#lovelyleslie

[chaoticgeminate]

Love and Red

Summary: Teagan had always seen the little red strings, never her own for some reason, but always everyone else's.

Rating: General Audiences (Dedication Fanfic is Explicit)

Notes: This is a fanfiction of a fanfiction, which I feel is becoming my thing to be honest. This is dedicated to the lovely @leslie-lyman and Stranger at my Gate. Glimpses of Pero and Tessa's story through the eyes of an outsider. This is posted with her permission!

Please check out her stories (if you're over 18, minors are not allowed) and send her some love!

Teagan had always seen the little red strings, never her own for some reason, but always everyone else’s. Connecting pinkies with little red bows, sometimes they went on for miles and miles with no end in sight and sometimes they were right beside each other. A husband and wife, a pair of brothers, grandparent and grandchild. In the past it was said to be the red string of fate that bound lovers’ souls, but now she knew that it wasn’t just romantic love that the strings would show.

Platonic love between two best friends, familial love between old and new generations, all of it was love and all of it was beautiful. But romantic love when reciprocated glowed like Christmas lights, glittering like something precious, and sometimes Teagan would just watch the people in town who found their string mate. 

Wonder why she didn’t have one, or if she did why she couldn’t see it.

This made growing up difficult in a different way than just small-town popularity contests, seeing her classmates with their strings and people around town with theirs; she’d always been called absent-minded or stupid because of the distractions with the colorful shades of red that invaded her life. But there was one girl who had a string that was dull, present but so very faint, and Teagan had thought it unfair that someone as kind as Tessa Walsh had a string that she couldn’t see the end of.

Most people had strings that traveled miles across rooms, across streets and lakes and oceans, whenever theirs wasn’t close by; but Tessa’s string looked like it led to the woods but it never moved to indicate there was someone on the other end. Teagan had tried following it once when her parents had been busy at work and left her on her own, back in middle school, but the string vanished in the middle of the woods near the strangest trees she’d ever seen.

Teagan had no explanation, not that she even knew how she saw the strings to begin with, and after that she could only hope that one day Tessa’s string mate would appear. Taking advantage of the fact that she was as good as invisible to everyone, hiding her eyes -such a pale blue, are we sure she isn’t blind, her mother had once remarked- behind the long strands of mousy brown hair that she allowed to fall over her face when she turned her head down to do her work in school was how she managed to get through her youth.

Learning and observing more and more about the strings while her father taught her all manner of hobbies, it had been his attempt to encourage something to keep her wandering attention and to a degree it had worked, she was sort of an all-around artist. Pottery, ceramics, blown glass, painting… it was things she had done with her dad and things that she did when the loneliness was a little too loud.

University had been the largest factor that stopped her from focusing on the strings as hard as she usually did, there were too many and her schoolwork was so much more challenging, but that behavior carried over even after she graduated. Even as she watched people pair off, meet their string mates, as she watched some strings thin out as friendships faded or break when loved ones were lost.

Teagan’s career practically stumbled into her, if she were being honest, she’d always sold things she made as a small side hustle. Blown glass charm bracelets, beads, and figurines; wooden figurines or beads carved and painted as well as pottery and small paintings. All custom made, all handcrafted, and all of them well loved by the recipients.

One such recipient had been writing a romance novel, had plans to try and sell it, but wanted the cover art style that was practically gone now. Instead of Canva style images she’d wanted an oil painting picture, the classic look, and paid two other students to be the models for it while Teagan had painted it.

Never had she imagined becoming the next Elaine Duillo but it had happened after Time Lost hit the shelves and novelists began blowing up her professional email for requests to paint covers for their books too.

Moving back to her childhood home was done quietly, her parents retired and moved South so she’d bought their place from them since she had no siblings, and the entire ground floor was turned into a storefront and studio. Being as busy as she was with getting her new store situated, her painting studio ready, had meant that she hadn’t been paying attention until one day she went to go shopping and saw something she thought impossible.

Tessa Walsh was walking beside a man at the grocery store, he was tall and imposing but when she wasn’t looking he watched her with the softest expressions, and between their hands the red string was vibrant with the faintest of a glow. Romantic love, not yet requited, but there; Teagan felt like an idiot standing in the produce section with a head of cabbage in her hand gaping but it was beautiful.

The glow of it was red with the faintest glimmers of gold, something she’d never seen before really, and Teagan abruptly snapped her mouth closed to turn around. Unaware that Tessa’s new companion had actually noticed her, more because of her sudden movement than anything, she returned to grabbing her groceries and thanking whatever powers that be for Tessa’s good fortune.

Teagan was hard at work, with Thanksgiving around the corner the ornaments and handcrafted figurines were all selling out so fast, her pottery wheel felt like a slave driver and sleep was hard to manage with the stress of keeping everything on the shelves. Just like last year she’d known this time of the year was going to be a warzone on her sanity, a lonely Thanksgiving coupled with a lonely Christmas had led to her spending more and more time in her studio or in the store for the span of the last three months of the year.

The backlog of book covers to paint was growing, even though they weren’t actually due for at least a few months -as she specifically told people that October through December were dates she would not be painting covers- but they were still there. Thom stopped by to pick up the bulk order of ornaments that they sold at the tree farm for her, after he’d stumbled in looking for a gift for Amie the first year Teagan had her studio open she’d offered to sell them to the Walshes at production cost in exchange for word of mouth advertisement, and he ended up staying long enough to help clear the room out when he saw how frazzled she was. 

“You could come to ours for Thanksgiving, you know, not a single Walsh would turn you away. We’ll also cut your tree before the official opening, since your ornaments always do well.”

“I could never impose, Thom, but thank you. Tell the others I said Happy Thanksgiving. I’ll be around for my tree after the farm opens. It’s crazy busy this time of the year, you know?”

He left while reminding her that if she came by she wouldn’t be turned away if she changed her mind, making her grin slightly, and Teagan took the brief respite of an empty shop to restock what she could on the actual shelves before working to paint some of the dried pottery pieces waiting to be finished.

What she hadn’t counted on was Henry making an appearance a few days later, also extending an invitation to Thanksgiving at the Walsh residence, and Teagan laughed at the man before sending him on his way with a painting he’d commissioned of a whimsical forest scene at night with fairies hidden in the shadows of fireflies and a sleeping family of foxes just barely visible in their den.

Teagan spent Thanksgiving with a microwave meal and her pottery wheel, her paintings didn’t sell as fast as the other things she sold so those were fine, and she had a surplus of pre-made pieces that would last at least four days. Which meant that the Saturday after Thanksgiving she could join the others in town and watch the lighting of the tree, spotting Amie and Thom and the other Walshes watching proudly.

But Teagan was drawn to the golden glow that had nearly engulfed all the red in Tessa’s string connecting her to Pero, it was new and strange for her. It made her think of hope and fear and change, like Pero and Tessa were on the precipice of something and unsure of what they were going to do.

“Hey Teagan, didn’t see you for Thanksgiving?”

Henry and Martin’s greeting made her jump nearly out of her boots.

“Oh, uh, I was trying to catch up on stock. It’s uh, I wasn’t expecting so many people to come actually find my studio. Figured they’d just buy what they needed from the tree farm since its all in one place, you know?”

Martin pulled her into a tight hug.

“Hey, don’t you dare downplay your work. People love what you make, Amie and Thom said they give out your business cards to nearly everyone that comes to pay for their tree because they ask about what else you make. You thinking about hiring anyone to help?”

“I mean, I should but right now I just need to find my footing first. So, uh, Tessa’s… boyfriend? He from Chicago too?”

Henry and Martin both chuckled and you peered around them to see Tessa leading Pero away down toward the rest of town.

“Pero and Tessa aren’t dating, not yet at least.”

“Oh, I just- I thought that they were. They love each other so-”

“I knew we weren’t the only ones to see it! Tessa is being stubborn about it, even the kids know..”

“Their string is so bright, it’s obvious.”

“String?”

Panic seized Teagan momentarily, a reminder why she didn’t really go out of her way to converse with too many people on the topic of love, she’d never really been good at stopping herself.

“Red string of fate, you know? They love each other so much that anyone can see it.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed only a little but Martin laughed softly, accepting it as a playful sort of answer, and Teagan could have kissed Miss Moira when she called for Henry and Martin. Sneaking away so they wouldn’t find her, cowardly as it was, led to Teagan nearly stumbling on a lightshow that only she could see.

Pero and Tessa were kissing and the glow of red and gold around them was radiant, in a way that made Teagan’s eyes water, it was a love that was so beautiful but there was something sad about it too. She hadn’t really ever felt the emotions that came from a string, not until she touched it, but their love was so strong that even from so far away she could feel it like a summer bonfire.

They didn’t see her when they left, thankfully, but as Teagan watched them leave she was struck with the realization that the string had lost the golden tint now that they’d evidently figured it out. But that didn’t explain why they had gold in theirs to begin with and she was suddenly wondering who, or what, Pero Tovar was.

Henry cornered her in her own store not long before the Solstice, Teagan suspected he’d put aside time after work before going home for the day, and she gave up the fight and instead let him stay as she flipped the closed sign over and let him sit down in one of the wooden rocking chairs that she’d inherited with the house. He cast a major judging expression over her microwavable dinner that was half-eaten and cold, hidden behind the counter, but she could care less about that.

“What is it, Henry?”

“You weren’t lying or joking, were you, about seeing the red strings of fate.”

“No, and I promise you I’m not crazy-”

He stopped her before she could work herself up, the shaking in her hands as she sat on her counter turned register table stopped as he held them still, and tapped her nose gently.

“Teagan, I come from a family of magic too. Can you tell me about Pero and Tessa’s string?”

“Well… it’s different. I mean, it’s a romantic love so it glitters like red Christmas lights now that it’s reciprocated but there’s gold in it and I’ve never seen it before. It’s also kind of… sad? Like it feels like the two of them have a powerful choice to make and they’re both hesitating.”

“You’re not wrong about that, is the string thing why you don’t really branch out and come to anything smaller than a town size event?”

Teagan felt her throat tighten.

“I just get overwhelmed-”

“Can you see your own string?”

The fact that he figured her out so quickly should have felt painful, it should have made her angry, but instead she felt defeated.

“No, I can’t. I can see all of it, the romantic strings and familial strings and platonic ones but I can’t see my own.”

Henry was quiet for a long moment before he wrapped her into a tight hug.

“If you feel alone you should stop running from us, I won’t tell anyone else about this except Martin -he is my husband- but I promise you that everyone in my family would understand.”

“Thank you, Henry.”

“You should really eat some actual food and not… those.”

“The last time I tried to cook I nearly blew up the oven, so if I do have a soulmate out there they better be able to cook.”

Henry stared at her for a long time before he shook his head and left, the insanity of the solstice had almost made her forget about her Christmas tree but Teagan remembered when she walked into the upstairs living room and stared at the empty corner of the room. Tomorrow she’d have to venture over to the farm, before the shop got busy, and Teagan nearly jumped down the stairs when she remembered she’d left the half eaten microwave meal down there.

Maybe Henry was right to be worried but she was fine.

What Teagan hadn’t realized was that she’d meet Pero the next day, pulling up to see the tree farm busy as ever, and after choosing a small tree -one that was easier to heft up the stairs- she nearly stumbled into the taller man before he caught her so she didn’t fall backward into someone else. 

“I’m so sorry-!”

“Apologies, did you need something?”

“Oh uh, I was going to find Thom so I could get my tree-”

“I can assist you, I am Pero Tovar, which tree?”

He looked at the tree that was only a little taller than she was with a faint smile and Teagan couldn’t help but let her hand brush through the golden and red string, it was back to being gold with only flashes of red for some reason, but the overwhelming sense of hope and pleading cut through her like lightning.

They had a big choice to make indeed but she didn’t know what it could be or why it was gold other than magic being the answer. When in doubt just blame magic, after all, since she had nothing else to go on.

“If you are anything like Tessa with her decorations this will be buried in lights and baubles.”

“Oh, uh, I only really put lights on my tree. I sell ornaments, I made all the wood and glass ones that Thom brought back before Thanksgiving-”

“You are Teagan? That is very fine, delicate, work. Very impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“What else is it that you make?”

“Paintings, pottery, ceramics, bracelet charms, jewelry, wooden figures… just about anything really.”

Pero hummed as he carried her tree to be wrapped up, the size of it and his strength making it easy to carry, and Teagan noticed the abrupt way the string seemed to begin moving and imagined Tessa had her own things to handle this season.

“I will have to come by your store then, to find a present for Tessa.”

“Of course, and I make things custom as well so if you don’t see something you like then just let me know. It’ll take a little longer to make if its brand new to me but it shouldn’t be that long of a wait.”

Pero tucked her tree into the bed of her pick up and after she paid for her purchase, along with a light scolding from Amie about missing Thanksgiving, Teagan was on her way home and asking the fates again to be kind to Tessa. They weren’t exactly friends but Tessa had always been kind and Teagan still believed that if anyone deserved a powerful love like what she had with Pero that it was Tessa.

