-mn?” He hummed, the sound resonating in his throat. 

“Mn-mn,” Rook affirmed, lips sucked inward like they’d bitten into a lemon. 

Davrin huffed a laugh through his nose. Assan twittered contentedly and whisked the tip of a wing over his eyes. It was probably late. No way to tell with the Fade sun. But he was bone tired. He knew that. 

“I’m gonna make some tea,” Rook said, once they’d recovered. “Sometimes it helps me sleep. And Lucanis says mint is good for bad dreams. Don’t know if it works on blighted ones, but Harding can attest.” 

“You’re offering to make me tea,” he said slowly. It was almost a question. 

“Yeah.” 

“My boss, the big scary Veil Jumper who helped me take out an archdemon with three heads and blows up Tevinter cultists for fun, is offering to make me tea.” 

“Yeah. Have I never done that before?” 

Davrin shook his head with another mystified little smile. “Not since you yelled at me for getting on the Crow.” 

Rook scowled. “Well, you were both being idiots.” 

“...Right.” 

“We have bigger problems to face than placing blame.” 

“Right,” he said, more sincerely. 

“You want some mint tea, Davrin?” Rook’s voice was soft, comforting and sturdy as a wool cardigan. 

The Grey Warden’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah. I do. Thanks, Rook.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Tagging my loves! "Let the music move you" and I will continue singing until the end of time- mwah! Have fun! @andthekitchensinkao3 @sunny374940 @spinfins @draco-illius-noctis @hedwigoprah @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @nevarrantorte @caughtnyact @thesummerstorms @emmieloumay @jenn2d2 and anyone else I missed, I adore you, go crazy! <3 Stay hydrated! Have some tea!

[gamerbot-22]

🎰 Foolish Words🌿

Contains: Aventio <3, banter, teasing, new-ish relationship, these two idiots are so very dumb and so very in love, they’re also horrible at communicating but are working on it, a bit of Aventurine Backstory Flavored Trauma, a lil suggestive but no blatant NSFW, a variety of smooches, Aven is described as having some melanin, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Word Count: 4,940

A/N: The boys won the poll!! And by a fucking landslide, might I add, they had a little over half the votes lol. This was partially inspired by this post by @/qinsens because… oh my god it’s so cute, I love it. ALSO HOLY FUCK THE WORD COUNT--

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here! Buy me a Ko-Fi here!

Related Work: Something Sweet for Someone… Sweet?

The dividers in this post were made by @/gamerbot-22 (me!) ☆

© All rights reserved by miHoYo

Veritas Ratio isn't supposed to care.

That's the myth, legend, rumor, whatever-you-want-to-call-it that's been spread around across the Galaxy. Dr. Veritas Ratio, like most geniuses, would-be or otherwise, is not supposed to care about people. He's meant to care only about math and science, with humans only coming up in the biological, and maybe psychological sense, as little points of data in a sea of variables. Even the people close to him held that belief. Veritas remembers the look of shock in his peers' eyes when he brought gifts for holidays, simple but meticulously thought-out, or remembered the drink preferences of acquaintances when research sessions ran long.

It's been like this for years, and ironically enough, Veritas has stopped caring for the most part. It's not his fault that his affection doesn't come with the coddling, flowery words that everyone seems to worry so much about. The words aren't the important part, it's the doing that matters.

...So then why has he felt so strange calling Aventurine "gambler" recently?

"You'll catch your death of cold," Veritas murmurs.

With no ceremony he stands closer to Aventurine, bringing him under the canopy of the doctor's umbrella. The rain isn't beating down, per se, but they've been walking back home for a while now, and Aventurine is beginning to resemble a soaked kitten, even with his jacket pulled up to cover his head.

"Aw, Doctor," Aventurine nearly coos in that honey-sweet tone of his. "I didn't think you cared."

Veritas huffs to himself, turning his gaze back to the street ahead. The puddles in front of them dazzle like stars, reflecting back street lights and glowing signs in shop windows. It seems much warmer in all these little cafes and hobby stores, but they'll be home soon enough with their own latte and mug of black coffee, so it's not worth getting distracted now.

"I don't want you sneezing late into the night." Aventurine is always miserable when he's sick, and unfortunately even the Genius Society hasn't found a cure for the common cold. "You won't get any sleep."

Aventurine rolls his eyes, letting annoyance slip through for just a moment before that showy glimmer returns to his jewel-coloured gaze. It always turns into a lecture...

The blonde lets his soaked-through coat fall back onto his shoulders, idly teasing the fur trim around the collar in an attempt to look decent despite the pathetic veneer the rain has given him. "If I start sneezing, I can just sleep out on the sofa with the cats, you know." He says it in an almost chipper way, like he's excited at the idea of sleeping apart from Veritas for once. "Save you the headache of fussing over me."

Veritas' brows pinch as he holds the curved handle of his umbrella a little tighter. "That's not necessary. It's..." He can't believe he's about to say this, and that it makes him pause. "It's your bed, as well. You have just as much right to lay sick in it as I do."

"So you'll take the couch then?" There's a certain pride in the way Aventurine cocks his head back to look up at his companion, like he's won a game that Veritas didn't know they'd been playing. It doesn't help that a bookstore's warm lighting makes his tanned skin shine like gold around the curve of his cheek.

Veritas sighs deeply, hoping that the golden light isn't making the heat rising to his face any more obvious than it already feels. "No, because it's my bed, too. It's our bed, gambler." The doctor feels his stomach sink.

Aventurine shrugs. Veritas watches as his pride melts into something closer to neutral as he reaches to hold the umbrella himself, gloved fingers resting over alabaster knuckles, and gently tugs his companion along down the shining sidewalk. "Well, I'll be less likely to ruin our precious sleep the sooner we get back home. I want out of these wet clothes..."

There's not much more talking the rest of the way to their flat, but there are echoes inside Veritas' head all the same. He's been calling Aventurine "gambler" since they met, and never once has he thought twice about it. It was an accurate moniker -- still is, of course -- and Aventurine has never said a genuine thing about it. In fact, it wasn't like he was any better, calling Veritas every variation of "doctor" he can think up, and for all the rolling eyes and quiet huffs, Veritas doesn't mind that much either.

So then why has Veritas been thinking about it all day?

His thoughts only move on when he feels Aventurine squeeze his hand idly.

They get home with no fuss, as usual. Veritas sheathes his umbrella in the woven holder by the door while Aventurine kicks off his shoes, letting them clatter to the side as he peels his jacket off. It's dripping rain water all over the floor, and he only makes it worse when he balls up his jacket to more easily carry it off to the washer. "I'll mop it up in a second!" He calls before anyone can get the chance to tell him to.

Another huff, this time with a little smile for just himself as Veritas steps out of his shoes and politely trades them in for the house slippers he keeps by the door. On rainy days like this, the floor gets uncomfortably cold unless the oven is going in the kitchen, and these were rather nice protection against that.

"I'm making coffee." Veritas calls over his shoulder. He takes a left to go from the little entry hallway across the back corner of their open living room, then goes around the standing money plant that Aventurine still hasn't found a better place for right into the kitchen. He's already got the machine running, lining up their favorite mugs when he hears Aventurine's footsteps approaching.

"Coffee at this hour?" He asks, his smile audible as he rounds the square island in the middle of the kitchen to stand beside his housemate. "And you were worried about ruining our sleep."

Aventurine is in his pajamas already, which is hardly surprising considering how thoroughly drenched he'd gotten from walking four blocks in the rain. He has one of their little towels from the bathroom in his hands to help dry his hair, which has gone from a bright, flaxen colour to a sort of copper shade from the water. It actually doesn't look half bad on him.

"A little coffee won't kill us," Veritas returns. In the comfort of their own home, he doesn't shy away from reaching to brush a lock of Aventurine's damp hair behind his ear. "And you need something warm after trailblazing through the rain."

Aventurine's head lulls into the doctor's hand, letting out a single, solitary note of a pleased hum that makes Veritas hum back with a little quirk at the corner of his lips. His warm, broad palm is a welcome change from the cold rain, and it actually takes quite a bit of control for Aventurine not to just go full cat and nuzzle into his companion’s touch.

“You spoil me, Doc.”

“One would argue it’s my job to.”

Aventurine’s eyes flash like jewels. “And would you?”

Heat pools in the doctor’s face.

Veritas’ attention is pulled away by the soft chime of the coffee maker. He had gone out of his way all those months ago, when the two were first moving in together, to get a machine that didn’t make that blasted beeping noise Aventurine’s cat cakes hated so much, and by pure stroke of luck, he found this model. Of course, Veritas is more pleased with the fact that it makes damn good coffee, but the gentle melody it sings once it’s finished is a plus for even him in this moment.

Aventurine lets out a sigh as Veritas turns away. He drapes his soft towel around his neck and watches, idly, as the good doctor pours most of the rich coffee into his own mug, and then about half as much into Aventurine’s.