It was sometime after Christmas that she found herself at peace, finally, the shop was less hectic and things were quiet. Teagan had her easel out in the storefront today and was working on the first of many backlog book covers, the likelihood of anyone actually coming in was basically slim except she heard the cheerful bell and looked up to see Pero looking around curiously.

“Pero!”

His string was red, pure glittering red and pulsing like a heartbeat, radiating joy and happiness and serenity at long last.

“This is far more than I expected. Where is it you live if this is your store?”

“Oh, uh, upstairs. I remodeled the downstairs into a large open concept store and studio, so upstairs I took down non-support walls to make a living room area since I live alone and don’t really need all the extra bedrooms.”

The house was an old Victorian anyway, three floors with a basement, though the interior had long-since been remodeled to something much more modern; she still had a lot of space she wasn’t exactly using here.

“Practical.”

He was perusing the pottery and ceramics, the plates and serving trays and bowls, the sets of brightly colored and patterned pieces were always eye-catching. He looked at each plate, each small serving bowl, and each little part of one of the more vibrant tapas sets she’d put together after seeing a few online that she really liked.

“Is this sold as a set?”

“Yep!”

“Tessa does love to cook, this would look good when she hosts dinners.” His face fell when he saw the price tag and Teagan knew that he wouldn’t just take a handout, he didn’t seem like the type.

“I don’t make a lot of pottery because I can’t really afford to keep buying the firewood for the kiln unless I have large batch orders, and I’m not anywhere near strong enough to chop my own.” He perked up, instantly, and Teagan was relieved.

She wanted him to be able to give Tessa the lovely tapas set, the vibrant colors and patterns deserved to be used for lively parties, but she hadn’t really had any other way to justify giving him a discount of any kind.

“I could chop your firewood, if you would allow me to purchase this set.”

“How about I draw up an agreement, I’ll put a sold tag on the set, and once you’ve signed it then we can get it wrapped up?”

“This is acceptable, Teagan.”

The whole set was over $600 but included a lot of pieces. Two jugs in 1 liter volume, one butter dish, two spoon rests, three oil dispensers, 40 shallow plates ranging from a two inch diameter up to a 10 inch diameter, 24 bowls ranging from a 4 inch diameter up to a 16 inch diameter, and three utensil holders to match.

It had taken weeks to get everything made, painted, and glazed but the colorful end result had been well worth it. Nobody wanted to buy individual pieces but the price tag deterred even the most longing of potential customers.

One short call to Amie, so that she knew Pero was going to be doing contracted labor and work out a price for his time, and Pero signed the agreement before helping Teagan box the set up to take home to Tessa.

“You will allow me to take these before I work?”

“I trust you Pero. I hope Tessa likes it.”

When he stared at her for a long, quiet, moment she wondered just what he was thinking until he hummed thoughtfully.

“You remind me of someone I knew, a bastard of an Irishman.”

“Oh, well, my grandmother immigrated over here from Ireland. It’s why my parents named me Teagan, to honor her.”

Pero made a soft sound, not affectionate so much as it was understanding, and she realized belatedly he’d come here with Thom and the kids. The other Walsh let her give him hell for staying in the car, it now made sense why Amie was so confused about her call, but she didn’t keep them long after that.

It was a few days later that Tessa showed up with Pero for his first shift chopping wood, thanking her profusely for the tapas set, and Teagan couldn’t help but grin as Tessa looked at all of the other items she had on display.

“I wasn’t going to let him walk here without it, it’s beautiful… how much you love one another.”

Tessa’s face gained some color but she smiled so softly, so affectionately, that Teagan felt peace knowing that whatever choice had kept them tumbling was finally made and it was very clear they’d made the right one.

The way Tessa’s string gleamed and glittered was proof enough that their love truly was magic.

All Fics Taglist: @haylzcyon @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @tauralmie @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @rominaszh @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry @all-the-way-down-here

[chaoticgeminate]

Oh

My

Stars

LESLIE I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!

So first off the A/B/O dynamics here are stunning, I love that the toxic trifecta is "Sales Guy, Vampire, Alpha" because honestly that is not surprising and totally perfect characterization. I also love that Max defies that, even though like he legit is a huge troublemaker.

Also, the fact that they're compatible from the jump? My hearttttttt.

But our girl is a tailor?! Love that creativeness, would love to see her make Max suits that he flaunts at high dollar events and is all "my mate made these for me, what's better than that?" with pride.

They're so fucking soft and sweet for each other too, please I just love them both so much. The coincidental coordination? I can't....

But seriously the sex? I am panting like a dog and yowling like a cat in heat, when is it my turn? 😭

1000/10 will re-read often.

i cannot get you close enough [alpha!Max Phillips x omega!fem!reader]

[title from the Florence + the Machine song “100 Years”]

summary:

“You have to invite me in, sweetheart.”

Oh. Right. Vampire.

“Come in, please,” you say demurely, and Max’s smile widens as he steps over the threshold into your apartment. He reaches for you again immediately, kicking your door closed and pulling you close.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a polite little Omega.”

rating: E 🚨 (you must be at least 18 years old to read/interact with this fic or anything else on my blog)

warnings: oh lordy, here we go. A/B/O dynamics; one small scene of men being creepy and threatening towards reader (but, perhaps surprisingly, one of those men is not Max); extremely self-indulgent Halloween costumes on the part of your author; a bit of angst; fEeLiNgS; absolutely way too much plot and character backstory for what was supposed to just be porn; Alpha!Max is his own warning; heat sex; biting; blood-drinking; breeding kink; many, many creampies; Max has an absolutely filthy mouth; look, it’s heat sex with Max, it probably (hopefully?) entails exactly what you think it does

word count: 12.4K. You heard me.

a/n: HAPPY (belated, forgive me) BIRTHDAY @ezrasbirdie!!!!!! This one’s for you, babe. Thank you for encouraging me to finally write down my alpha!Max idea and for always being the most supportive, wonderful, amazing friend. I love you to bits and hope you had the loveliest of birthdays. ❤️❤️❤️ also thank you to @whataperfectwasteoftime for being my sounding board while I worked on this and for willingly subjecting yourself to increasingly unhinged screenshots of snippets of heat sex as I wrote them.

Masterlist. Taglist.

———

You meet Max on his very first day.

Water cooler gossip had preceded him:

He’s the youngest person in company history to be made a Senior Director of Sales.

He really turned around a failing branch in Albuquerque, if you know what I mean, and now he’s being brought in here to HQ.

He’s a vampire.

He’s an Alpha.

“A sales guy, a vampire, and an Alpha? Sounds like this guy won the douchebag lottery,” Morgan, your closest work friend, murmurs to you over lunch one day after overhearing some of your colleagues gossiping about the impending new addition to the sales team.

You snort into your salad, fiddling with the silver bracelet on your right wrist - a subconscious tick you did whenever your conversation involved talk of an Alpha.

“Well for better or worse, at least we have lots of experience dealing with men like that around here,” you reply. And lord knows you did.

The company was full of men like that, especially here in its New York headquarters. Men who swaggered around, cocksure and confident whether it was warranted or not (it usually wasn’t), hitting on female subordinates and superiors alike (though there were unfortunately few of the latter).

And good god, the smell. Most Alphas, in your experience, smelled like they’d recently emerged from a dunk tank filled with Axe body spray. It was a scent that pushed its way into your sinuses and took up residence like a squatter, overwhelming and nausea-inducing.

But most Alphas, in your experience, also overlooked you. Why should they give you, a Beta, any more than a glance, when they could otherwise be chasing some poor unmated Omega? And you were glad of it, the Alphas you encountered in your workplace and out in the world rarely giving you more than a passing leer and a sniff before they realized you gave off no scent of your own and moving on.

You can’t imagine trying to navigate through life if they knew the truth: that you were an Omega. You just went to great lengths to hide it.

Modern suppressants worked wonders, acting as birth control while keeping your Omega subdued and limiting your heats to two miserable weekends a year. But pills alone could not hide what you were entirely. The delicate silver chain around your wrist did the rest, the unassuming metal imbued with a powerful charm that erased all outward evidence of your designation, making your Omega undetectable to the senses of others. An old-fashioned relic from a time long before the invention of suppressants, handed down across many generations of your mother’s family.

Apart from your heats, you never took it off, and were grateful for it every day. You were content to make your own quiet — if often lonely — way in the world, confident that if someone ever were to take notice of you, they’d do so because of who you are, not what you are.

And you were comforted by the knowledge that Max Phillips, whoever and whatever he was, would leave you be just like every other Alpha you’ve met, and be none the wiser.

Max’s boss, Hector, an older vampire, brings him by your division as part of an introductory tour on his first morning. You’d been prepared for the perfunctory handshake and sly, flirty grin he gives you as you tell him your name.

“Nice to meet you, Max.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart,” he responds in that overly confident, borderline-inappropriate way typical of both Alphas and salesmen.

You had not been prepared for how handsome he is. The smooth, sharp cut of his jawline looks like it could cut glass. His strong nose is slightly hooked, but it only enhances his features, rather than detracts from them. His skin has a golden hue that’s a richer shade than most vampires you’ve met, who tend to have a paler, more washed-out quality to them. His expensive three-piece suit fits him like a glove (with the exception of his cuffs, which, you note, are a half-inch too long), and it shows off his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He’s going to break hearts all over this building, you can already tell.

But how he looks is nothing compared to how he smells.

It had hit you the moment he’d walked in, strong and overwhelming. But where other Alphas’ scents make you want to retch, this scent makes you go weak in the knees. You can almost feel it curl around you like a living thing, warm and comforting, with a hint of spice and an undertone of something a little sharper, like clean linen, and you wonder if that’s his vampirism’s influence. You want to wear it like a favorite sweater, you want to rub up against this man like a cat, you want him to scent you…

That ridiculous thought makes you shake yourself back to reality. Hector is introducing Max to your coworkers, your brief moment of introduction long over, but you notice Max stealing a glance or two back in your direction. There’s a hint of a frown tugging at his plush lower lip when he does, like he’s confused about something. You resist the urge to spin your bracelet around your wrist, not wanting to draw attention to it.

It’s alright. You’re fine. He can’t smell you. He can’t know. Even with his enhanced vampire senses, your Omega is hidden. And that’s for the best. Just like it always has been.

You watch as Max and Hector round the corner to head to the next suite of offices, and Max’s scent begins to fade. For a moment you have the ludicrous desire to follow him, but you quickly shove it aside and turn back to your work.

You’re a paralegal for the company’s legal department, so you and Max will be working on complete opposite sides of the office from each other. It should be easy enough to avoid him going forward.

And you need to avoid him, because even though you’ve only interacted for a few moments, one thing is painfully obvious:

Max Phillips is, above everything else, trouble.

———

His first month in his new role has Max busier than he’d anticipated. Unlike in his previous roles with the company, working at HQ has him surrounded by more Alphas and more vampires than he’s ever been before. Forget the endless cubicles of lazy mediocre employees spending their time building their fantasy football leagues and watching porn instead of working; the New York office is full of people like him: driven, competitive, ruthless, intelligent. Alphas. Vampires. He can’t coast here, not when he’s amongst so many peers who all have the same sorts of biological and supernatural advantages that he does.

Max has to work hard to keep up and get ahead here, to outmaneuver the other Senior Directors, to suck up to the bosses, to think up the Next Great Sales Idea before someone else does.

He loves it, even if his schedule is more packed than it ever has been. This is what he’s meant to do, this is what he’s so good at, and however much time and effort the company demands of him, he’s happy to give it.

So why, then, during his rare moments of free time, do his thoughts keep returning to the pretty Beta over in Legal?

There’s something about her that he can’t quite figure out. He only sees her occasionally, happening to pass her in the hall or going in or out of the break room with a mug of tea (never coffee, he notes). Rarely he’ll manage to catch her eye, but she always looks away the moment he does.

He can’t help but notice the way her clothes always fit her perfectly; dresses in rich jewel tones that sweep over her beautiful curves; high-waisted trousers that make her petite frame seem tall and statuesque; blouses with jeweled buttons or other delicate details. He should ask her, he thinks, where she buys it all, and how she affords such an immaculately tailored wardrobe on a paralegal’s salary.

Someone brings donuts into the office one day, and Max has the strangest urge to bring her one. Before he can waste too much time thinking about it he plucks one from the box and makes his way over to her desk.

———

You aren’t in your chair, but your purse and coat hanging off the back of it make clear that you’re here somewhere. Max deposits the donut and napkin next to your keyboard, and takes a moment to snoop.

There aren’t a lot of personal items on your desk - a framed photo of an older couple who must be your parents, a coffee mug emblazoned with the name of your alma mater currently holding an assortment of pens, a little figurine of that baby Yoda character from that Star Wars show everyone but he seems to have seen.

But then he notices the drawings. There are a few tacked to the fabric walls of your cubicle, all women in different outfits, done in a combination of pencil, marker, and watercolor, all of the kind you would find in a fashion designers’ sketchbook.

Then Max realizes that there is, in fact, a sketchbook sitting on your desk, large and well-loved but cheap-looking, something you could pick up for a few bucks at any craft store. Is this your hobby? More importantly, why does he suddenly care to know? Max is no judge of art, but the drawings are beautiful, and he can’t help but imagine what these dresses, if made real, would look like on you…

“Can I help you, Mr. Phillips?”

He jumps, turning to find you standing there, watching him be far nosier than he should be around your desk. You’re wearing a sleeveless dress and matching long blazer in deep cream linen today. He glances down at the donut he’s brought you and feels uncharacteristically foolish. What is he even doing here?

“No, sweetheart, I was just…” A coworker - one of the actual lawyers - walks by. “I was just waiting for you, Clark!” He swiftly catches up to the other man and throws an overly friendly arm around his shoulders as they walk back towards Clark’s office. “Buddy, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’ve been told you’re the man to talk to about IRS compliance issues, or, rather, how to get around IRS compliance issues…”

———

Well that was odd.

You sit back down at your desk, reassured that Max doesn’t seem to have opened your sketchbook. You just keep it around in case inspiration strikes at work.

Then you notice the donut, the unmistakable scent of a certain Alpha all over it. Did he - did Max really - ?

Alpha provides, your Omega purrs, and you want to roll your eyes at yourself. Is the bar for men really so low that one of them bringing you a donut should make you want to open your legs for him?

But you also can’t help but smile, finding it a sweet gesture in spite of yourself.

———

You and Max become…workplace acquaintances, shall you say, after that. You don’t force yourself to avoid eye contact with him whenever you pass in the hall. You allow yourself a few moments of small talk when you happen to be in the break room together. You start calling him Max, instead of Mr. Phillips.

His scent doesn’t get any easier to bear, though. Nor does the way his shoulders fill out his suits.

It’s pleasant and superficial, even if you know it can never go any deeper than that. He’s friendly and nice, and even seems to get a little flustered by you sometimes, which you enjoy. And he doesn’t openly hit on you, which is a surprise, one you tell yourself you’re grateful for even if your Omega desperately wishes he would.

It’s all well and good, until it isn’t.

You’re crammed into the back of the elevator one day when you're running late and trying to get up to the office. Max and several of the other Alphas he spends much of his time with get on last, and suddenly you’re privy to an ongoing conversation you soon wish you could tune out.

“—nothing like it. But you’re telling me, Phillips, that you don’t see the appeal? Having a little Omega mate always waiting for you at home? Some insatiable thing always there with a warm meal and a wet cunt?”

You can hear Max make a hmm of acknowledgement at the other Alpha, who apparently sees nothing wrong with sharing his misogynistic views of Omegas in a public elevator surrounded by colleagues. Typical.

“Omegas can be fun, don’t get me wrong,” Max replies. “But they’re also so clingy and always want to talk about bonds and mating and commitment.” His dismissive tone makes very clear what he thinks of those ideas. “Why would I tie myself down when there’s so much of me to go around? Omegas are more trouble than they’re worth.”

It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. There’s two rows of people separating you; Max doesn’t even know you’re in this elevator, let alone that you’re an Omega. You should be glad he feels that way — then if he ever discovered your secret, you wouldn’t have to worry about him being interested.

Omegas are more trouble than they’re worth.

The elevator dings, and Max and the other Alphas file out.

“Just wait until you meet your mate, Phillips. You’ll change your tune real quick.”

“Yeah, and god help whoever ends up mated to this asshole.”

“Shove it, Bret, you’re just still pissed my team outsold yours last month.”

The rest of their conversation fades away, but the inexplicable nugget of pain in your heart does not.

———

The company’s Halloween party is its biggest employee event of the year, surpassing even the annual Christmas soirée. It’s always held at a ritzy hotel in downtown Manhattan, the kind of place you couldn’t afford a room at even for one night. Attendance is optional.

Technically.

But really, it’s one of those events where failure to show up signified a lack of enthusiasm for the company. And even though you approach this job as just a thing you do that lets you afford rent instead of your great calling in life, you don’t want to risk making things more difficult for yourself by skipping out this year. Besides, you just finished an incredible new costume and you’re eager to show it off.

Even if you are cutting it awfully close with your heat this time.

You’ve felt it coming on all week, that telltale prickle of warmth under your skin that won’t dissipate even in the crisp autumn chill that’s finally descended upon New York. The Friday night of the party, it’s almost upon you, but you figure you have until the next morning before it truly arrives. You can make it to the party. Say hi to a few people, make sure your bosses see you there, have one drink, then bail.

You’ve already put together your nest, the pile of blankets and pillows and the odd stuffed animal carefully arranged on your bed. You’ve stocked up on Gatorade and cheese cubes and popsicles, things you can snack on quickly in between rounds of feverishly fucking yourself on one of your knotted toys. You’ve done everything you need to do to make this heat bearable just like you have for your whole adult life, to minimize the deep ache in your core that will never stop reminding you of the one thing that’s missing:

An Alpha.

And you know, deep down, that this time when you’re alone in your nest and begging out loud to no one for an Alpha to come and fill you up, you’ll be picturing a very specific Alpha in particular.

You try to put Max from your mind as you zip yourself into your dress and put the finishing touches on your hair and makeup, making sure your silver bracelet is secure around your wrist. You’ve managed to keep your interactions with Max to a minimum in the two weeks since overhearing him in the elevator, and that is for the best.

Nothing but trouble, you remind yourself. He can be absolutely nothing but trouble.

———

You are sure that most of the time, the ballroom where the party is held each year is a perfectly elegant place. Multiple chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and large gilded mirrors on the walls lend the place an elegant, old-fashioned, Gatsby-esque vibe.

Unfortunately, whoever at your company is in charge of planning the party insists on ruining the natural classiness of the room by putting a light-up dance floor in the middle of it, over which looms a DJ playing tacky remixes of “Thriller” alongside whatever counts as Top 40 these days. The walls are flooded with aggressively purple uplighting like you’re at every wedding in New Jersey circa-2012, and there’s a bar shoved into every corner serving every liquor imaginable and featuring multiple bowls of questionable punch on beds of dry ice. It’s like all the loud, drunken Halloween parties you went to in college, but with a much larger budget.

But it’s fine. Get in, be seen, one drink, get out.

You smooth your hands over your skirt as you walk in. Your costume with its petticoat is a far cry from the skimpier outfits many of the other women in your office tend to gravitate towards for this party, but you don’t mind.

You’ve been making your own Halloween costumes since you were a teenager. Your mother made them for you growing up, and passed on her love of sewing and fashion to you. Last year, you were the Scarlet Witch, handmade headpiece and all. The year before that, you came to the party in a replica of Belle’s blue and white dress from the beginning of Beauty and the Beast.

This year’s costume is more obscure, but near and dear to your heart. The bodice is blood-red satin, with a swooping boat-shaped neckline that shows off just a hint of your breasts. The fabric bunches together in off-the-shoulder sleeves that stop at your elbows, with a scrap of delicate ivory lace attached to the end of each one. The skirt falls in ruffled tiers of black, but for an open panel at the front that shows off the layers of white petticoat underneath. Black lace bows cut across the white three times, and the silhouette makes your waist look small while the skirt flares and moves like waves when you walk.

You’ve built a few pockets into the skirt for practical reasons, but otherwise, it’s a damn near exact replica of Catherine Zeta-Jones’ dress from The Mask of Zorro.

You quickly find Morgan and your small group of work friends giggling over drinks in a corner, and they appropriately ohh and ahh over your outfit, having come to look forward to seeing what you’ll come up with for your costume each year. A trace of Max’s scent reaches you, but it’s faint, and hard to detect under the myriad scents of the other Alphas in the room. He’s here, somewhere, but you don’t see him. Which doesn’t matter, because you aren’t looking for him, despite the way your nearly-in-heat Omega is growing increasingly wild over it.

You’re halfway through your one drink when it gets to be too much — too many people, too many scents, music loud enough you have to shout to be heard, a room that feels far too warm. Pinpricks of light start to dance at the edges of your vision, and your bodice feels too tight; you can’t get enough air. You excuse yourself from your friends, and take your drink into the hall.

You wander until you find a much more quiet corner where the noise from the party is subdued. There are several padded velvet benches along the wall and you sink onto one with a sigh, closing your eyes and trying to determine whether you’ve stayed long enough and whether you’ll be missed if you head home now. What you wouldn’t give to be able to snap your fingers and skip the ride home, to just be magically transported straight to your cozy nest in your dark, quiet apartment…

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t notice the way a particular scent grows stronger, indicating that you’re no longer alone.

“Buenos noches, Señorita Montero.”

Your eyes fly open.

It’s Max. It has to be, the way his delicious scent sinks into every inch of you, invading your senses and making your stomach clench. But for a split second you blink at him in confusion, forgetting for a moment that you’re at a Halloween party, because the person standing before you isn’t Max.

It’s Zorro.

Zorro, in head-to-toe black, from his boots to his (tighter than in the movie) pants to the billowy shirt that exposes a significant amount of his chest. A fancy-looking sword hangs from his belt, his shoulders draped in a cape that falls to behind his knees. The trademark black mask covers his eyes, but the wry twist of his lips gives the illusion away — that look he’s giving you is all Max.

You recover from your initial surprise, laughing at your serendipitous coordination.

“Well, if it isn’t Zorro himself,” you say, playing along. “I’m surprised to see you at a party — you’re not here to cause trouble, are you? Should I be worried that there’s danger afoot?”

“Tonight, I am only here for the entertainment,” he replies, in a surprisingly accurate imitation of Antonio Banderas’s accent. “And to perhaps enjoy the company of a beautiful lady.”

You chuckle, but the humor’s gone out of it.

“Well if I see any, I’ll be sure to send them your way.”

Max frowns.

“On the contrary,” he says softly. “I’m speaking to such a woman right now.”

You flush, your body growing even warmer at his compliment.

“Can I sit?” He asks, dropping the accent. You gesture to the bench cushion beside you.

He settles next to you, maintaining a respectful distance and taking care not to step or sit on any of your dress.

“I had such a crush on Catherine Zeta-Jones in this movie,” he admits. “It’s still one of my favorites.”

“I had such a crush on her and Antonio Banderas in this movie,” you tell him. “That scene where they dance together basically invented sexual chemistry.”

Max nods in agreement.

“Where did you ever find a costume of Elena’s dress from the party?”

“I made it.”

“You…made it?”

“I’ve always made my own Halloween costumes. I make most of my own clothes, actually.” You’ve also got a shelf holding several awards from cosplay competitions you’ve accumulated over the past few years, but you don’t mention that to him. He doesn’t need to know the full extent of how nerdy you are.

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise (or at least, you think he does under the mask).

“So that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you always look so good. I mean — ” if he still had the ability, you think he might be blushing right now. It’s adorable. “Why your clothes always look so good. On you. Why everything always seems to be…well-tailored.”

“Well-tailored,” you repeat, your Omega preening at his praise, odd though it is. “That’s one of the more unique compliments I’ve ever been given, Max. Thank you.”

He grins at you for a moment, before his features soften into something else.

“I haven’t seen you around the office as much lately,” he says quietly. “Everything okay?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. Your fingers go to your bracelet, the metal cool and comforting.

You can’t tell him you’ve been avoiding him, let alone tell him why.

“I’ve just been really busy lately, I guess. Some days I feel like I never have a free minute to leave my desk at all.”

“That’s a shame,” Max says, shifting just an inch closer to you on the bench. “But perhaps if you don’t have time at work, we could find a time to see each other outside of the office? Maybe…I could take you to dinner next week?”

Oh my god. Is he — did he just — ?

It’s not a come-on, it’s not a lewd proposition, Max Phillips is genuinely asking you out. You’re sitting here dressed as Zorro and Elena and it feels like you’re no more than five damn minutes away from your heat and Max Phillips is asking you out.

You want so badly to say yes. Your Omega is screaming at you to say yes (and then jump his bones right here in this hallway).

But you can’t. There are so many good reasons why you can’t.

That overwhelmed feeling is starting to suck you under again. You can’t think clearly, not when he’s this close to you and you’re this close to your heat. You have to get out of here.

You stand up.

“I’m sorry, Max, I — ”

“Whoa, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” He stands and reaches out a hand to steady you, but you step away before he can.

“Nothing, I just, I don’t feel well. I should be getting home.”

“Let me walk you out — ”

“No!” You nearly shout it at him, and the look that crosses his face makes you feel like you’ve just kicked a puppy.

“I’m sorry, Max. Let’s talk about this in the office next week, okay?”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he says softly.

You beat a hasty retreat for the exit, and don’t look back.

———

The entrance to the hotel is on a more quiet side street rather than one of the main avenues, and you’re grateful not to be thrust into the ebb and flow of a crowded Manhattan sidewalk the moment you step outside. But it also means there aren’t many cabs venturing down this way, and you know you’ll never make it if you have to take the subway. You whip out your phone and call an Uber.

Eight minutes away. You can handle that. Eight minutes in the fresh, chilly air, eight minutes to clear your head of the Alpha your body is craving more desperately with each passing minute. Eight minutes, then twenty minutes drive to your apartment. Less than half an hour until you’re home, until you’re safe in your nest.