“What gives?” He asks, tilting his head with a wry smile pulling at his lips. “Only a little bit for me?”

“You don’t take your coffee black,” Veritas replies matter-of-factly. “I’m saving room for milk.”

Aventurine huffs a laugh to himself and leans closer, prodding a bit at Veritas’ personal space with that same casual playfulness he always displays. “You’re being so nice to me tonight, Doc. Is there some kind of special occasion I’m forgetting about?”

The doctor looks down at his companion with a sort of unreadable expression, save for the obvious confusion pinching his brows together. “Am I not nice to you, Aventurine?”

He plays off Veritas’ confusion with a shrug, running his thin fingers through his flaxen hair in a horribly unsubtle act of preening. “You are. You just normally don’t do so much in a straight shot like this. Makes me think you’re after something.”

“Gambler—“

Aeons curse him, there he goes again—

“Are you after something?” Aventurine hums, boldly swooping into Veritas’ personal space now. He walks the doctor back a step or so, leaning forward so he’s hovering just a few precious inches away from his chest. “Because, you know you can just ask.”

He has this uncanny ability to catch Veritas off guard and one day, the doctor swears it’ll actually drive him crazy. He shuts his eyes and sighs, letting his brain take a second to just… take stock of all the feelings that are welling up inside him. There’s the warmth of having Aventurine so close, as well as the annoyance of being caught off guard so easily, and underneath all of that is that same strange guilt that’s been plaguing him all day, brought on by that slip of the tongue, the use of the name “Gambler” for yet another time.

“Actually…” Veritas says, exhaling deeply. “I do have something I’d like to ask you.”

“Yes?” Aventurine cocks his head to the other side, only moving closer to Veritas with that proud, Cheshire smile. He can see the usually straight-laced doctor fighting to keep himself level, and it’s giving him endless joy, as it always does.

Veritas sighs again and opens his red eyes, looking right into his partner’s face. “Would you mind getting your milk from the fridge while I get the stove going?”

Aventurine blinks owlishly, his smile dropping. “That’s it?” It’s almost not even a question, just a bewildered statement.

“Yes.”

He backs up, standing straight now with a pout on his face so slight he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “…Fine. Sure, I can get you the milk from the fridge.”

Aventurine turns on his heels like a little tin soldier and struts right over to the big, shining appliance to open it up. As he does an entirely unnecessary scan of its contents, he allows himself a moment to think, although stew would probably be a more apt description.

Veritas has been like this all day. He’s been physically present, which of course Aventurine knows he should be grateful for -- and he is -- but more often than not his dear doctor’s attention has been miles away. Usually when Veritas isn’t paying attention to Aventurine, he’s obviously thinking, his head in one hand and his brows knit together as he turns theory over formula over variable in search of an answer, but lately it’s just been distant staring off into the horizon, with his arms crossed tight over his chest or his fingers twiddling at his side. It’s unlike him.

That plus his advances being so soundly reject is starting to make Aventurine’s stomach sink. Was it something he’d done?

The clicking of the stove off to his right brings Aventurine back to his body. He quickly shakes his head and gives a little wave with his free hand to dismiss the thoughts. ‘Stop being needy, Kakavasha,’ he scolds himself in his head, then he grabs the carton of milk from the fridge door and shuts it a little harder than he means to.

“Here you are, Doc,” Aventurine says flatly, swinging the carton casually up onto the granite counter. He nudges it closer to Veritas both for ease of access and to free up some space for him to lean as he watches his latte get made.

“Thank you—“ Veritas obviously cuts himself short. It doesn’t take Aventurine, with his honed-by-experience skill of reading people’s voices and body language to notice that.

Neither man says anything. Veritas just pours the milk into the waiting pot on the stove while Aventurine stares, no better than a bonded cat.

The silence is agony on Aventurine’s mind. His bag of tricks has been thoroughly emptied out for the night, leaving him feeling a touch vulnerable in the light of his own kitchen. Everything he’s tried so far has simply been redirected, if not shut down right away, and now Veritas can’t even spare the breath to say a sentence naturally. It’s crazy to think and Aventurine knows it, but the sinking feeling in his gut is only serving to remind him that nothing good in his life has ever lasted for very long.

“You’re staring.” The doctor’s low, cool voice cuts through the tension.

He blinks, then huffs, turning his face away from his companion. “Am not.”

“You are.” Veritas is a little more insistent now as he flicks the stove top off. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Aventurine brings his towel back up to his hair, trying to pat it dryer than it already is. “There is absolutely nothing the matter with me.”

Veritas takes a breath. For a g— for a man who gambles so often, Aventurine has such obvious tells when he’s in distress. His voice becomes much more measured, his eyes flick elsewhere, and the brilliant, loud, peacocking persona that Aventurine thrives in shrinks away into near nothing, leaving only a very tense looking young man in its absence.

Veritas saw it happen once in Penacony. He hates seeing it happen again in their home.

The doctor carefully brings Aventurine’s mug closer to the stove. It’s much more novel than his own, sporting a shape not unlike the cat cakes snoozing in their tower back in the two’s shared bedroom. It’s not Veritas’ style, personally, but he’s always thought it was cute in its own way.

He adds the milk to the coffee, not bothering with any of the bells and whistles that can be found in the cafe two doors down, and carefully holds it out to Aventurine.

Now’s as good a time as any to say something sweeter.

“Here you are, love.”

Aventurine takes his mug in one hand, turning his head back towards his companion. “Thank y—“

His breath hitches. Or maybe he gasps. Does the difference even matter, now that heat is pooling into Aventurine’s cheeks like swirling steam from the stove top. All he knows is that that single word — that pet name — has hit him like a truck and it’s taking every ounce of his focus not to drop his coffee or keel over or do anything else that would further embarrass himself.

Veritas wonders if Aventurine might be broken now. “Darling, are you—?”

“Aaah! A-haha, I heard you the first time!” Aventurine sets his mug down and brings a hand up to his face, although he’s not sure if he should cover his eyes or his mouth or his whole face as he teeters back a step. His heart is pounding in his ears like a drum as both those words swirl in his mind. “Oh, that’s—!”

Even with his tanned skin, Veritas can see his cheeks darkening. The doctor is really starting to wonder if he did something wrong. He reaches to touch Aventurine’s shoulder, only for his partner to fully turn on his heels again, hand pressed tight over his mouth.

He’s only facing away for a moment before he spins right back around, his jewel-coloured eyes wide and shining and his smile trembling with barely contained energy as he warbles out “Is that why you were being quiet all day?”

Veritas pulls his hand back, a bit sheepish himself. “You noticed?”

“Of course I noticed!" There is precious little that Aventurine wouldn't notice, Veritas should have figured that out by now. "I thought I did something wrong!”

“What? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“That’s what I thought but then you kept getting all—“ Aventurine makes a vague gesture with both of his hands, really lending to the frazzled, indescribable look on his face. This is getting impossible.

"Alright, all of that doesn't matter." Ever expressive, Aventurine tosses the conversation off to the side, dismissing it almost entirely save for the cause of all this. "Were you spending all that time coming up with what pet name to call me?"

He's never seen Veritas get so red in the face so fast. Usually his blushing was reserved solely for the tips of his ears, but it seems to have breached containment into his cheeks and neck.

"Well..." Veritas plucks up his own mug of coffee and brings it to his lips, desperately trying to come across as the sane, sophisticated Genius Aventurine knew him as. Or, well... Knew him as on paper.

"I felt that it was only appropriate," he finally settled on saying after sneaking a quick sip. He's been thrown, slightly, by Aventurine's reaction to something as seemingly normal as being called "darling" and "love," but he's good at explaining, so a recovery is possible, yes? "We live together, we work together, we... are partners, are we not? Partners call one another things sweeter than just 'gambler.'"

Aventurine looks away again, turning his head over his shoulder to try and breathe without having to meet Veritas' eyes to do it. He knows it's normal. Of course it's normal. He's heard all those ridiculous, cliched nicknames thrown around all his life. The "Darling"s, the "Love"s, the "Honey"s, everything. He's been called them himself, even, but never like this. Hearing "darling" pass so effortlessly from Veritas' lips, like it was no more special than the latte -- or, really, the coffee with warm milk -- that he had passed to him. It wasn't like the "sweetheart"s that have been tossed at him casually by overly-chummy clients or... the "precious"es that still come to haunt his dreams at times. This feels warmer. Realer. It's almost too much all at once and it's only two blasted words.

It's so unlike him to be quiet. Veritas sets his mug back down and takes a single step forwards. "...Have I upset you, Aventurine?" Even if he despises a pet name, Veritas is not going to go back to calling him 'gambler.' Not when he's become someone he worries about upsetting.

Aventurine turns back quickly. His face is still red, but his smile is calmer now, less indescribably manic. "No, Doctor, you haven't upset me. This is just something that requires adjusting to."

Veritas' brows furrow in confusion again. "'Requires adjusting to...?' Since when have you--"

"Look, this is all just a bit out of my wheelhouse." Aventurine can hear the corporate language spilling out of his mouth and it's taking every ounce of his focus not to cringe. "Mind if we just... circle back to this in the morning?"