“Well now, look at what we have here.”

Shit.

Three Alphas are stumbling their way down the sidewalk towards you. Their scent and their inability to walk straight making it very clear they’ve been drinking.

“Look at this pretty little mouse,” one of them says.

Maybe if you just ignore them, they’ll keep walking past you.

“Little mouse is all dressed up like she’s going to a party,” another says.

No such luck. They stop only a few feet from you, taking up the entire sidewalk. Each of them is nearly a foot taller than you are, and they’re blocking your path back into the hotel.

“You wanna come party with us, pretty thing?”

“No, thank you.” You try to say it calmly, but your voice wavers.

“Aww, don’t be like that, honey, we can show you a good time!”

The third one leans towards you and inhales.

“Shit, she’s just a Beta.” But that doesn’t seem to deter them either.

“We can still have fun with a Beta. C’mon little mouse, come have some fun with us.”

“I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.”

“Maybe she’s just never had a real Alpha show her a good time,” the first one says.

“I bet we can make you change your tune real quick, honey — ”

It happens so fast. The second Alpha reaches out to grab your arm, but as you flinch away he catches your wrist instead. When you try to jerk away from him, his thumb snags on your bracelet, and you watch in horror as the clasp breaks.

It falls soundlessly to the ground. But the Alphas harassing you barely notice, all of them immediately interested in something else.

Your skin immediately breaks out in a cold sweat, your scent glands on either side of your neck now visible, red and swollen. And you can see the moment your scent — your real scent — hits them. The three men seem to grow bigger, all of their Alpha instincts triggered at once by the sudden scent of an Omega in heat right in front of them. All three of them breathe deep, and you’ve never felt more like prey.

“Not a Beta,” the third one growls, practically licking his lips.

“Look at that, it’s a little Omega mouse,” the second one says, and his malicious delight makes your blood run cold. The bitter taste of adrenaline floods your mouth. What should you do? If you scream, someone from the hotel has to hear you, right?

“Looks like this is our lucky night,” the first Alpha grins. “Come here, Omega.”

You fight it, you try to fight the compulsion of an Alpha’s command with everything you have, but it’s useless. You take an involuntary step towards him—

But suddenly the Alpha isn’t standing in front of you anymore. Some invisible force yanks him away from you and flings him clear across the street. There’s a painful-sounding crunch as he lands on the windshield of someone’s parked car and shatters it. The effect of his command dissipates.

His companions are just as confused as you are until the next moment they find themselves both shoved up against the building, a figure dressed entirely in black holding them up with a hand on each of their throats.

Max.

The sound he makes is inhuman, a warning snarl that starts deep in his chest. Alphas are strong by nature, but against a vampire, there’s no winning.

There is only one predator here now.

“‘Evening, boys.” He must be showing them his fangs, you can hear it affect his speech. “Looks like you’ve chosen a lovely night to die, hm?”

“Max! Don’t!” You place a placating hand on his shoulder. These men frightened you, yes, and would have done who knows what else, but you didn’t want them to die for it. And more importantly, you didn’t want Max to get in trouble for killing them.

“They threatened you,” he seethes, his grip on their necks tightening. “They touched you.”

“They’re not worth it, Max. Please, I’m safe now.”

He doesn’t let them go. But then the first cramp of your heat hits you, and you gasp in pain.

“Max, I need you. I — please, Alpha.”

That gets through to him. He cocks his head like he’s listening for something.

“Sounds like your friend is still alive over there. You’d better get him to a hospital. And if I ever see any of you again…”

He throws each Alpha one-handed to the ground like they weigh nothing, his point very clear. They pick themselves up, wheezing, and go collect their companion before slinking off into the night.

Max gathers you into his arms, your whole body starting to shake.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, “I have you, I have you, you’re alright.”

“How did you know?” You mumble the question into his shirt.

“I could smell you. All of a sudden. Your scent — you were afraid.”

He tilts your chin up so he can look at you.

“Omega?”

There are so many different questions contained in that one word, but you only have one word for him in reply.

“Alpha.”

Then he’s kissing you, his lips soft but demanding and you yield to him instantly.

“Omega,” he breathes, kissing his way down your throat till he reaches your gland, tracing it with the tip of his nose, his lips, his tongue, scenting you. “Omega, all this time…”

You cling to him, your hands scrabbling to pull his shirt free so you can get your hands on his skin, though you’re not sure to what end.

There is every chance you would have let this man fuck you right here on the sidewalk if not for the interruption of your Uber driver honking at you, having finally arrived.

“Oh shit,” you say, suddenly coming back to yourself. “That’s my ride.”

“Let me make sure you get home okay,” Max sounds like he’s out of breath, an impossible circumstance for a vampire. “I swear to you, sweetheart, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, but please, just — let me make sure you’re safe.”

The absolute last thing you want is to be alone right now, so you nod.

Max bends down and scoops something off the concrete, a thin silver chain glinting in his hand.

“My bracelet,” you say, having forgotten all about it.

Max turns it over in his palm, and seems to understand. He loops it around your wrist, despite the fact that it’s broken.

“I need you to hold this right here until we get you home. Can you do that for me, baby?”

You can, and you tell him so. When you hold the ends together, the charm re-activates, camouflaging your designation once more. When Max slides into the Uber next to you, you think you see some of the tension leave his body, that at least he won’t have to sit in this confined space with the scent of an Omega going into heat. He settles his hand on your knee, and his touch helps calm you.

You pass the drive to your apartment almost in complete silence. You use the time to consider your options. Max knows you’re an Omega. He knows, and he helped you anyway. In fact, based on the hungry way he kissed and held you back there, maybe you could ask him to help you a little more…

By the time you arrive at your place, you’ve come to a decision. You’ll ask Max to help you with your heat, but that’s all. If he’s willing to do that, despite his stated aversion to Omegas, you can make it through the next 48 hours without doing too many of those Omega things he finds so distasteful. You won’t alienate him completely. You will not be more trouble than you’re worth.

Forty-eight hours, and that’s all you’ll give yourself with him. There’s no use getting attached and hoping for more now that he knows the truth. You’ll ask Max to be yours for the weekend, and no more.

When you finally make it to your front door, it takes you several attempts to get your key in the lock. Max hovers behind you, a hand on your lower back, like he can’t help but touch you.

You turn to him.

“Thank you, Max. I don’t know what would have happened if — ” You can’t even finish the thought.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, but I’m glad I was there.”

“Listen, about my designation, I - ”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Max says, shaking his head at you. “And besides, I think I got a pretty good example of why you’d hide it a few minutes ago.”

You both fall silent, just looking at each other, and it’s obvious neither of you wants to part.

“Do you want to — would you stay?”

His lips quirk up.

“What I mean is, it’s my heat, and I was wondering if you…”

“I know it is,” he says quietly. “Since the moment I caught your scent at the hotel, I’ve known. You’re in heat, baby. You want me to stay and take care of you?”

You whine, but that’s answer enough.

“Good,” Max nods. “I want that too.”

You reach behind you and somehow get your door open, letting your bracelet fall to the floor. There’s a moment of confusion as you don’t feel Max follow you inside, his hands slipping from you and for the first time since outside the hotel he isn’t touching you. You turn to face him as anxiety rises, fast and irrational: is he having second thoughts? Does he not want to do this? Is he going to leave you to face your heat alone after all?

These questions must be written all over your face because he gives you a small smile and gently says:

“You have to invite me in, sweetheart.”

Oh. Right. Vampire.

“Come in, please,” you say demurely, and Max’s smile widens as he steps over the threshold into your apartment. He reaches for you again immediately, kicking your door closed and pulling you close.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a polite little Omega.” And even that bit of praise makes you shiver in his arms, slick starting to leak into your underwear. Max’s nostrils flare and you know he can smell it. Perhaps you should be more worried that you’ve essentially invited a fox into a henhouse, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Alpha is here, and he wants you.

You’d assumed the moment Max got you alone he’d be all over you, and you can feel the tension in his body and smell the desire pouring off of him, but he holds himself back, pressing almost lazy kisses against your lips while he holds you flush against him, his hardening cock thick in his trousers.

“Where do you want to do this, pretty girl? Tell me now, before I strip you down and knot you against your front door.”

Another whine escapes you, your Omega having no objections to that plan, but the rational part of your brain prevails.

“Could we - ” you start, trying to take a step backwards towards your bedroom, “I made - ”

Max grins against your cheek, moving with you down the hall without letting any space come between you.

“Did you make a nest, baby? You make a nice, soft place for me to fuck you in? You wanna show me?”

You nod furiously, pulling him back down to kiss you as you both stumble inelegantly into your bedroom.

———

Max takes care as he undresses you, peeling you out of the layers of your costume without damaging it.

When he’s finally got you bare, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you, just once, before pulling away.

“Go get in your nest, baby, and let me get you ready.”

You obey him eagerly, making yourself comfortable among your blankets while Max strips, his body just as broad as his suits make him seem, but not overly muscled. His cock is big, thicker and longer than any you’ve taken, and you can’t wait to have it inside you.

He strokes himself lazily as he kneels on the bed and looks at you, a little wave of self-consciousness rising in your chest. Does he like how you look? Does he like your nest? You press your thighs together, suddenly worried about what this Alpha might think of you.

But Max quickly puts those fears to rest.

“Spread for me.”

You part your legs, and Max lets go of his cock to run his hands up your legs, just barely ghosting the tips of his fingers over the lips of your cunt, already shiny with slick.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “You gorgeous girl. Made such a good nest, made such a perfect place for me to breed you.”

Your cunt bottoms out at his words, your Omega all happy and warm at his praise. He drapes himself over you and proceeds to cover your whole body with kisses, starting with your lips, your throat, your glands. He plays with your breasts, cupping them in his palms, and sucks and bites at your nipples until you’re a squirming mess beneath him.

He’s sucking a little bruise into your tummy, just next to your belly button, when he finally breaches you with his fingers, three of them filling you with ease.

“This okay, baby?”

“Mmhmm.” You bite down on your lip and roll your hips, wanting him deeper.

“You’re so wet already, Omega. You wanna cum for me?”

Yes, yes you tell him, and he curls his fingers and puts his thumb on your clit. In a matter of minutes he has you rippling around his fingers, slick gushing onto the bed below you.

“Good girl.” Max sticks his fingers in his mouth, licking up every drop of your slick. He leans down and kisses you, his tongue possessive as it tangles with your own, sharing the sweet flavor of your slick with you.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart. Get on your hands and knees for me.”

His cock pushes into you slowly once you’re in position, his hands on your hips holding you firmly, not letting you fuck yourself back on him.

“You’ll take it slowly this first time, Omega,” he says, finally seating himself to the hilt. He gives you time to adjust, until finally your patience breaks.

“Please move, Alpha. I’m ready, I wanna feel you.”

He obliges, driving into you with long, powerful strokes. The tip of him bumps up against your cervix, stretching you on his cock, and it’s indescribably good. His fingers had been one thing, but this is something else entirely. You’re surrounded by him, drowning in his scent, and it works you up to another climax astonishingly quickly.

“Alpha, I’m — I’m gonna cum — ”

Max reaches down to rub at your clit and you clamp down around him, keening his name.

“Yes, Omega, let me feel it. Fuck, you get so fucking tight when you cum.”

He plants one hand by your head, fingers splayed wide. His thumb rests barely an inch from your face, and without thought you stick out your tongue and lick it. Max hisses above you and you do it again, shifting your chin so you can take his thumb fully into your mouth.

“Oh, baby girl,” he growls, slamming his hips against yours, “you need it, don’t you? You need me in every hole? I’ll fucking give it to you. Need me to fuck your ass next? I’d love to see you all stretched out on my cock, watch you try to cram my knot inside that pretty little asshole - ”

You manage to garble out a little mhm around his thumb and Max moves his other hand to your shoulder for better leverage, trying to go faster, to get himself deeper inside you.

And it feels so good, his cock filling your pussy, his fingers in your mouth pushing you even further into the submissive haze of your heat. Drawing your Omega further up from where you’d buried her for so long, until she rises to the surface, set free. It feels good to be used, to be a good set of holes for Alpha to fill as he wishes, to have such a clear and useful purpose.

“You ready to take my knot, baby? You gonna take it all for me? Gonna let me breed you?”

“Yes, Alpha,” you moan, and Max comes undone. You feel his knot swell and catch inside you, locking you together and he cums and cums, filling you over and over with his spend. He trails kisses across your back, murmuring praises into your skin.

“You okay, sweetheart? Does it feel good? Such a good Omega for me, taking my knot, taking all my cum. Gonna make me such pretty babies, aren’t you? Gonna keep all my cum inside you until it takes, hm?”

You try to lift your hips, try and press yourself even closer to him. He won’t get you pregnant, he can’t. Vampires only shoot blanks, but when your heat takes control of you, your body doesn’t care about such technicalities. You’re so eager for it, you want it so badly.

And the small part of your brain that’s still capable of rational thought wonders how the hell you’ll ever come back from this, from him. Now that you know how good this can be, how can you ever go back to going through your heats alone?

You are, in more ways than one, so, so fucked.

———

Max is a surprisingly attentive Alpha. When you make to get out of bed to get something to drink, he pulls you back in, going to get it himself with a small growl of “stay.” He brings you back a bottle of Gatorade and a glass of water, along with some crackers and trail mix you’d left out on your counter. When you reach for the water, he makes a noise of discontent.

“No, let me,” he says, sitting down next to you and holding the glass to your lips. He looks a little sheepish at insisting on doing this for you, and it occurs to you that his Alpha instincts are probably riding him as hard as your Omega instincts are riding you. His innate need to care for you a perfect compliment to your need to be cared for.

Max tips the glass up and watches as you take several long sips.

“Good,” he murmurs, eyes on your throat as you swallow. When you’re done, he sets the glass on your bedside table. A drop of water clings to your bottom lip, and he leans over to kiss it away. He licks along the seam of your lips, politely asking for entrance, and you happily grant it. He tugs you into his lap and you can feel the fever rising again, your brief reprieve from the all-encompassing need to be fucked nearly over.

Max’s eyes darken and you know he can smell it, the way your body is starting to get you ready to be bred again.

“What do you need, baby?”

You squirm in his arms.

“You, Alpha.”

The grin that splits his face is so cocky that under normal circumstances you’d be tempted to smack it off him. But doing so is the last thing on your mind when he twists you around so your back hits the mattress, your entire field of vision taken up by your Alpha.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he coos, reaching down to line himself up with your entrance, “that’s fucking right.”

———

This is the odd routine you find yourselves in: your mutual desire rising to an inevitable peak, culminating in a furious round of mating that ends with Max’s knot filling you over and over with his seed. But once you’re both temporarily sated, you get periods of lucidity to rest. Sometimes you take a short nap on Max’s chest, other times he feeds you from the plethora of snacks he’s fetched from your kitchen.

One time he carries you into the shower, refusing to let you walk there on your own. You intend to finally get all of your makeup off and product out of your hair from the night before, and you do, but barely have you done so before Max has you pressed up against the tile, frantic to replace the scent of him on you that you’ve washed down the drain.

He fills you again but doesn’t knot you, instead wrapping you both in a towel and rolling you back into your nest, still damp all over. He wedges his shoulders between your legs, spreads you open with his thumbs, and just looks, mesmerized. Then he leans in and licks up the steady trickle of slick and cum that leaks from you with a groan.

“You taste like me, baby. Look at how much of me you have inside you. You can’t even keep it all in.”

He gathers what his tongue missed on his fingers and pushes it back inside you.

“That’s what - ngh - that’s what your knot is for, Alpha,” you pant.

Max nods sagely in agreement.

“It is, Omega, that’s true. But I think I need to make some room for more before I breed this needy pussy again, don’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply before diving in with his tongue once more.

———

“How long have you been a paralegal?”

“Since I finished college.”

In all the things people told you about what to expect during your heat, “making small talk with an Alpha while you wait for his knot to go down” was not one of them.

But you find you don’t mind it. Max is surprisingly easy to talk to. He’s sharp and funny and laughs at your wit. He asks you more questions about yourself while you’re locked together on his knot than you’ve been asked during the entirety of some first dates you’ve been on, and seems to genuinely care about your answers.

You like him. A lot. Fuck.

“My parents want me to go to law school,” you tell him. “Being a paralegal is a way of appeasing them, though I don’t know for how much longer.”

“You don’t want to be a lawyer?”

You shake your head no, brushing against Max’s chin from where he’s lying on his side behind you.

“I like my job well enough. It’s predictable, and I’m good at it, and it’s good money and rarely insane hours. But the law isn’t my grand calling in life.”

“What is?”

You burrow your head into the pillow.

“It’s silly.”

Max gently runs his hand up your side, trailing his fingertips along the outer edge of your breast.

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

You take a deep breath.

“You know how I told you I make most of my clothes?” He hums the affirmative. “I’ve done it a few times for other people, too. A few formal dresses, some Halloween costumes, even a cosplay outfit or two, all for friends or their kids. If I could do anything…I think I’d do that. Make beautiful clothes for people that make them happy.”

Max is quiet for a moment. Then he asks:

“Why don’t you?”

You snort. “What?”

“Why don’t you? I’m sure you’d be amazing at it.”

“I can’t exactly work full-time and take commissions, Max.”

“So quit your job.”

You almost sit up in surprise before remembering at the very last second that you need to be careful how much you move right now.

“Quit my job? Just like that?”

“Why not?”

“I — I wouldn’t even know where to start. I don’t know the first thing about how to set up a business.”

“That’s okay, I do.”

You freeze.

“What do you mean?”

You feel him shrug.

“Well, not to brag or anything, but you may have noticed that I’m kind of amazing at the whole business thing. If you need help setting up a business plan and getting things off the ground, I could help.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. He isn’t yours, you remind yourself. So what if he just casually offered to help your biggest life dream come true? Who knows if he even really means it. It’s dangerous to get too close to him, it’s dangerous to let him into your life that way. This is. Just. Temporary.

“That’s…very kind of you, Max.”

“I know. I’m really quite something.”

You reach back and elbow him in the ribs the best you can from this angle, but he just chuckles and curls himself back around you.

“What about you?” You say, eager to change the subject. “Why sales?”

“I like making money and I’m very good at it,” he says simply.

“Typical Alpha.” You roll your eyes.

He tickles your side in retaliation.

“Hey!”

You giggle, trying not to move in a way that will pull painfully at his knot.

“I just mean…Alphas like to win. Lots of opportunities to do that in sales, where you have exact numbers that can show exactly how much you’re dominating your competition.”

Max playfully nips at your ear.

“I guess that’s true. I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

He curls his hand over your hip and grinds his knot even further into you, making you gasp.

“Although, Omega, speaking of dominating…”

———

Max is asleep next to you. At least, you’re pretty sure he is. Do vampires need to sleep?

Regardless, his eyes are closed, and he’s unnaturally still in a way that’s a bit unnerving. His chest doesn’t rise or fall, he doesn’t snore or twitch, his pulse doesn’t beat beneath his skin. Still, he must be tired. You’ve probably exhausted him. He’s sure as hell worn you out over the last 24 hours.

But your skin still feels flushed and hot, your body insisting that it’s time again. Slick leaks steadily onto your thighs, your cunt starting to throb with the need to cum. You hate the idea of waking Max up, hate the idea of seeming that desperate and needy, of embodying all of the things you know Max doesn’t like about Omegas.

Maybe you don’t have to bother him this time. Maybe if you can just sneak your hand down towards your clit, if you can just get yourself off one time, it’ll trick your body into calming down until Max wakes and can fuck you properly again. If you can just be quiet…

You circle your clit with two fingers and bite back a small sigh of relief. It’s nowhere near the same as when Max does it, but hopefully it’ll suffice until -

“What do you think you’re doing, Omega?”

You freeze, turning your head to see Max now wide awake and pinning you with a stare that lets you know you are in a lot of trouble.

“N-nothing.”

“Nothing?” Max hums, shifting until he’s hovering over you. He pulls your hand away from your cunt and secures both your wrists above your head in a one-handed grip. He trails his other hand down your body until he’s petting gently at your clit.

“It looked like you were touching yourself. Were you?” His tone is calm, but there’s a wicked gleam in his eye that says otherwise.

“Yes.”

Max tuts, his fingers still barely stroking you, enough to make you squirm but not enough to get you anywhere near your climax.

“I - I thought you were asleep,” you say by way of apology.

“Vampires don’t sleep. We - ” Max searches for the right word, “rest, in a way. But if this pretty little pussy needs to cum, all you have to do is say so.”

He dips his head to pull your nipple into his mouth before letting it go with a dramatically loud pop.

His fingers start to move faster, pressing more firmly against you, touching you in a way you know will make you cum, but you’re still so empty. You need something to cum on, you need to be full of Max’s cock. You can feel it hard and hot against your thigh as he lightly grinds it against you.

“Max, please, I need to feel you - ”

“Oh no, sweetheart, I don’t think so,” he tells you sternly. “You decided to take this orgasm for yourself when you thought I was asleep, you decided to make yourself cum without being filled up, and now that’s exactly what you’ll get. Naughty girls don’t get to cum on their Alpha’s knot.”

You writhe underneath him, seeking more stimulation, but he’s so much stronger than you are that you’ll never be able to get more than exactly as much as he’s willing to give you.

“It’s not enough, Alpha,” you whine.

“Shh,” Max hushes you, his fingers never stopping. “Of course it isn’t. But punishments aren’t supposed to be satisfying. Cum for me like this, just this once, and then I’ll give you what you need, okay?”

You can’t do anything other than nod, and it isn’t long before you’re cumming, your orgasm barely more than a few ripples of pleasure compared to the tidal wave you know Max is capable of giving you when he’s fucking you full. He watches your pussy clench weakly around nothing.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos at you with false pity. “That wasn’t a good one at all, was it? See what happens when you don’t let your Alpha take care of you like he should?”

“Yes, Alpha,” you say meekly, trying to appear as submissive and compliant as possible.

“You still wanna be my good girl?”

You can’t tell him yes fast enough.

“Then turn over, sweetheart. Show me all of that pretty cunt.”

You scramble to obey, going down on your forearms with your hips in the air. Max spreads your cheeks apart and inspects you, everything on display for him. You nearly jump when you feel him run his tongue all the way from your clit to your little puckered hole, tasting every inch of you.

“Mine,” you hear him murmur, almost to himself. Then you feel his cock nudge against your folds, and in one swift stroke he fills you. You don’t get even a second to breathe before he starts to move.

Max cups the back of your neck, his hand large enough that he can reach both of your scent glands at the same time, and presses his fingers and thumb into them. The message is very clear: submit. You instantly go limp like a ragdoll, the pleasure overwhelming. Another orgasm rolls through you from the stimulation, this one so strong you’re reduced to whimpering and drooling onto your blankets as you quietly pulse around him.

“Oh fuck, atta girl, atta girl,” Max grunts behind you. “This is what you really needed, isn’t it? Just needed a firm hand and a big cock to take care of you, hmm?”

And it is. It really fucking is.

———

Keeping track of time isn’t the highest priority for you at the moment, but you’re vaguely aware that Saturday night has bled into Sunday morning has bled into Sunday afternoon. The periods of rest you get are slowly becoming longer. Another twelve hours or so, and you’ll be almost entirely out of your heat. Normally, you’d be counting down the minutes. Instead, you’re dreading having to give Max — or at least, this fantasy you’ve built with Max over the past two days — up.

You’re lightly dozing and trying to forget about it when you become aware of Max spooning himself up behind you. His cock is hard against your ass, which isn’t surprising, but what is surprising is the way he nuzzles into your neck, kissing and lapping at your gland before moving up and fixating on a spot just under your jaw—where you know he can hear your heart beat.

“Max?”

“Mm?” Is his only response. He hooks an arm over your stomach and pulls you closer, precome smearing from the tip of his cock across the small of your back. He sucks at the skin of your neck, rolling it between his lips and giving you what you’re sure will be a hell of a hickie. You hiss at the feeling, and the sound snaps him out of it.

“Fuck.” He sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Max? Are you alright?” You reach out and lay what you intend to be a comforting hand on his forearm, but he goes still under your touch.

Run, whispers some primal part of your brain, some base instinct that understands before the rest of you does. Max runs a hand over his face and nods, but his gaze falls to your wrist and fixates there.

Right where you know your pulse is beating.

“You’re hungry,” you breathe, and the instant you say it you know you’re right. “You need to feed.”

“I normally shouldn’t, not for a few more days. Though in my defense,” Max says with his typical dark humor, “I’m expending an amount of energy I wasn’t necessarily anticipating this weekend.”

A pang of guilt lances through you. More trouble than they’re worth.

“No, hey, it’s alright.” Max places two fingertips gently on one of your glands, responding instantly to the distressed change in your scent and going to soothe you. “I have people I can call.”

He shifts away from you like he means to get up, like he means to leave your nest, and you tighten your hold on his arm.

“Just feed from me.”

Max shakes his head.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” It comes out perhaps more harshly than he intends. He turns back and crowds you into the bed, cupping your face in his hands.

“What if I can’t stop? You smell so good, you have no idea how much I want to devour you, consume you, in every way you’ll have me. You smell better than anyone I’ve ever - ”

He cuts himself off with a groan, burying his nose in your skin and licking a long stripe up the skin of your sternum.

It should scare you, the way he talks. You should heed the little voice that now screams danger, predator, run. But instead you thread your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, grinding your hips up against him, and all you can think of is yes.

“You won’t hurt me,” you say, and you mean it. “I trust you. You can have me, in whatever ways you want.”

You tilt your chin up and to the side, exposing your neck to his wild gaze. An invitation, followed by words you know he cannot possibly resist:

“Please, Alpha. Take it, it’s yours.”