"Er... Alright?" Veritas decides to take Aventurine at his word, a decision based entirely on the fact that he has never heard Aventurine use phrases like "out of my wheelhouse" and "circle back" in the comforts of his own home. He clearly needs some time to gather himself. This is what Veritas gets for catching Aventurine off guard.

The Doctor sighs. "Do you want to finish your coffee? Or are you done for the night?"

Oh, he'd almost forgotten--

Aventurine picks up his mug, giving it an idle swirl before swinging it up to his lips and taking a quick gulp. His head's still going about a thousand miles a minute, but his drink's still a little warm, and it's been carefully prepared by someone he does care deeply for, so it helps. Just a little. He does know his limits though, and offers the drink back for Veritas to take. The doctor takes it carefully, and dumps it and the remainder of his own down the kitchen sink. It's a waste, maybe, but that thought isn't at the forefront of either of their minds.

The two head off to bed together in awkward silence. Veritas, as always, gathers up his pajamas and heads off to get changed in the bathroom, leaving Aventurine to sit at the edge of their bed with his beloved cat cakes. Without his gloves on, the strategist can't hide the fading callouses on his fingertips, but his pets never seemed to mind, purring under his touch all the same like the sweet little radiators they were. He looks down at the cake sitting in his lap, leaning back on one hand and tilting his head to better meet its innocent yellow eyes. Speaking to it would do very little for his nerves, but he can pretend that they are having a fulfilling little conversation as he waited for Veritas to come out.

So he waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

Aventurine sighs and moves to lay on his back on top of the blankets, dragging his pet along with him to rest on his chest. "I hope you haven't drowned in there, Doctor!" He calls, running his fingers through his cat's short, black fur.

"Don't be crass." Veritas calls back. Aventurine only chuckles to himself.

"Hurry up! Or the cats and I will claim the whole bed for ourselves!"

Veritas rolls his eyes. Beds, again? He takes a deep breath and steps out of the bathroom, his hair brushed and face washed and the nice pajama set Aventurine gifted him fitting him as well as it always does.

"You wouldn't dare," he greets as he flicks the bathroom light off behind him. Living in the city their bedroom is never quite dark, even so late at night and pouring rain, so it's easy for Veritas to find his way. All he has to do is move towards the silvery line of streetlights that outlines each wrinkle in the covers, most of them drawing back to where Aventurine is laying on top of them.

"We would if you had taken another minute." Even with the air so heavy, it's much too easy to slip right back into their usual banter.

Veritas kneels one leg on his side of the bed, tossing back the covers as best he can with Aventurine weighing them down. He sighs. "Darling, could you-- hm."

He almost expects Aventurine to laugh again, to sit bolt upright and start spewing that corporate swill he defaulted too out of nerves, but instead he's quiet.

And he moves.

Aventurine gets up off of the bed, cat cake cradled to his chest, and draws back the covers as well, leaving the bed primed and ready for the two to crawl into and rest after such an eventful day.

"Now who's staring, Doc?"

Veritas hadn't even noticed. When he glances away, Aventurine chuckles a little harder than he normally would.

The sheets are cool to the touch as they lay down together, and despite the awkwardness that lingers from just moments before, Veritas still opens his arms and Aventurine still nestles between them, letting the cat move to its place at the foot of the bed. The two lovers lay there, quiet and still for only a minute before--

"I didn't mean to upset you--"

"Sorry I got all weird on you--"

They both stop. Veritas chuckles dryly and Aventurine feels some heat rise into his face again. "You go first, Doc."

"Alright." Veritas nestles in closer to their pillows and almost shyly slips the hand that had been resting between Aventurine's shoulder blades up to the back of his head, running his alabaster fingers through his pale golden hair. "I upset you earlier. When I called you darling. I didn't mean to and... I'm sorry."

Aventurine leans into his touch, resting his forehead against Veritas' chin. "You didn't upset me, you just... caught me off guard. I'm not used to you calling me stuff like that."

"Did you not like it?"

"No, that's not it..." Aventurine shakes his head gently, just so Veritas can feel it. "It's just... I don't know. A lot of things. All at once. It made me sort of panic and I said some strange things."

Veritas makes a gesture with both hands, lifting a few fingers but not removing them from Aventurine's hair and waist. "You did say some odd things. I felt like I was in a business meeting for a moment--"

"Alright, quit teasing me, I already feel like dying--"

Aventurine feels his doctor's arms squeeze him in silent apology, a rumbling laugh in his chest.

"So," Veritas murmurs into Aventurine's hair, "shall I stop then? Go back to calling you things like 'gambler?'"

"What's wrong with gambler?"

"It feels cruel, given the circumstances."

"'Given the circumstances,'" Aventurine repeats back, only half-mockingly. "I think, given tonight, we can call this what it is."

"Which is...?" He's not stupid, Veritas just doesn't want to jump the metaphorical gun and make Aventurine feel even worse about this.

"Aeons, you're impossible today," Aventurine grumbles, turning his face fully into Veritas' throat, his nose pushing up against his skin in a huff. "I just... don't understand the sudden change."

Veritas sighs -- sympathetic, not frustrated -- and gives his partner another squeeze. No more teasing. This is going to be an honest conversation now. No matter how painful that might be to execute.

"It does feel cruel to me to only call you 'gambler,' now that we're... together this way. It feels cold and distant, and for once..." Another sigh as he presses his face to his lover's soft hair, still smelling of rain. "...I'd rather not have someone think of me that way. Especially not someone who... I've come to care for. So very deeply."

It's so sentimental it makes Aventurine want to cry. And that fact makes him want to cringe. He never thought he would be the type to enjoy a moment like this. To be so privileged as to have a partner who cares enough about him to call him something sweet, and to do kind things for him like share an umbrella and make him coffee on a cold, rainy night after spending the whole day together in the city. It feels too easy. It feels like more than he deserves. It feels nice.

The silence lingers. Veritas fills it first with a kiss to the crown of Aventurine's head. "But if it will make you jump every time I say it, then I won't force any of my own sentimentality onto you. We can go back to 'gambler' and 'doctor.'"

Aventurine hums. Veritas' lips lower to his temple. "I will still hold you like this every night if you let me."

A shaky breath. A kiss to his cheek. "You will always have a place here. Regardless of things others call you."

Aventurine's eyes squeeze shut. Veritas bows his head to peck his lover's already sun-kissed throat. "I love you, Aventurine. You knowing that... is what matters most to me."

He lifts a hand to his face, a breathless laugh shaking his shoulders. "You're kissing the tears out of me, you monster."

The doctor lifts his head, a touch of real panic gripping him as tightly as he has Aventurine. "I didn't mean t--"

"Aeons, stop--"

Calloused hands find Veritas' head purely by memory, fingers sliding between the loose waves of his hair like that's where they're meant to go. Veritas doesn't fight it when Aventurine pulls him into a proper kiss that's just a touch harder than he was expecting.

They remain there, locked together, for a good while. Veritas lifts his hand from Aventurine's waist to stroke his soft cheek while the other stays resting on the back of his head, holding him close. He's measured, tempered, used to taking his time, while Aventurine has energy beneath his skin just waiting to burst out. He has felt so many things tonight, and craps tables and roulette wheels be damned, the euphoria of this moment is nearly unmatched.

The doctor is the first to pull away, his first breath warm across his lover's face. When his red eyes open, he sees what remains of silvery tear tracks running across Aventurine's face, pulled sideways by gravity. He brushes them away without hesitation, and considers teasing about how he definitely kissed the tears out of Aventurine now. He decides to let him have that one.

Aventurine nuzzles into Veritas' hand and holds his wrist to keep him close. "Call me whatever you want, Doc," he murmurs, trying to hide the way his voice has thickened. "Gambler, darling... whatever. I'll be happy either way. Promise."

Veritas smiles and guides Aventurine's head back to his neck, holding him just as close as before, if not a little closer. "If that's what you want, my love, then that's what you'll have."

"God--"

He pulls back to look at his partner's face. "Too sentimental?"

Aventurine snorts and pulls him back down. "Of course not, I just have to get used to it. Now let me get some rest, my heart's been on this roller-coaster for long enough tonight."

"Alright, alright. Goodnight, Aventurine."

"Goodnight, Doc. Sweet dreams."

"Mm..."

[luvhughes43]

don’t have to pretend | blake hughes au

[blake hughes au]

summary: how blake hughes and nico hischier finally confess their feelings for each other

word count: 4.1k

“Nico, you know you don’t have to keep coming over anymore,” Blake whispered. she had been thinking a lot about their relationship lately, or lack thereof. she didn’t know how much longer she could take being so incredibly infatuated with him but unable to say anything. 

Nico looked confused, like the idea of not coming over to visit Blake was incomprehensible. Blake stared at Nico, waiting for him to respond. she hoped he would say that he wanted to be with her, that he had feelings for her… anything to suggest that he wasn’t just here to make her brothers playing less sloppy. she had watched the games, she knew that Jack was struggling and the reason was probably her. 

“I want to come over,” Nico finally responded, and although that's what Blake wanted to hear it wasn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be. 

They both sat in silence for a moment, drinking hot chocolates out of mugs decorated with little ice skates. “yeah but, if you’re here just because of Jack then-”

“I’m not,” Nico butted in. They both stared at each other. 

“Right well,” Blake was the first to shift away from Nico’s heated gaze, uncomfortable in whatever awkward tension she had just created. 

Nico cursed himself in his mind. She doesn’t want you like that, he kept repeating over and over again. Although, no matter how many times he told himself that Blake wasn’t interested in him, he would still hold out on any string of hope that he had. 

They had really connected over the few months that they had gotten to know each other, and either would be damned if they let that all go to waste. So, they both held on without knowing that the other person felt the exact same way. 

*

“You're going to get cold,” Jack had pointed out to Blake as he picked her up to go out. but of course, she decided against better judgement and had decided to wear her sluttiest top without any form of coverup so that she wouldn’t chicken out.

Jack hadn’t mentioned Blakes tiny top, and so she counted it as a win that his critique came in the form of needing something warm. “Like, I'm seriously not going to give you my jacket when you start complaining,” he continued with the roll of his eyes. 

“If all goes well tonight i won't need your jacket,” Blake had rebutted to Jack's distaste. 

“Yeah well, with your luck you're going to be single forever so I'll be waiting for you to complain about the cold,” Jack teased. 

“Right and… where’s your girlfriend?” Blake played into the sibling banter. “Last I saw your ex was on a lingerie mag and here you are… coming over to your sister's place before going out so she can help you pick out an outfit….” 

“Right, okay I'm done fighting now!” Jack said, lifting his hands up in mock surrender. “But seriously, do these pants match with this top,”

“You're wearing black skinny jeans, anything you wear is going to match, now go!” Blake responded, shooing Jack out of her apartment and into the hallway. She looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time before leaving, making a mental note to put on some more lip gloss in the car. 

“Who are you trying to impress anyway?” Jack had shouted once he and Blake got inside the bar. He was trying to find his teammates among the crowd, but it was no luck.

“None of your business!” she shouted back, catching the boy of her affections eye from across the bar. “Nico’s over there!” she yelled, turning to her brother who was already being pulled into conversation by somebody else. It seemed like fate was on Blake's side as she made long strides over to Nico who was, luckily, alone. 

Nico looked hot, and god… the things Blake wanted to do to him… she should be locked up. 

Blake wasn’t the only one appreciating the view though, because Nico was very clearly checking out his teammate's sister. His eyes trailed down Blakes face and onto her top, and if Blake had noticed him shift in his seat she hadn’t said anything. 

“You look good tonight!” Nico had leaned over so that Blake could hear him through the loud music. Blakes face burned at his comment, and she was glad that the bar's lighting was dim otherwise it would be very obvious that she liked her brother's captain. although, liked seemed like a very meager word when her whole world turned upside down upon seeing his dimples. 

“And you look very handsome!” Blake had turned her head close to his. She was going to need a few drinks if she was going to be this close to him all night. Especially, when all his teammates were here. 

Nicos face lit up with a smile, and Blakes immediately matched it with a bright smile of her own. 

“Sit beside me,” Nico said, pulling out the last empty chair beside him. He was still waiting for his drink. 

Blake easily complied, smoothly sliding the bar stool as close to Nico as was possible without raising suspicions. “So….” 

“Soo…” Nico copied Blake, both giggling at each other. They were two lovesick fools and yet, they didn’t recognize that the other was also helplessly in love. 

“So, how have you been?” Blake smiled, leaning an elbow onto the bar so that she was even closer to the brown eyed man. She was so down bad…

“I’ve been good, just waiting for a pretty girl to come sit with me, you?” he replied flirtatiously. 

“I’m really good! just waiting for a hot man to order me a drink…” she trailed off, focusing her gaze away from Nico and back to the bar staff.

“What do you want?” he said, already pulling out his wallet. 

A bartender came over to their section, dropping off a cold beer in front of Nico while offering all sorts of apologies for the wait time. He waved the waiter ramblings off, and instead looked towards Blake for her order. 

“A vodka cran,” she told the bartender, “double shot” 

Nico had handed over the cash. 

After some more harmless flirting, Nico led Blake back to the team’s table where she was greeted by everyone. 

“Nice outfit,” one of the boys piped up, eyes trailing down Blakes body. she was wearing some jeans and a tight corset top that pushed her boobs up just right…

“Don’t talk to my sister,” Jack huffed, swatting the guy in the chest. 

At Jack's words, your eyes immediately turned to catch Nico’s who was already staring at you. He looked torn, and before you could make any sort of move to question him he was shuffling chairs and sitting as far away from Jack as was possible. 

All night, Blake had been trying to catch Nico’s attention from down the table. He barely glanced in her direction for the rest of the night, and now she was afraid that when he did she’d start to cry. She felt so pathetic as the other guy's attention fell to her chest, reminding her that the guy she was trying to get wanted nothing to do with her at this moment. 

“I'm going to get another drink,” Blake said as she swirled the ice around in her cup. Jack nodded at her, and then she was walking towards the bar by herself.

Blake let the bartender make her “something special”, and she sat at the bar watching him pour a shit ton of juice and gin into her cup.

“Hey, you new here?” Some guy, blond and skinny sat in one of the many available seats next to Blake.

“uh no i’m not. Is that your opening line?” she huffed, giving the bartender a tip when she finally came back with her drink. Yes, Blake was being rude to the guy but she wanted nothing more than to be alone. Something that was impossible to happen in a bar at 1am. 

“Uh, can I have this dance?” The guy tried to correct himself, and Blake cringed as a mix of two songs from 2010 blared through the bars speakers. 

“No you cant-” Blake said, just as her head turned just enough for her to see a girl approach Nico. she couldn’t make out what they were saying, just that he was smiling in the same way he was earlier.  

“Actually,” Blake corrected herself, and the blond guy turned to his group of friends as if to say “i told you so, girls cant resist my charm…” 

the girl touched Nicos arm… “I’ll dance with you!” Blake forced a smile onto her face, turning back to the bar one last time to take a large swig out of her drink.

The blond guy grabbed her hand, and with a deep breath Blake let herself be dragged onto the dance floor which was coincidentally right beside the table filled with her brother's friends. 

The blond guy, who still didn't have a name, spun Blake around so that her back was against his front. she tried to lean back into him, but it all felt so wrong. 

The guy guided her hips, and her face heated up in shame as her brother's teammates started turning their attention towards her. 

Blake turned herself back around, now facing the guy who brought her to dance. they swayed together for a few more minutes, and as soon as the next song finished Blake was immediately bidding her goodbyes. 

She rushed over to the table, ignoring the blond guy's shouts for her snap. she grabbed her purse from her brother's chair. “Can we please leave Jack,” she practically yelled in his ear. 

he turned to his sister with a look of concern in his eyes. “Did he do something..?” he said, gesturing to the guy from earlier who was now retreating back to his group of friends. 

Blake shook her head. “I think i’m getting a headache,” 

Jack stood up then, waving to his teammates as he bid them all goodbyes. 

Nico had tried to catch Blakes eyes, but she refused to look in his direction.

By the time she and Jack got out to the car, she could feel tears of frustration threatening to fall. She had to keep her head glued to the window so as to not raise any suspicions with Jack, who was well… oblivious to all things that weren't in his direct line of sight. 

“Thanks for driving me home!” her words were rushed as she scrambled out of his car. “I’ll call you in the morning!” 

When her apartment door slammed shut behind her, Blake broke out into quiet sobs. She just wanted the mood from seeing Nico at the bar to continue for the rest of the night. It seemed that despite how hard she tried, nothing would ever come out of whatever she and Nico had going on. 

*

When Blake was 15, she had dated this guy who had lived a few doors down from her. The relationship didn’t last long, but sometimes Blake liked to think about the boy who broke her heart. Usually at night, usually when she was upset, and usually when she had nothing better to do than upset herself with her own life's events.

He had been nice at first, someone Jack had talked to a few times when he was out playing street hockey. She couldn't remember if Ryder had ever joined Jack and her brothers games, but that didn’t matter much anyway. 

What mattered was Blake overhearing him tell his group of friends that the only reason he was dating her was because she was going to compete in the olympics. 

“she’s like, the perfect girlfriend to have,” he had said to his friends. “i never have to see her, she's a champion, and like, I can make out with her and shit whenever i want,”

The last part hurt the most. Ryder was the first guy she had ever kissed and really been with. She didn’t have time to have boyfriends that weren’t always at the rink or the gym. Her seeking out Ryder and being with him was her own little act of deviance. 