Max snarls, flipping you both around so that you’re in his lap, the hard length of him trapped between you. The first hint of his knot is already starting to pulse at the base in his excitement. You roll your hips, rubbing your clit along the underside of his cock, automatically seeking that friction. His hands wrap around your waist and egg you on, your slick starting to coat him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, can you take me again? Let me be inside you when I - yes, that’s it baby, there you go - ”

He lifts you up just enough that you can sink down on him, and despite how wet you are and how many times you’ve done this it’s still a delicious stretch. There’s something about this position, too, where you’re face to face and chest to chest, that feels more intimate than the other times he’s fucked you. Max’s skin may be cool to the touch, but his eyes are so warm, a rich, deep, unrelenting brown you’d never truly noticed before.

He’s so beautiful, you can’t believe he’s yours.

For the weekend, you remind yourself. Just until your heat is done. You have to try your best not to lose sight of that fact.

You duck your head down to press your nose into the skin of his neck. He has a pair of scent glands here too that match yours, larger but usually less obvious. Now, though, you can see how they’re swollen and reddened like your own, and the little bird called ego flutters in your chest that that is all your doing. You swipe your tongue over one, and the taste of his pheromones is exquisite. It makes you clench around him.

“Come here,” he murmurs, guiding you up with a hand on the back of your neck. He kisses you, slow and deep, gliding his tongue across yours like he’s trying to capture the taste of himself from you.

“Are you sure?” He asks, grasping onto his very last thread of control.

“I’m sure,” you reply, offering him your neck again.

“No,” he tells you, one hand circling your wrist and pulling the inside of your arm towards his mouth. “Not your neck, baby. Too much risk.” You open your mouth to protest, but Max reaches down to circle your clit with his thumb and your ability to form complete sentences deserts you.

“Cum for me first. Let me make this so fucking good for you.”

You’re not sure how he could make this feel better than it already does, stretched on his cock that hits something deep and spine-tingling inside you at this angle, his thumb expertly working your clit and pushing you quickly towards your orgasm.

You hang onto his shoulder with your free hand and rock against him. Max rubs his nose against the soft skin just below the inside of your elbow and breathes you in. At first you think it’s a trick of the light, but then you realize his features really are starting to change. His skin darkens to a ruddy red. His brow bone thickens and distorts his face. His eyes go black, and when he speaks, you can see a hint of his fangs.

“Don’t be afraid, baby. You’re doing so well, doing so good for me. Perfect little Omega, giving her Alpha everything he wants, everything he needs - ”

But you’re not afraid; the very last thing you feel at this moment is fear. Max presses his lips against your arm, right where you know he’s going to bite you, drink from you, and it sends you over the edge.

You cry out and Max growls in triumph, finally sinking his fangs into you as you cum. It hurts for the barest moment before the pain blurs into pleasure, a numbing, tingling warmth emanating from his bite. His other hand leaves your clit and grips your hip hard enough you know you’ll bear marks from that too, pulling you down onto his cock as his knot swells and catches inside you.

It’s so much, it’s too much - you’re sure you’ve never cum so hard or felt so good in your life, and all you can do is hold Max’s head against where he suckles at your arm, breathing a litany of yes, Alpha, yes, against his temple.

Eventually, you start to come down from your high, the two of you still locked together by Max’s knot. He lifts his head away from you, blood coating his mouth, and presses his forehead (which morphs back into its usual size, shape, and color) against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You nod, or at least you think you do. You haven’t been awake long, but you’re so tired all of a sudden, and are content to fall against Max and sleep.

———

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up. I need you to wake up for me, c’mon now.”

Max strokes a hand up and down your arm, gently shaking you into wakefulness. It takes longer than usual for you to fight your way up to consciousness, your head a different kind of fuzzy than what you typically feel during your heat. Finally you blink your eyes open to see Max above you, and you swear you see relief cross his face when you do. He cups your cheek in one massive palm.

“There she is, my pretty Omega.”

You smile, leaning into his hand, sleep already trying to claim you again.

“No baby, stay awake for me. I need you to sit up, okay? Can you do that?”

You make a noise of protest, but allow Max to maneuver you into a sitting position. He climbs up behind you and settles you sideways across his lap, one arm supporting your back.

You rest your cheek on his chest. The lip of a bottle is pressed to your mouth.

“Drink some of this for me, okay?” Max says. “Wanna make sure your blood sugar doesn’t get too low.”

“Can I keep my eyes closed?” you mumble, still so tired.

He chuckles, and you hear it reverberate through his chest.

“Yes, baby. Now come on, drink up.”

You let him tilt the bottle and it’s not until the taste of sweet lemon-lime sports drink hits that you realize how thirsty you are. You down half the bottle before Max takes it away. Maybe Max feeding from you took more out of you than you thought.

“Eat something and then you can rest again, okay?” Max says. “Open your mouth.”

You do, and Max places a square of dark chocolate on your tongue. You close your lips a moment too soon, catching just the tip of his finger as he withdraws it. You hear him murmur a barely audible “fuck” above you, but he makes no move to turn things sexual. You let the chocolate melt in your mouth, and when it’s gone he gives you another, then another, dripping a soft litany of praise into your ear:

Good girl, that’s so good, such an obedient Omega, so good to let me take care of you like this.

He smoothes one hand over your hair and you swear you’ve never felt safer or more cared for in your entire life.

“Told you you wouldn’t take too much,” you tell him. “Told you I trusted you.”

Max’s nose nudges at your hairline.

“I was so scared there for a minute,” he admits. “You had more faith in me than I had in myself.”

“How often do you need to feed?”

“It depends,” he says. “But usually once a week or so.”

“‘M sorry I interrupted your routine.”

“Don’t be,” he rushes to reassure you. “It’s…I’m glad you did.”

And it has to be a combination of exhaustion, blood loss, and the last of your heat hormones that finally removes your self-preservation filter.

“You don’t have to say that, y’know. I know it’s just…” you wave your hand weakly in front of you, “instincts.”

You can feel Max frown.

“What are you talking about?”

You huff a sigh, still not processing the potential consequences of what you’re saying, but instead slightly annoyed at having to summon the energy to explain further.

“Instincts. Like when you call me your Omega - I know it’s just all heat of the moment stuff.” Whatever combination of factors is making you loopy also has you smiling at your pun. “And I know this isn’t even usually your thing. Being with an Omega.”

Max puts a hand around your jaw and forces you to look at him, confusion and anger starting to permeate his scent. You blink up at him.

“That’s what you think?”

“I heard you!” You say, growing indignant. “I heard you that day in the elevator, talking with all your Alpha buddies. Omegas are more trouble than they’re worth, remember?”

You having overheard this is clearly news to Max, who looks away from you. And this is the thing about heat hormones - you can’t resist the urge to soothe your Alpha, even when you’re cross with him, just like you can’t resist the way your body pingpongs from one mood to another so easily, feeling tears start to prick at your eyes.

“But it’s okay, I appreciate you helping me, and I - I promise I won’t do that clingy, needy Omega thing to you. I hid my designation for so long because it was just easier that way, you know? And we can just - just go back to how things were before, after this, and no one else at the office has to know - ”

“Fuck, I was an idiot.”

Wait, what?

“I did feel that way, for a long time. Everyone always says when you meet the right person, it’s different, and I thought that was a load of shit. I didn’t want a mate. I didn’t need a mate. I’m sorry I said those things, and I’m sorry you heard them.

“And I think…I think my Alpha knew, even from the beginning. I liked seeing you in the office. I liked talking to you. I wanted to spend time with you. And then this - ” he gestures around you, “this happened, and it feels…right. Yes, my Alpha instinct is to take care of you while you’re in heat, but I like taking care of you. I want to take care of you. I like…I like having you rely on me, I like knowing you need me. I’ve never felt that way before. And it’s, y’know…it’s not so bad.”

Max smirks, but it’s entirely self-deprecating. There is a feeling in your chest that is dangerously close to hope.

“Really?”

“Trust me, no one is more surprised than I am at this turn of events.”

“So…what happens now?”

“From your scent, I’d say you’ll be out of your heat tomorrow morning, does that sound right?” You nod. “I’d rather we finish this conversation when we’re both more clear-headed. But I think it might mean something, that we’re so…compatible. And I think we should explore that in the near future when we’re not both being driven by a bunch of chemicals that make us want to fuck each other’s brains out, if you’re amenable to that?”

“I am.”

“Good.” He smiles at you, and for once it’s not smug or coy or full of wry humor. Max smiles at you like he’s simply…happy. You want to see him smile at you like that all the time. And maybe you will.

“As for what happens right now,” and ah, there’s the smugness again, as he slides a hand between your legs and cups your mound, “I have a few ideas.”

And it turns out you’re amenable to those, too.

———

It’s Tuesday morning when you show up back at work, having taken Monday off to fully sleep off the effects of your heat and get your bracelet repaired. Max had (very nobly, he claimed) offered to take the day off too, just to make sure you were okay (“and, you know, just in case we need to have sex again” he’d told you with a grin before you’d playfully shoved him out of your apartment). But now you had his number in your phone and a promise to talk later this week.

You walk from the elevator to your cubicle, oddly nervous and excited at the prospect of seeing Max again, even if it’s barely been 24 hours. You don’t spot him, and you try not to be too disappointed. He has his own office, of course, quite a distance from you, and a very busy schedule.

But as you approach your cubicle a familiar scent greets you, and while there’s still no sign of Max, you know he’s been here recently.

A donut sits on your desk. There’s a note scribbled on the napkin underneath it, of a kind you haven’t gotten since about the third grade, but it’s so perfectly Max that it makes your heart melt a little.

Do u like me?

[ ] yes

[ ] no

If yes, dinner Friday?

[ ] yes

xoxo,

Max ;)

You reach for a pen.

[Fin.]

[rxkuyo]

30 Question Tag Game

Tagged by @gwynvere and @jidai 💕💕 Thank you !! 

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag others

🌿 Name/Nickname: Hel/Jo

🌿 Gender: Female.

🌿 Star Sign: Sagittarius

🌿 Height: 5'7(-ish)

🌿 Time: 02:06AM

🌿 Birthday: November 26th.

🌿 Favorite Band: Cult to Follow, Disturbed, TFK

🌿 Favorite Solo Artists: Changes like every other week ngl 

🌿 Song stuck in my head: Day of the Dead by Hollywood Undead.

🌿 Last Movie: Uhhh I don’t remember ??

🌿 Last Show: His Dark Materials s2

🌿 When did I create this blog: Remade like late december 2018, I think ? 

🌿 What do I post: What don’t I post ? 

🌿 Last thing googled: ‘Krämer Pferdesport’ (ordered new mane silicone bands and some horse care products) 

🌿 Other blogs: No other blogs. In this house we cram all our hyperfixations into one blog, only. 

🌿 Do I get asks: Lmao, no.

🌿 Why I chose my url: sexy twin bladed-sword aha... 

🌿 Following: 128

🌿 Followers: 534

🌿 Average hours of sleep: 4-7 hours during the week and up to 10 hours on the weekends

🌿 Instruments: none, unfortunately

🌿 Last book read: Still reading American Gods (in theory and not so much in practice) 

🌿 What am I wearing: Black and white bomber jacket; white sweatshirt + some good old black ripped leggins

🌿 Dream job: Used to be something film/or photography related, before I lost all my passion + creative energy, so uhh, none really.  Currently working towards officially getting my trainer’s license on natural horsemanship-based training tho; guess I’m becoming a ‘horse-whisperer’ after all. (which was like; my childhood dream job)

🌿 Dream trip: Scandinavia and Alaska 

🌿 Favorite food: Water Salad, probably. 

🌿 Nationality: German 

🌿 Favorite song: Aviators - Remains

🌿 Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in:

Bloodborne !! (or soulsborne in general) 

The Witcher 

Horizon Zero Dawn 

(honorable mention to RDR/RDR2 but I guess that’s more abt a time period than about a fictional universe so idk) 

I'm tagging: @netrunners, @wolfamongthem, @zephyrcrowthorne, @keirametzofcarreras, @rivias, @lovelyleslie (no pressure, ofc) 

[chaoticgeminate]

Leslie you are an absolute Goddess and I won't be told otherwise. I loved this story from start to finish, I love that you picked our boy Jack for this (I will never be told this wouldn't be his reaction to something like this) and I love the unapologetic choice the RC made about her body and her future.

All the passion and fire you feel for the rights of everyone who can become pregnant to be allowed to freely take whatever path they want in the case of pregnancy is so incredibly clear here.

The fact that this is still a 'tough' topic in today's society just proves we have a hell of a long way to go and I love that you've taken the step to begin normalizing it in fandom the way it should be.

Rights and Wrongs

summary: “I’m not keeping it, Jack. I knew that before I called him and told him. I don’t know if I want kids, but I do know that I don’t want them now. Not like this. And not with him.”