Now that she’d gone to enough therapy sessions though, she was sure that the reason she wasn’t upset that he was with her because of her titles was because she wanted to be with herself because of her titles. When she was younger, she was solely defined by her medals. Therefore, it came to no surprise to Blake that her relationships would be defined by her achievements too. 

Anyway, that didn’t stop her crying to her older brother about the whole thing. 

She had bursted through Quinn’s door, tears silently streaming down her face as she fell face first onto his bed. He had brushed her hair from her face, asking her what was wrong. 

“He’s using me,” she had said, and Quinn looked upset enough for the both of them. 

“He’s such a fucking asshole,” he had said, looking at his younger sister with so much pity. “He doesn’t deserve somebody like you,” 

At the time, Blake wasn’t sure what “somebody like you,” had meant. All her life she was defined by her skills, her body, her wins and loses… she wished figure skating and relationships didn’t have to be so difficult. 

She hadn’t seen Ryder again after that. She had made no effort to go and see him, and Blake could’ve sworn she saw him slowly sneaking back inside his house whenever her brothers would go outdoors. 

Now at 20, Blake lays in her bed and reminisces on all the shitty parts of her life with a new lens. She remembers Ryder and how he had used her, her coach and how she forced Blake to compete through injuries, and then her mind turned to Nico. who hadn't necessarily done anything to hurt Blake but his lack of action made her feel pathetic. 

How is it that a man can flirt with you at a bar, make you believe for weeks that he truly likes you, and then refuse to make eye contact with you later? 

Blake’s head spun like one of those spins she used to practice. She had thought of calling Quinn but then what? She had already told him how convinced she was that Nico had liked her. It would just be embarrassing now to have to tell him that now she wasn’t so sure.

So, Blake did what she did best, wallowed in her own self-pity until she eventually drifted off into sleep.

*

A few days later Nico came knocking on Blakes door. She wasn’t surprised to see him, but she had already decided that she shouldn’t talk to him anymore. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come over anymore,” she had told him. She hadn’t let him step through the threshold of her apartment, and she hadn’t changed her mind under his soft gaze. 

“But… Blake?”

“Nico, I'm really busy right now. There's a lot of stuff that i’m going through and I cant handle-”

“You can’t handle hanging out with me?” he had said, voice quiet. 

Blake had to look away from his pointed gaze, wanting nothing more than to just confess her feelings. But if Nico did like her like she thought he did, then his reaction to what Jack had said at the bar a few nights ago just proved to her that a relationship just wouldn't work out. And so, as Blake always does, she prioritised what she thought would end up working in the long run. Instead of pushing through pain to win medals, she was pushing through her feelings for Nico to protect her heart. 

“I’m sorry,” she had whispered to him, gaze falling to the floor when he finally walked away from her. 

*

Nico had thought that he was doing the right thing. Sure, he had let things go too far when he started flirting with Blake at the bar. But come on, she was so gorgeous, and she was exactly the kind of person that he wanted to be with. Forget “kind of person”, Nico thought. She was literally the only person he wanted to see or talk to. 

He thought that maybe he was taking advantage of her in some way. after he had started stopping by her house and visiting, and they had become friends… Jack had started telling him stories of Blakes abusive childhood. He couldn't even imagine growing up in a sport so toxic. And then of course there was her career ending injury, which is the reason behind them even starting to hang out. 

Blake Hughes was vulnerable, she was hurt and she was upset, and Nico wasn’t sure if love was even something she was looking for right now. He felt like he was stepping over some sort of invisible line, and that if Blake didn’t reciprocate his feelings, she wouldn't want to talk to him anymore. 

But he was proven to be right regardless, because Blake wasn’t talking to him and he had no idea why. 

*

blake.hughes added to their story!

The devil’s holiday event was lackluster. Jack had caught the eye of some pretty brunette and so he was off flirting and doing god-knows what. She had hoped that by now that Jack would stop insisting she came to these kinds of events and outings. But Blake guessed watching Titanic every night for the last week counted as a setback in her recovery journey. 

She swirled the drink in her cup, watching mindlessly as couples mingled and talked amongst themselves. This was just getting depressing. 

As the night continued nothing changed. She sat in her spot by the bar, conversing with the bartenders with as limited a vocabulary as possible. If her mother were here, she would definitely be scolding Blake for being rude. 

“You okay?” one of the girlfriends had asked Blake as they waited at the bar for another drink. Blake had nodded respectively, and when that didn’t appease the girl she sighed. 

“Boy troubles, you know?” she laughed, hoping that the awkwardness would be too much and that the girl would take the hint and leave. 

“Hit me,” she had said instead, and so that’s how Blake spent the next 45 minutes explaining to Jesper Bratts girlfriend all the ways in which an anonymous man had shown feelings for her. 

“I mean, it really sounds like he likes you. you know how men are, maybe you should make the first move?” the blonde had replied. 

“But there’s a lot at stake here… this guy is.. Well,”

“Standing over there?” Bratts girlfriend said, pointing to Nico Hischier. He looked gorgeous, and if Blake wasn’t so shocked that she had guessed correctly she probably would have melted to a puddle on the floor. 

Blake fumbled with what to say, opening and closing her mouth pathetically as her gaze moved from Nico to the girl perched in front of her. 

“You guys aren’t very subtle, Blake” she said, patting the girl on the shoulder before launching into strategies in which Blake could “get her man”.

After the talk and another drink, Blake was ready to pour out all of her feelings to Nico because when she really thought about it, could life get anymore awful? she was already never going to be able to figure skate again, and she and Nico weren’t talking… nothing could possibly be worse than this. 

Wrong. 

In the 35 minutes it took for Bratts girlfriend to convince Blake to confess her feelings to Nico, he had moved on. Like, literally moved on from the group of guys he was talking to and onto a far too attractive blonde. 

Life was actually cruel. 

Like they always do, Blake and Nico caught eyes, and before he could make a move to come talk to her she was pushing past people to get towards the exit. She’d text Jack that she left when she was far, far, away from this cursed event. 

*

Blake had just taken off her heels and pulled the backs of her earrings off when loud knocks echoed off her front door. 

“Jack, I literally told you I was going home. I’m fine!” she stressed, yanking open the door without really looking at who was standing outside. 

“It’s not Jack,” Nico’s voice was soft. Blake paused where she was standing, slowly turning so that she was face to face with the man of the last few weeks… Nico. 

He looked even better up close. His beard was shaven, tie a little loose. He was her weakness if that kind of thing even mattered anymore. 

“Nico,” she had breathed out, like she hadn’t imagined a single possibility in which he could be standing right in front of her. The weeks had seemed that long. Like there was no possibility that he’d still be waiting for her. 

“Blake,” he sighed, walking into the apartment and shutting the door softly behind him.

“I really like you, you know that right?” she admitted. “Like, every time I'm with you I feel so calm and yet so overwhelmed with the idea that you were made for me?”

Nico didn’t have a chance to react before Blake continued saying her thoughts out loud. “Whenever I'm near you I get butterflies and I've never felt that way about anyone before. You're, youre so different to anyone I've ever known. And I know that you're Jack's captain and that I'm his sister and that could make things really awkward for you but I really don't care! Because I like you and Jack’s just going to have to get over that when the time comes,”

“I bought your jersey! I don't even own my twins jersey!” she continued, pulling out her phone from her small shoulder bag. She flicked it open, pulling up her duolingo streak. “And Duolingo! I have Duolingo to try and learn Swiss German!” 

“Nico, if you don't feel the same way that's fine. I'm so sorry for thinking there was something between us,” Blake began apologizing, dropping the phone to her side as she started to calm down from the shocks of the evening. 

“I have a notes app filled with all of your favourite things,” he interrupted Blakes ramblings. 

“When I'm missing you, I make two portions of my dinner and bring some over to you as an excuse to see you. When Jack told me I didn’t have to come over to visit with you anymore, I was upset. My first thought was that I really liked you and that I didn't want whatever we have going on to end,”

“you liked me?” Blake spoke, her timid voice breaking through Nico’s speech.

“I still like you,” he responded, and not a second later was Blake’s purse falling to the ground as her hands wound themselves around Nico’s neck. 

He grabbed her by her waist, fingers dancing over the small of her back as he brought her into a passionate kiss. 

By the time they realized what they were doing, Blake was backing Nico into her room. “Are you sure?” he whispered, breaking away from their heated make out session to rest his forehead against hers. 

“I need you,” she was basically whimpering, but Nico paid that no attention as he slowly started sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders. 

“You're gorgeous,” he whispered, trailing kisses from her lips all the way down to her cleavage. 

Blake moaned, gripping onto Nicos hair as the both of them sunk down onto her plush bed. 

*

In the morning, Blake woke up to her and Nico cuddling. Blake ran her hands lightly through his hair, all of last night's events rushing back to her with pleasure. 

Nico groaned when he finally came to, head moving against Blakes shoulder as he tried to shield himself from the light that was shining through her curtains. He placed a few soft kisses onto her shoulder before snuggling closer to her.