Or: Whiskey helps you get an abortion.

pairing: Whiskey x f!reader

rating: M

word count: 6.4k

warnings: possible dead dove do not eat; unplanned, unwanted pregnancy; early pregnancy symptoms including vomiting; descriptions of what pregnant people have to go through to get an abortion in the state of Kentucky; abortion clinic protestors and physical and verbal harassment of patients; reader has a medically unnecessary but state-mandated trans-vaginal ultrasound; use of moderate anesthesia and recovery from anesthesia; allusions to past loss and trauma (it’s Jack, I’m assuming know his backstory); not super-explicit description of reader getting a surgical abortion; Jack being a little naive in the way well-meaning straight white dudes often are but also being pro-choice as f*ck

Author’s note:

*Fleabag voice* This is a love story.

Hey there folks. Please read the warnings on this one. I know that pregnancy can be a tough topic for a lot of people to read about. Everything I’ve described here is what you actually have to go through to get an abortion in Kentucky. (Or, well, it was, until two days ago when the Kentucky legislature overrode the Governor’s veto of HB 3, which has resulted in a complete stoppage of all abortions in Kentucky.) If this is not a thing you want to read about, for whatever reason, I respect that completely.

However, if you read this fic and think it might be a good idea to spout some anti-abortion nonsense at me in response, I am going to pre-emptively suggest you kindly shove it up your asshole instead.

Abortion is health care. Abortion is a human right. You will not move me on this. I wrote this fic because I have a lot of anger and fear and frustration that the human right to bodily autonomy is about to be completely gutted in my country. But I also wrote it because abortion is normal. People get abortions every day. And I wanted to write and read a fic where reader gets her happy ending with Jack and an abortion is how it happens.

Additional note: This fic is also a fundraiser! April is when many abortion funds host their biggest annual fundraisers, and you can help! For each note this fic gets between now and the end of April - every like, reblog, and comment, even the ones that are me replying to someone, and hell, I’ll include asks and DMs about this fic too - I’ll donate a dollar to the Kentucky Health Justice Network, a fund providing direct financial and other assistance to people in Kentucky who need abortions.

If this sounds like a journey you’d like to go on with me, then let’s go.

Masterlist.

———

This afternoon has been taken up by two phone calls you never thought you’d have to make.

The first to the Kentucky Women’s Health Clinic. The second to your ex-boyfriend.

The call with the clinic goes well, better and easier and kinder than you’d expected, even if their first available appointment is further out than you’d prefer. The call with Michael goes even more poorly than you’d thought it would.

He hadn’t been your ex for very long; only about two weeks. Your breakup had not been amicable; nearly three years of dating had come to a car wreck of a conclusion when you’d discovered explicit texts and photos of several other women on his phone, going back months. He hadn’t tried to argue with you when you’d confronted him; instead, he’d blamed you for his forays into infidelity. You worked too much. You were too focused on your career. You didn’t devote enough time or effort to your relationship anymore, so no wonder he’d started to look elsewhere. Never mind that this was the first time you were hearing these complaints.

You weren’t heartbroken so much as furious. Furious with him, but also furious with yourself for not seeing the signs and ending things sooner.

And now, calling to tell him about the…situation you find yourself in only leaves you feeling humiliated.

“So this is your ploy, huh?” He says after you’ve explained. “This is how you’re gonna try to get me back?”

Your mouth hangs open, and for a moment all you can do is splutter wordlessly in rage.

“Are you serious?” You hiss at him. “I already told you I wasn’t planning on keeping it, and you still think that this is some kind of plan to, what, trap you into getting back together? As if that’s something I would even want?”

The volume of your voice has now crept upward to a full yell, and you admit it makes you feel marginally better.

Your conversation devolves further from there into a full-on shouting match, much of which is a re-hash of the row you’d had when you broke up.

“See, this is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about,” Michael says at one point, his tone one of smug vindication. “You never put your personal life first. At the smallest inconvenience you - ”

“This is not an inconvenience,” you seethe. Why is this so hard for him to understand? “Listen, I called you to tell you about this because I thought you deserved to know, but I guess even after everything I still didn’t comprehend just how much of a selfish asshole you are.”

“Takes one to know one, honey.”

That does it.

“Fuck you.”

You hang up and sink down onto the couch, not making any effort to stop the tears from falling.

The sound of your name, followed by the closing of the front door, makes you jump.

Shit. Jack’s home. You’ve been his guest for the past two weeks, having had nowhere else to go on such short notice after moving out of Michael’s apartment.

“Everything alright, darlin’?” he asks, “I swear I heard you hollerin’ when I was still clear down the hall about somethin’ - ”

You try to wipe your face and pretend like nothing’s wrong, but the instant Jack sees you he rushes over.

“Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart - ” he crouches down to your level, reaching up to brush the last of the tears from your eyes, concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

You don’t want to burden him with this. Not after everything he’s already done for you.

Not when he’s been the best friend you could ask for the past few years, the two of you meeting and growing steadily closer after you’d taken a job at Statesman (the distillery, not the spy agency). Not when Jack’s always been so generous with his time and his friendship, a rock-steady presence in your life who has been there for you no matter the circumstances. Who insisted you come stay with him after your breakup in his spacious Louisville penthouse, who refused to let you pay him any sort of rent, who assures you you’re welcome to stay as long as you like until you figure something else out, and whom you’d had to talk down from going over to Michael’s place himself to have words with the man on your behalf.

To share this with him feels like too much on top of all of that. Especially when you know about the tragedies in his past. Part of you is afraid that if you tell him, he’ll turn away from you. That he’ll call you selfish, just like Michael did, or think you’re committing some terrible sin. That if you tell him what you intend to do, it will cause an irreparable tear in your friendship.

But it appears you no longer have a say in the matter. Not when Jack is looking at you like this and you know you’re not just facing Jack Daniels, your best friend, but Agent Whiskey, an elite secret agent who will know if you lie to him. You gulp in a breath and try to steel yourself for this conversation before words start tumbling out of your mouth.

“I’ll tell you, but Jack, let me just say that if anything I say makes you uncomfortable we don’t have to keep talking about it, I’m a big girl, and I can handle my own shit - ”

“Darlin’,” he says, in a quieter, kinder version of the firm, no-nonsense tone he uses to bark out orders to subordinates, “what’s wrong?”

Just rip the band-aid off. Just do it. Just tell him -

“I’m pregnant.”

Jack’s eyebrows damn near disappear beneath the brim of his Stetson. Whatever he’d been expecting you to say, it clearly had not been that.

He looks down at your stomach as though it will appear any different from the last time he’d seen it this morning.

“You-you are?”

You nod. “Yup, I’m knocked up but good.”

You can see the gears turning in his head as he runs through the implications of this revelation.

“And am I correct in assumin’ that the other responsible party in this scenario is Michael?”

You nod again.

Jack swallows and rubs at his chin with one hand, a gesture you’ve long since come to recognize as something he does when he’s nervous, though you can’t imagine why.

“Are y’all still broken up?” He asks, and there’s something tentative about it.

“We are,” you rush to assure him. “Believe me, we are. Something I’ve never been more sure of after the conversation I just had with him.”

Jack frowns at you. “Ah. And am I also correct in assumin’ that he did not take the news well?”

You can’t help but laugh at the enormous understatement, but there’s no real humor in it.

“I’m not keeping it, Jack. I knew that before I called him and told him. I don’t know if I want kids, but I do know that I don’t want them now. Not like this. And not with him.” You scrunch your face up into a grimace.

“It’s not-it’s not just that he didn’t take the news well, it’s that I told him I was pregnant, I told him I’d made an appointment for an abortion, and he thought I might be making it up to try and get him back. Do you know what he said to me at one point?” Tears prick at your eyes again, and it’s more from frustration than anything. “‘If you’re going to get rid of it, why are you even calling me?’ I felt he should at least know, and I’d hoped that maybe he’d be willing to help me through the process if nothing else. Abortions aren’t allowed to be covered by insurance in this goddamn state and they aren’t exactly the cheapest things in the world, but regardless, Jack, I told him I was pregnant and it was like, it was like - ”

You blink up at the ceiling, unwilling to look at Jack as the tears start to fall freely again. “It was like he didn’t even care.”

“Oh, sweetheart-” In one quick movement Jack sits down beside you and pulls you into his arms. “I’m so sorry. That bastard does not deserve you. He never did.”

You let yourself melt into Jack’s embrace, the oddly comforting smell of old cigars still clinging to the thick gray wool of his blazer, no matter how many times he gets it dry-cleaned.

“Took me two damn days to work up the nerve to call him, and that’s the reaction he gives me,” you grumble into the fabric. “Unbelievable.”

You feel Jack’s back stiffen.

“Wait,” he says, pulling away slightly so he can look at you, “you mean to tell me you’ve known about this for two days and you’ve been keepin’ it all to yourself?”

You open your mouth to try and explain, but Jack halts you.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re under any obligation to ever tell me anything, sugar, but this seems like a mighty heavy burden to carry all by yourself. You needn’t ever feel like you have to shoulder such a thing alone, you know that, right?”

You shrug, unable to meet his eye, suddenly becoming fascinated with the worn brown leather of the couch instead.

“I wanted to tell you,” you say, “but I was - oh god this might sound so stupid, but - I was scared. I wasn’t sure how you’d react, both to the news and to my decision about what to do. Because, you know - ”

You gesture vaguely, hoping he understands the reason for your trepidation. This was a man who, not long before you’d met him, had been willing to let millions die because of a grudge he’d held that was eating him alive. He hadn’t been successful, thank god, and he’d put in the serious, long hours in therapy while chained to a desk assignment for over a year before being let into the field again. But still, you’d hate to think you’ve reopened that wound.

Jack makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. He tilts your face upward to look at him, then gently brushes your hair behind one ear.

“Darlin’, my past and my traumas are my responsibility. That pain of losin’ my family is always gonna be there, but what’s important is that it doesn’t control me anymore. So while I appreciate you lookin’ out for my feelings, the only feelings I am concerned with right now are yours.

“As for the nature of your decision - my family was taken from me. Me and my wife’s choices about when and how we wanted to have our baby boy were taken from us. The last thing I would ever want to do is to have that choice taken from anyone else.”

You swear you normally don’t cry this much. Perhaps you can just blame it on pregnancy hormones. But you didn’t realize until just this moment how much it means to you to hear Jack accept your pregnancy - and your decision to terminate it - without judgment. To find that your fear of your best friend rejecting you is unfounded. Your head drops against his shoulder as an unexpected feeling of relief washes over you.

Jack leans back on the couch, gently pulling you with him until you’re tucked safely under his arm.

“When’s your appointment?” He asks. “I can tell Champ I’m takin’ a day or two off work, I figure they won’t want you to drive yourself to and from the clinic. And I can be here for as long as it takes for you to recover.”

“Jack, you don’t have to - I don’t mean to ask this of you - ”

“You’re not askin’,” he interrupts, resting his free hand on your knee and squeezing, “I’m offerin’.” His broad palm spans so much of your thigh, his touch making you feel tingly and warm even through the fabric of your jeans. “I’m here for you, sweetheart. Now, tell me what you need.”

———

Three weeks. It’s three weeks between the time you tell Jack and your appointment, the severe imbalance of the supply of abortion services in your area compared to the number of people needing abortion care meaning lead times for appointment slots are lengthy. Every day is money out of your pocket, too, the delay in getting the procedure meaning that you’ll be far enough along that a cheaper medication abortion will no longer be an option. Instead, a significantly more expensive surgical abortion awaits you, which means your risk of side effects and complications, while still small, increases, as does your recovery time.

The feeling of helplessness you carry around constantly only grows as all you can do is wait for time to pass.

And in the meantime, you’re still pregnant, when you very much don’t want to be.

There’s no escaping the typical effects of a first trimester pregnancy that start wreaking havoc on your body. You can’t blame it, as much as you want to. Your body doesn’t know that this ultimately isn’t going to go anywhere; it’s not like there’s a pause button you can hit or a hold for abortion switch you can flip.

Through all of it, Jack is a saint. He’s endlessly patient and gentle, never getting upset with you when a mood swing hits and you snap at him for no reason (though you always feel terrible and apologize for it after). He fills the apartment with every snack and weird food combo you crave. He takes on chores you were used to doing yourself - washing your dishes, doing your laundry - when fatigue hits you so hard things like just getting into your pajamas and brushing your teeth take all your energy. He holds your hair back and presses a cool washcloth to the back of your neck when you’re hunched over the toilet from morning sickness, even in the middle of the night.

It’s during one such incident, about a week before your appointment, that you hit a breaking point.

It’s just after midnight, and you’ve been in the bathroom for half an hour. Everything about you is a sick, achy mess, and you’d be humiliated that Jack is sitting here on the tile floor next to you to see it all happen if you still had any energy left to care. You take a swig of water from the cup he holds out to you and swish it around before spitting it into the toilet bowl. You rest your forehead against the edge of the porcelain and let out a moan of pure frustration, the sound raspy and froggy coming out of your raw throat. You’re so exhausted and sick and absolutely done.

“I hate this, Jack,” you whine. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I just want this to be over. I just want to stop feeling like shit. I just want my appointment to fucking get here, and I know this might sound callous, but I just want it gone.”