She set one of her legs over his, and then allowed him to pull her as close to him as possible. 

They would discuss the nature of their relationship later. but now, all the two cared about was spending as much time with one another as possible before life got in the way. They went back to sleep peacefully, knowing that they don't have to pretend anymore.

[cindol]

love the thought of immortal sukuna and immortal fem reader but the idea of a mortal fem reader and immoral sukuna is so angsty that i love it.

your mortality is what attracted sukuna to you. Despite being someone who was repulsed by humans and even killed humans he was fascinated by them.

being a 2000 year old being made sukuna forget what it was like when he was human before he met you and you reminded him of the human festivities and pleasures all time.

He was always awoken by you on his chest with a bright smile and the outfit you were wearing always matched which holiday it was and he spent his day celebrating the said holdiay.

if it was christmas you both would exchange gifts, if it was thanksgiving you both spent the dinner giving thanks and having a feast.

if it was valentines day well… he’d show his appreciation of you in bed and so on.

in a way his immortality was like a breath of fresh air for you. He lived so long he mind as well always tell the truth and he never held his tongue with anyone and even you.

And when you’re someone who’s dealt aith the world’s shit for all your life? it’s nice hearing a immortal being be truthful.

sukuna found your mortality interesting till the unfortunate reality of your lifespan really set in. It was intriguing for him to learn the ways a human body could bend and break, how a mortal’s life could be broken apart with some silly illness. It was all fascinating to him until he thought of the possibility of you falling to any illness or accident.

when he brought of the idea of somehow, someway giving you the gift of immortality you just chuckled shaking your head.

“i’ll live my days to the fullest that they should be dear. I wanna be eighty years and old and still look at my big grown husband, grey hair and all.”

sukuna really couldn’t argue with you. With the years he spent with you he learned you’d do whatever you please however you pleased. He was content with it, at least he’d be with you when you would have you final moments.

sukuna really forgot how cruel mother nature could be.

he forgotten you were just like any human with a human body and human bodies unfortunately just, fail. Regardless of if you were the healthiest person ever and ate an apple a day and listened to your doctor’s concerned. Nature was cruel like that.

for you, your body just, gave up. It came as a shock for sukuna and out of the blue. One week ago you were healthy and now all your healthy blood cells gave up and eventually the white cells won against your healthy cells.

unlike the fantasy he had, he would have to close your blank soulless eyes to put you to rest.

[pyros-hollow]

Baby Mama

Old!Joel/Reader Finally something normal lol ao3 WC:3.3k

18+

Summary: After a one night stand leaves you with a daughter, you and Joel try to navigate... whatever it is you are.

Tags: Age gap relationship, Joel and Reader aren't dating, attempting to co-parent at best, no Sarah sorry y'all, Joel is a good dad despite you not wanting his help, daughter is pre-named (Erin), vaginal sex, cunnilingus, breeding kink, daddy kink (kinda)

Were you and Joel a thing? You didn't think so. Maybe he did, you weren't sure.

It had been around six months since your daughter Erin was born. And while her being unintended was a shock, it didn't make you and Joel officially start dating.

Still, he had spent time with you during your pregnancy, always checking up on you even when you insisted he stop because you can "do it yourself". And in that time your friendship really grew, but you weren't sure if you could see yourself being with him.

It's not that you didn't like Joel... He just seemed too different than you. Older than sin, a real guy's guy who worked long hours at his construction site and came home to drink beer and watch football.

You didn't see that being your life for as long as he lived.

But your daughter, Joel’s little carbon copy, she changed everything.

Joel was over at your apartment nearly every day, always fussing over her, cooing at her, playing with her. And it made you feel conflicted about why you pushed him away in the first place.

It didn't help any that every day he'd greet you, hugging you from the side, and giving you a little... "Hey, baby mama." Murmured against you, before he went to find your baby daughter.

Erin was the apple of his eye, that was clear to everyone. Joel always had his hands all over her, kissing her little head every chance he got, and rocking her to sleep when she was being fussy.

He tried to give you space. You'd seen men cling in the past, always trying to control every aspect of their girl's life, but that was clearly not Joel.

But what you weren't ready for, was his growing proximity in your own life. What started off as him seeing her quickly turned into him seeing you.

Joel was at your apartment all the time, nearly every day. He started staying later at night. He'd help you with the laundry, the dishes, he'd even offer to go out to buy groceries. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't appreciate all the help, but...it was just too much.

Your apartment was small, and it rattled your brain every time he came over to help out with the baby. Forced proximity in an enclosed space will do that to a girl.

So one night you were sitting on the couch, curled up against Joel as the two of you quietly watched TV. You've been letting him sit closer and closer to you, though you wouldn't admit it, you liked having him near. Being lonely was the worst.

He was pressed up against your side, his large hand draped over your waist. Thumb idly stroking at your hip. It felt... good. Weirdly good.

Being so close to him felt natural. As if you were right where you were supposed to be. And nothing could interrupt this moment...

Then your daughter started to cry softly from her small play pen, and Joel was the first to hear it. He carefully untangled himself from you, and walked over to the mat.

"Hey, hey, shh." He murmured, picking her up gently, holding her like she was a delicate glass.

He swayed her gently in his arms, holding her against his chest, a soft, soothing sound escaping him as her cries grew quieter. He was just the picture perfect image of a good dad, it made your heart hurt.

Joel turned around, glancing over at you. You were still curled up on the couch, looking over at him, the light of the TV illuminating your face.

He walked over to you, holding her in his arms. He sat down on the couch beside you, shifting her carefully in his arms so that she was laying down against his chest, her little face pressed against him. He leaned back against the couch, still rocking her gently, eyes on her little face.

"Do you think she needs a diaper change?" He asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.

"Well, does she stink?"

He leaned down, doing the baby sniff test before shaking his head, looking back up at you.

"Nah. She seems fine to me." He shifted her against his chest, his hand rubbing small circles on her back. "I think she's just fussing cause she's bored."

"Oh, my poor baby." You cooed, reaching over to pat your daughter's back before smiling. She had always been such an attention starved little thing. You went to grab her, carefully bringing her from his body to yours. Settling a hand on the back of her head and keeping her held close.

Even if she wasn't planned, you loved being her mom. That's all you could do is love her the best you could. Erin was truly the light of your life.

Joel shifted closer to you on the couch, watching you hold your baby girl. He was always amazed by how well you handled her, how natural it seemed for you. It was like you were made for motherhood, despite how much you didn't want to admit it. He inched towards you, almost close enough that his shoulder was touching yours.

He was silent for a moment, just watching you hold her, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your face and the baby's face, as she looked up at you with wide eyes. He reached over, his hand just barely brushing your thigh. His touch was light and tentative, his fingers barely grazing your skin, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

"She's going to grow up before we know it." He said softly, his eyes still on you and the baby. "And I know you don't wanna think about it but she ain't gonna be this little forever." Joel hummed, resting his other hand on your daughter's back.

"She is gonna stay this little." You murmured, kissing her little head. "Ain't never gonna grow up. Never gonna get no bigger than this." Now that was just wishful thinking on your part, but it was what you really hoped for. You held her just a bit tighter at the thought of how one day she might not fit on your chest like this again.

"You look good with her, you know." Joel sighed. His eyes taking in the sight of you and your child all snuggled up together. "She's so calm in your arms. It's like she just knows that you're her mama. That she's safe with you." That tugged at your heartstrings, but you didn't let it show.

"Well as much as I love being the perfect mama, this little lady's gotta go to bed." You sighed, slowly standing up from the couch and walking back to the other bedroom in your apartment where her nursery was.

Once you finally got Erin settled in for the night, snuggled up in her little onesie, you let out a sigh. Being a mom was hard. It was tiring, and you wanted to say you were doing it all on your own but you really weren't. Joel was always there. Always offering to help, always offering to buy things for you and for her. Even if he didn't make that much money, he still wanted to try and you always just pushed him back.

But why?

It wasn't like being single was doing you any favors. And Joel was a decent guy and a great father... What was stopping you?

Once you had gotten back out into the main room of your apartment, you noticed Joel leaning against the counter, seemingly lost in thought.

"Hey, tough guy." You broke the silence, walking closer to him. It seemed to snap him out of it.

"Oh, hey." Joel nodded, holding up his keys. "I'm about to head out. Figured I should since she's down for the night." He swallowed. It seemed so... awkward. And you never saw him that way. Or, you had once. When Joel found out you were pregnant he wouldn't look you in the eye for days, he couldn't.

"Yeah, I guess you probably should." You nodded, biting your lip nervously. You're nervous. Why are you nervous? You didn't know why but you were leaning into him. Hugging him. Tight.

Joel's eyes widened before he set the keys back on the counter, his hands going to rub up and down your back. He was just so big, so warm, everything you realized you needed without wanting to say it. You leaned into him a bit closer and you noticed your eyes were suddenly a bit wet. Were you crying? Why?

He seemed to notice too. He pulled your head back slightly and looked at you with a worried expression, those puppy eyes of his were good at it.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." You tried to play it down but he wasn't having it. He tsked, gently grabbing your chin, making you look him in the eye.

"What's wrong." He wasn't asking. His gaze bore into your soul almost, eyes a comforting deep brown, like staring into a warm mug of coffee. It soothed you.

"I just... I can't keep doing it Joel, at least not by myself."

"Well I've tried to help ya. Besides, you're a great mama-"

"I don't want to just be great, I know she needs more!" You snapped a bit. Raising an infant on your own, by your own volition was wearing you thin. You wanted to be the mom she deserved.

That silenced Joel for a moment. He pulled you closer, into another hug and you sniffled into his t-shirt. Even though he grew up in a generation where you weren't supposed to express feelings like this, he knew you were different. You were the mother of his child. In his eyes, you were his woman.

"You don't gotta keep doing it on your own if you don't wanna. I want to help you, I do." He leaned down, instinctively kissing the top of your head. Joel couldn't help it.

"I want to be independent-"

"I know, but you don't gotta be. Erin can't grow up in this cramped ass apartment no more, we both know it. Let me take care of you."

Logical thinking. Damn it, that was just what you needed. But unfortunately it was all thrown out the window when lips were suddenly on lips. It surprised you both, but it felt right and necessary. Like it was always meant to happen no matter what road this conversation took.

Using his strength, Joel lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his hips. He'd been over enough by now to know where he was walking without breaking your lips apart from his. The walk to your bedroom was short, and he did bump you into the wall once or twice but you got there.

Joel threw you onto your mattress gently, still letting you bounce against the springs before grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you to the very edge of the bed. You gasped, trying not to be too loud on account of your daughter in the next room. But Joel looked at you like you were the only person in the world right now.

"Little miss independent." He scoffed, shaking his head, eyes traveling over your form. "What am I gonna do with you? Just tryin' to help and you always mouth off. You're supposed to respect your elders you know." He rand his hands in circles over your thighs, toying at the edge of the comfy shorts you had on.

"I didn't want the help." You groaned in annoyance, trying to crawl your way back up the bed but he held you there.

"You do now. Bet you're gonna be beggin' for a lot here in a couple minutes." He seemed cocky. As if he were fucking you for the first time instead of maybe the fifth.

"You use that line on all the girls, Miller?" Your eyes narrowed at him. It was mostly a tease, but a part of you wanted to know.

Joel faltered. You didn't expect him to pause and really look you in the eye. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, a long exhale leaving his nose as he apparently decided to build the suspense to an immeasurable level.

"I ain't been with anyone since I found out you were pregnant. Didn't feel right." He shook his head like he felt guilty for even admitting it. Oh. That made your brain turn off and on again, and question if it was hearing things correctly. He waited for you? Could he be weird or just a really big romantic? Without another word, his hands went to the waistband of your shorts and slowly pulled them down. Leaving you bare from the waist down.

Big hands pried apart your thighs, and the man between them knelt like he was about to say his prayers; knees popping on the way. But they weren't to the man upstairs, they were to your cunt. The first tentative lick sent a shock down your body, then he took that as the sign to really lap at you.

Joel's tongue swiped through your folds like they were an old friend. Oh he did miss them, more than he would let you know. The most perfect pussy he'd ever had, and it belonged to a pretty young lady he held dear, now that she'd made him a daddy.

Pouty lips sucked at your bud, repeating little sucks as if they were kisses. Flattening his tongue over the poor little thing, tongue delving inside and out. Like it was his damn job.

Impatiently, you nudged his head out of the way with a whine, you wanted him now. And he got the memo. Joel smiled, then let out a little hiss as he rose up. Unbuckling that belt he always seemed to wear, you briefly wonder how long he's had it. But then he was pushing his jeans and boxers down, strained cock bobbing into the air. You looked it over and felt your face heat up, it was a bit different since you last saw it, more grey hairs littered in the bush around the base of his cock. But it was still the same old Joel.

He stepped out of the rest of the pants before helping push you further up on the bed. Both of you still had your shirts on, but it didn't seem to matter since he was finally almost inside you after nearly a year and a half.

"I don't got anything with me. Wasn't expecting to get lucky." A sigh escaped his lips as he held himself over you. Thick arms like pillars supporting the temple that was Joel Miller.

"I don't care."

"And look where that got us already." He teased, lowering his head to kiss at your neck. "Maybe we're just good at makin' babies." Teeth nipped at your flesh, sucking pretty marks into the skin. You could feel his cock pressed against your thigh, it was so damn warm against your skin. He gave a gentle thrust against your plush flesh and he whined, tugging your leg over a hip. The tip notched at your entrance and he gave you pleading eyes. You bit your lip and nodded, and like a switch was flipped, he surged forward and pressed his way in.

"Fuck..." You whimpered, it had been so long for the both of you. He grunted, head falling to your shoulder as he began to slowly roll his hips in and out of you. Gently pistoning them where you both knew they belonged, between your legs. Or adjacent to them, other options were open.

"Missed you. Missed you so damn much, baby." He shook his head against you before biting against your clothed shoulder to hold back what would have been a loud groan. "Missed this fuckin' pussy. Bet she missed her daddy didn't she? Just cause you became a mama doesn't mean I stopped being this pussy's daddy." His thrusts sped up at that, Joel fucked into you like he was on a mission you didn't know about. And he might as well have been.

"Gonna get you pregnant again. You hear me? Gonna knock you the fuck up, put another baby in here." He babbled, hand slotting over your lower tummy, skin clapping against yours loudly. All you could do was moan. He couldn't be serious, right? Maybe you were too lost in a dicked down haze but you chose not to comment on it. "Ain't never gonna leave you alone. Me an' you. Our babies- oh fuck!" He hissed as he fell into the most perfect rhythm for you both, it made you squeal against his shoulder. Your poor mattress and bed were squeaking and shaking under the force of his thrusts.

He hit the spot that made you see stars, your eyes rolled back in your damn head. Both legs locked around his hips holding him tightly against you, and that was wood on the fire of a fantasy that was quickly turning into a blaze.

"Fuck, daddy-" You whined out a little too loudly. "Need to cum, please I wanna cum." You pleaded, and Joel instantly responded like it were a Pavlovian response. He supported himself on one forearm now, body pressed to yours as his fingers played with your clit. The new position making you both even closer than before, his head squished against your clothed tits while he worked to bring you to orgasm.

His fingers played around in your slick, spreading it across your nub, toying with it in time to his thrusts. He could feel you clenching, good God you were too tight. Joel thought you would break his dick in half at this rate. And when you finally came, Joel thought he would die. It rippled through your body like an eruption, you hadn't came since... you couldn't remember when. Hardly having the time to touch yourself anymore. You shook and stuttered, your vision going blank for just a few seconds but you could still feel Joel's cock driving into you at a frenzied pace. The overstimulating feeling of getting fucked after an orgasm was better than you remember. Everything was better, Joel was better.

Then he was groaning, his grip on you wherever his hands had ended up tightened to the point it could damn near bruise. Joel gave several more thrusts home before he was painting your insides, flooding your womb with his seed that he wished would take so damn badly for some reason. His teeth chattered before he all but collapsed on top of you.

After some moments of silence, he spoke up.

"I can move y'all into my place you know," He murmured. "I got the room. It'd be better for her to grow up in a house." "Let's just talk about it in the morning... need sleep." You whined, squirming beneath him until he got the memo and rolled off. Pulling you close to cuddle. If this was going to be official it was new, it was weird, but it was welcome. Now that you've finally accepted his presence in your life fully.

"Yeah, let's get some sleep." Joel yawned, he had always been a quick sleeper after sex, and with you it was no different. You stayed tangled up together like that for a good while. Your eyes grew heavy, sleep on the horizon.

Then the baby monitor on your bedside table went off.

Damn it.

So much for post sex sleep... Joel murmured that he'd get it, getting up and pulling on his discarded boxers before shuffling out of your bedroom. And you decided to make yourself decent as well with your shorts covering you before going to check up on them.

You saw little Erin being cradled by her daddy, her fussy cries finally subsiding. She had probably woken up over nothing. But your eyes appreciated the sight of Joel helping you with her in the night. How his big hands dwarfed her little body, how his body would move when he was gently bouncing her back to sleep.

This was a sight you could get used to.

[arthur-lesters-music-stand]

Anything of your choosing

Anything?? Well, that was a mistake! And 100-500 words my ass, what was I thinking. Anyway, enjoy the fic, this was my only request so I put all my energy into that! I will still accept fic requests after the poll is closed, and I will open another one of these for the final round!

Strike a Pose//Bloodstained Clothes

Fandom: Malevolent

Pairing: Noel Finley/John Doe/Arthur Lester (If you squint)

Archive warnings: None

Rating: Teen and up

Summary:

Noel and John try to help Arthur in the sexyman poll with a photoshoot. Unfortunately, Arthur doesn't really get it. Chaos ensues. And it gets a bit meta.

Word Count: 1736

Trigger/Content Warnings: Mildly suggestive language, explicit violence, the violence is suggestive as well.

Author's note:

This is my first published fanfiction, and while I have an AO3 account, I'm still working on the profile! Until I have it ready, please enjoy this piece below the cut, and be sure to check out Arthur vs. Noel in the Malevolent Sexyman Poll run by @megamindsupremacy! (There's only an hour and a half left at time of publishing lol, sorry it took so long).

“And what on Earth is that for?” Arthur Lester shifted restlessly in a lavish chair. He was draped all across it, his back leaning over one armrest and a leg slung over the other. Meanwhile, the other leg dangled off the seat, his foot grazing the floor. The immaculately pressed slacks complimented his smart leather shoes, yet his dress shirt fell tastefully open, revealing his bare chest of soft curls and scars scattered across wiry muscle. The soft glow of the dim lights in the room created a halo effect around his features.

None of this matched the scowl presently on Arthur’s face. He already was being roped into this against his better judgment, but this…

“People will like seeing you hold the dagger!” John insisted. He’s keeping the blade of Kayne’s gifted dagger wrapped in a cloth at the moment, but he is trying to perch Arthur’s arm on top of the back of the chair so he can eventually hold the dagger in a “flattering” way, whatever that means.

Arthur scoffed. “And why exactly are you helping him? Aren’t you my direct competition this round?”

Noel blew the smoke he’d just inhaled at a leisurely pace, enjoying the view and John’s endearing fussing more than he’d ever admit aloud. “John wanted help with the camera, doll,” he said, gesturing to the unwieldy black box on a tripod with his cigarette. “And besides, I can appreciate my opposition’s display of fine art.”

“Nothing about this is fine,” John grumbled, “Not when someone refuses to cooperate!” He finally gives up on rearranging Arthur’s limbs manually and presses the dagger’s handle into his palm, removing the cloth as he stalks away.

Now, Arthur’s pose had a little edge to it. The perfect image of languid lounging, competence without a care in the world, but with the slight thrill of danger. The metal of the dagger caught the light with a suggestive wink, and the sharp tip pointed down at Arthur’s own torso from its position on high. It dared one to imagine the damage a man like that was capable of.

Arthur cleared his throat. “It’s just… none of this feels particularly natural. How am I supposed to win any such poll if I’m not being myself?”

“Arthur, it’s not about being entirely yourself, it’s about showing off your best self,” John impatiently explained. “It’s like that thing Noel said.”

Noel glanced up from his spot behind the camera, distraction written on his face for just a moment. “Oh, you mean propaganda?” He chuckled. “Sure, John, that’s all Lester needs, a little direction so we can wrap this vote up nice and neat.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and shifted, much to John’s chagrin. “Well, is it going to take much longer? I feel ridiculous enough as it is, and I’d rather—”

“Hold your horses, doll. Get back into position and I’ll take the shot, alright?” Noel ducked under the camera’s cloth, ushering John behind him. Arthur sighed, but made an effort to look… cool? Dangerous? Laissez-faire? What was it John wanted him to go for again?

The telltale flash and whine of the camera sounded off, and Arthur wasted no time dropping his limbs back into a comfortable, normal seating position. John pestered Noel about it immediately.

“How does it look? Can I see it yet?”

“Both of youse, slow your roll! It’ll take some time for the picture to develop. We may as well get a few more shots in to make our time here worthwhile.” Noel started fiddling with the camera to get it ready again, John peering over his shoulder in curiosity.

Arthur dropped his head down to nearly between his knees, both to stretch his back from that pose and in mild frustration. He had both hands wrapped around the dagger now, pointing it at the ground while his forearms rested atop his legs. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do such a ludicrous pose again, holding Kayne’s dagger like that. What was John thinking?

As though his prayers had been answered, the door of their room began to creak open. Arthur’s head perked up first, his hearing sharpened by his time spent blind. The others hadn’t quite noticed yet, Noel explaining to John how the massive camera box worked.

Arthur’s shoulders went tense, grip tightening on the dagger as inhuman noises began to filter into the room. “Boys? Did either of you lock the front door?”

John looked up at him, then blinked. “Arthur, we’re in a fictional scenario to get a picture of you that won’t ever really exist for the sexyman poll. What are you talking about?”

“Wait, what do you mean the picture won’t even—well never mind that!” Arthur deftly got to his feet and positioned himself between the door and the men. Noel, catching wise to something being wrong, reached for his pistol.

Arthur hissed, “Not, not yet! We don’t know what we’re dealing with, we can’t just start firing.” Placing one careful foot in front of the other, he made it about halfway across the room to the door before there was a resounding thud from the other side, likely something carelessly knocked over.

Arthur braced himself, and willed the other men to stay behind him.

Quick breaths, like a large snout sniffing the air. A satisfied snarl, then the door burst wide open with an ear-splitting crack.

A monstrosity barreled toward the men on six sinewy legs. Its elongated, animalistic face roared and presented rows of blunt teeth, meant for grinding bone to dust. Every inch of coarse, patchy hair bristled as the beast charged.

Arthur leapt aside just enough to avoid being snatched in its jaws, then sunk the dagger into its back as it nearly passed him. It screamed, a grating squeal.

The creature body slammed Arthur to the ground, intent on trampling him under feet that resembled hooves. Arthur, to his credit, tried to roll away, but not before taking a blow to the stomach. It knocked the air from his lungs and cut through his shirt and skin.

John could distantly be heard calling out his name, but Arthur could barely concentrate on what he was saying. He staggered to his hands and knees, blood already blooming red across the stomach of his white shirt. He looked around frantically for anything that could help him, but the creature was already on top of him again.

This time, Arthur took the beast head on. He hooked one arm under its jaw, keeping it from getting leverage or clamping its teeth around him. With the other, he reached for the beast’s back, pianist fingers wrapping around the dagger’s handle and dragging it back out.

The monstrosity reared its head back in defiance and agony, and Arthur used this opportunity to strike. He plunged the dagger into the soft throat of the beast.

It gurgled, knocking its hard feet against the ground around Arthur spasmodically, searching for purchase. Arthur retracted the blade, only to drive it back into its underbelly.

He seized the moment, pushing the creature onto its back. He straddled it, breathing frenzied, every stab spraying more blood and viscera up onto his already ruined shirt and face. He will not allow this abominable thing to reach his men, he will not stand for it hurting them. Arthur lifted the dagger once more, and went to strike back down when he heard a loud, distinct click.

He glances up, only to be met with another flash. He reflexively squints, then glares at Noel from behind the camera.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Noel takes a drag, smiling smugly down at him. “What’s it look like, doll? I think we just got our best shots yet.”

John has a death grip on the chair in the back of the room, apparently having used it to take shelter. “B-but he’s a mess!” he complained.

Noel shrugged. “Isn’t that always when he looks his best?”

Arthur had just enough wherewithal to blush, then glanced down at the beast. It lay dead beneath him, already growing colder. Arthur shot back, “You know, a little help would have been nice.”

Noel put his hands up before him defensively. “Hey now, this is non-canon; even if you got really hurt, it’s not like it would’ve lasted or anything!”

John was already messing with the camera, pestering Noel about how the photos turned out. Noel sighed and tried explaining again how it didn’t work like that, and the photos would process all in due time.

Arthur had had it just about up to here. He felt sticky, sore, and entirely impatient. As he staggered to his feet, he said, “Will anyone tell me what I look like, and why this is apparently so interesting?”

The two men paused to look at him. John wordlessly stepped forward, appraising him with a golden gaze that made him freeze in place at its mesmerizing beauty. Arthur swallowed, always appreciating when John looked at him like that.

John sighed, as though reluctantly admitting to Noel’s point. He said, “Arthur, you’re drenched in blood, a mix of that creature’s and your own that’s impossible to separate. Your shirt is utterly wrecked, permanently stained and ripped open to reveal your lean, scratched up frame underneath. Your long, slender fingers are curled around the dagger’s handle with unusual grace for the violence you’re capable of. And your face speaks to fury born out of love, the drive to commit any unspeakable act for those you’ve sworn to protect.”

John paused for a moment, taking a moment to gather himself and breathe. “Arthur, you’re stunning.”

Arthur let out an involuntary laugh, his heart fluttering strangely. He feels he really shouldn’t be accepting compliments like that in a state like this.

“Aaand,” Noel interjected, “we have it all on the black-and-white now!” He whistled, then took another puff from the cigarette. “Quite a show you gave us, doll.”

The men all laugh a bit together now, processing what’s happened. John lends Arthur a hand to lead him around the gore on the ground and help him get cleaned up.

Arthur peers at John as he towels off his face. “What was that thing, anyhow?”

John growled. “I suspect an attempt at sabotage from your other competition, Kayne.”

“Sure, sabotage,” Noel drawled in his New York accent, taking in Arthur’s bloodied form one last time. “Let’s go with that.”