“I know, sugar,” he says, scooting over to rub a hand up and down your back, his other tracing a path along your arm. “I hate seeing you like this, knowin’ there‘s nothin’ I can do to make it better. But it’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

You think sometimes about the notion that he’s probably so good at taking care of you right now because technically he’s done this before. And in the deepest, most secret part of your heart you’ve started to wonder if this is what it would be like, to be Jack’s wife, to be having Jack’s baby. To have him take care of you because he wants you, because he loves you. It’s a fantasy that appeals to you far more than you’d like to admit.

There has always been something there, hidden under your otherwise platonic feelings of friendship towards Jack. But you’d only been with Michael a few weeks before meeting Jack for the first time, and while you found Jack handsome and charming and sweet, you’d buried any feeling that threatened to develop into a crush on the man deep, not wanting to jeopardize your new relationship.

But now, without the excuse of Michael to motivate you, and with more evidence than ever before right in front of your face of what a good friend, a good man, Jack Daniels is, whatever you’d suppressed has come roaring back with a vengeance, a dormant seed finally bursting free from the ground and rapidly climbing towards the sun. But it’s a development you’ll figure out how to deal with after your appointment. One problem at a time.

“You make it better just by being here, Jack,” you tell him. And it’s true.

Something flickers across his face, some flash of emotion you can’t place. He takes a breath and looks like he’s about to say something to you, but at that moment another round of nausea hits you, and any reply he might have made is interrupted by the extremely attractive sight and sound of you dry heaving for the third time that night.

———

“I don’t like the look of this, darlin’,” Jack says warily, eyeing the group of protestors on the sidewalk.

You shrug. “Neither do I, but if you want to get to the clinic, you gotta walk through that crowd.”

There are two abortion clinics left in the entire state of Kentucky. And every day that the clinics are open, people show up to protest and harass the patients. There’s about two dozen of them in front of the Kentucky Women’s Health Clinic today, nearly half of them standing with enormous signs depicting blown up images of bloody embryos covered in giant text with phrases like “BABIES ARE MURDERED HERE” and “CHOOSE JESUS” and references to Bible quotes you’re sure are in no way taken out of context.

State law requires that you give your consent to the procedure face-to-face 24 hours beforehand, but fortunately you were able to do it over Zoom the day before. For the better part of an hour afterwards you’d ranted at Jack about the information you’d been given, essentially a lecture dictated not by any medical professional, but by the almost exclusively straight, white, conservative men who made up the vast majority of Kentucky’s legislature.

It’s such condescending bullshit you’d shouted at him, suddenly having more energy than you’d had in weeks. That poor nurse had to tell me that medication abortions can be reversed, which isn’t true. She had to tell me at length about the adoption options in this state, as if adoption does jack shit to solve my “I don’t want to be pregnant anymore” problem, or mitigate any of the serious health risks of carrying a pregnancy to term. God knows how many years of education and training this woman had to go through to become a nurse, only to now have both of us be force-fed sanctimonious anti-choice, anti-science horseshit just because some crusty old men still haven’t come around to the fact that women are people.

But seeing the crowd outside the clinic now, you’re at least grateful you’d been able to jump through that hoop with a video call, instead of having to go to the clinic twice.

“Well then, if there’s really no avoiding’ those folks - ” Jack reaches over your legs to open up the glove box where his dual pistols are waiting. As nervous as you are, you still get a little thrill from his arm brushing across your thigh.

“Jack, stop.” You put your hand on his arm to still him. “I appreciate the thought, but you can’t bring weapons into the clinic. They’re understandably a little paranoid about that, you know?”

Understanding dawns on his face, and he looks abashed.

“Sorry, sugar,” he says. “I was just thinkin’ about giving those nosy nellies out there a reason to keep their distance.”

You give his arm a squeeze. “I know you were. But let’s just get in the door, okay? Whatever you do, don’t let them provoke you. I’m gonna be in no state to bail you out of jail if you let one of them get a rise out of you.”

He nods.

“Let’s go.”

The second you open your door, the noise hits you. People chanting and yelling, at least one of them into a bullhorn. Someone’s playing music through a portable amplifier that has both seen and heard better days. More than a dozen people swarm towards you and Jack the instant you’re out of the car, all of them pushing in way too close for comfort, and almost all of them men. Two clinic escorts in orange safety vests take up posts on either side of the two of you, providing you with what buffer they can and offering words of encouragement and distraction.

Jack doesn’t hesitate: he wraps one arm around you and tucks you in close to his side. Your arm automatically goes around his waist and you cling to him, turning your face into his jacket and breathing in the comforting smell of whiskey and leather and Jack.

Strong man protects you, whispers your lizard hindbrain despite the highly inappropriate timing, finding Jack’s presence achingly attractive even through the rising anxiety of walking through a hostile crowd.

You try to tune out the specifics of what the protestors are trying to shout in your ear, mostly variations on “don’t murder your baby” and “we can help you” and a good deal of yelling about God and Satan and repenting for your sins. But after a minute you realize that they aren’t just yelling at you. They’re also yelling at Jack.

“Don’t let her murder your baby!”

“If you do this, you’re going to hell!”

“Be a man, don’t let her kill your child!”

Your throat closes up in horror. Of course, of course they would assume that Jack is the father, with no thought at all to what the circumstances might actually be, how hurtful those words could be for him to hear. You wrap your arm even more tightly around him, feeling more guilty than you’d thought possible that you’d dragged him into this. But apart from the occasional “Fuck off!” when one of them gets too close, Jack says nothing to the protestors, instead walking quickly along the sidewalk with his spine ramrod straight, like he’s trying to use every inch of his build to appear as intimidating as he can.

You’re almost to the clinic when suddenly someone steps right in front of you, a middle-aged man big and bulky enough to make you stop in your tracks. He’s wearing a sweatshirt that reads “JAIL ABORTIONISTS.” Before anyone can do anything he reaches out and grabs your free hand that’s not holding a fistful of Jack’s jacket. He grips it tightly and tries to shove some kind of a pamphlet into your palm.

“Hey - ” you start to say, more out of surprise than anything else.

Jack reacts instantly, inserting himself between you and the protestor before the man can even start on his spiel with an honest-to-god snarl in your defense. He moves like he’s about to hoist the man up by the front of his shirt, but as the man lets go of you you manage to bring your arm up to stop Jack from doing anything to further escalate things.

Because you know from the look on his face, deep and sure in your bones, that if Jack had his way, the man who’d grabbed you would be dead.

Strong man protects you, purrs that stupid cavewoman part of your brain again, instead of being horrified by the notion of Jack killing someone for harming you.

“Don’t you touch her,” Jack growls, and you swear you’ve never seen him look more furious.

Several additional clinic escorts move to put more distance between you and the protestors and hurry you both the rest of the way inside.

As the door shuts behind you, the sounds of the people outside become muted. You inhale a shaky breath. Jack cups your face in his hands, looking you over to make sure you’re unhurt.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asks, with so much genuine concern in his voice it makes your heart ache. He gently runs his hands up and down your arms. “That son of a bitch didn’t hurt you, did he?”

But you barely hear him, immediately launching into a stammered apology.

“Oh my god, Jack, I’m so sorry, those awful things they were saying to you - ”

There’s a moment, then, where you both stop and look at each other, realizing you’re each far more concerned about the other’s well-being than your own.

“It’s okay, honey,” he finally says, and your tummy flips over at the unusual endearment. His voice gets low and quiet in the way that it does when he’s making a serious point. “You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for. Those folks out there - it’s just ugliness for the sake of being ugly, for the sake of feelin’ more righteous than others. Nothin’ they can say can hurt me. But what I truly cannot stand - ” he lets his hands fall away from your face, but not before brushing the back of his knuckles along your cheek, “is when people do not mind their own fuckin’ business. And when they think they can put hands on the people I - on the people I care about.”

You smile tentatively up at him. “I like when you use your calm, Serious Jack voice on me.”

His mouth quirks up in surprise.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Always makes me feel better.”

He pulls you into a too-brief hug. When he lets you go, he asks, “Alright, darlin’, ready to do this?”

If Jack is with you, you’re ready for anything.

“I am.”

———

The first part of your appointment feels remarkably similar to any other doctor’s visit, just with slightly more paperwork. You sit in the waiting room with Jack, filling out form after form and then waiting to be called back.

Finally, a nurse pokes her head out from the back and calls your name. You stand, and she sees you have someone with you.

“He can come back with you too, if you like,” she says, jutting her chin in Jack’s direction.

“Oh.” Shit. You haven’t talked with Jack about this, and you’ve already asked him to do so much, but after your awful experience outside, part of you really, really doesn’t want to be alone without him for the rest of this.

You turn back to him, trying to find the courage to tell him it’s fine, he doesn’t have to go with you, but once again, he reads you like an open book.

“Do you want me to go with you, darlin’?” he asks quietly, and you know once again he’s doing it to let you say yes to his question instead of having to ask him outright.

You curse yourself for not being strong enough to say no.

“Please.”

He stands, and lets his hand settle on the small of your back.

“Ladies first.”

———

The next hour passes in a blur of nurses coming into your exam room to take your vitals, have you fill out some more forms, and take samples for bloodwork. Finally, you get to talk to your doctor about the procedure itself.

Dr. Andrea Morgan is a tall, slender woman in her mid-fifties with an absolute riot of curly black hair tumbling over her shoulders. She has the reassuring, no-nonsense air of a physician who knows exactly what she’s doing, but also the kind demeanor of someone who understands how scary getting an abortion might seem.

You like her immediately.

Jack, on the other hand, has decided to fully embrace the role of your bodyguard, and proceeds to interrogate the poor woman like he’s on assignment for Statesman before he’ll let her perform what you know is a very common, very safe, relatively minor procedure on you.

Dr. Morgan takes it all in stride, talking the both of you through what the abortion will actually entail, what side effects to watch out for afterwards, and for how long to take it easy once it’s over. You’ve also elected to have her insert an IUD while you’re there, figuring you might as well do what you can to lessen your chances of ever being back in this situation again.

“Most people are able to resume normal activities within a day or two of their abortions,” Dr. Morgan tells you. “But depending on how your body adjusts to both the procedure and the IUD insertion, you may find an additional day of rest is necessary. Now this kind of IUD will start providing you immediate protection against pregnancy,” she holds up the t-shaped device, the version that’s made of copper, “however, you shouldn’t have vaginal intercourse for two weeks following the abortion to ensure everything heals up properly and there’s no risk of infection.”

Jack makes a muffled noise next to you and you glance over at him. For the past twenty minutes this man has listened and asked questions about your health and wellbeing and has sat through a truly shocking amount of discussion about your reproductive parts without blinking an eye, but for some reason this is the thing that now has the tips of his ears turning beet red.

If Dr. Morgan notices, she says nothing.

When all of your questions are exhausted, she lets you know she’ll be back to perform the procedure shortly, letting an ultrasound tech into the room.

“Now hang on a minute, sugar,” Jack says as the woman starts setting up, “what’s this about?”

You’ve actually been dreading this part more than anything else.

“We have to do an ultrasound before performing an abortion, sir,” the young tech says. She looks like she can’t be more than a year or two out of school, and you wonder at what bravery a person like her must possess to work at a place so constantly under threat. To know the risks of being injured or even killed for working in an abortion clinic are serious and real, and decide the work is worth doing anyway.

“An ultrasound?” Jack frowns in genuine confusion. “Lord knows I’m no doctor, but that seems a little unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“It’s required by state law, sir,” the tech replies, giving you a sympathetic glance. “We have to show the ultrasound as well as describe the fetus in detail. If we can detect a heartbeat, we have to play that sound too.”

Jack twists to look at you in horror.

“I know, Jack,” you say, aware that you’d have to go through this and already hating it.

“That is - that is just cruel,” he splutters in disbelief. “This is, what, some attempt at manipulatin’ folks into changin’ their minds? Or some sort of punishment for you makin’ your own damn decision about your life?”

“I’m not gonna change my mind,” you tell him, your voice somehow much calmer than you feel. “And it’s only a punishment if I choose to take it as one. If I choose to feel ashamed about this, and I don’t.”

Your inner rage is outwardly reflected on Jack’s face, and for a second he looks like he’s about to start arguing with the tech about subjecting you to this.

“It’s okay, Jack. I mean, it isn’t, but it’s something they have to do. If they don’t, they could be shut down for being out of compliance with the law, and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“I have to display the images and talk about them,” the tech says, “but you neither have to look nor listen if you don’t want to.”

She also offers Jack the chance to step out if either of you is uncomfortable with him being here for this part, but he shakes his head.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart,” he says, and you desperately hope he doesn’t notice the little shiver that runs down your spine. If only he meant it in all the ways you want him to.

Because of the stage of pregnancy you’re in, the tech can’t just slather some jelly on your stomach and get the image she needs. Instead, she puts a condom and some lube on a small probe that gets inserted into your vagina. It’s about the same level of discomfort as getting a Pap smear, and knowing that there’s absolutely no medically sound reason for you to be in this position right now makes you start to shake with anger. This, beyond anything else you’ve experienced today, feels like a violation.

The tech makes some adjustments and fiddles with the machine, and then up on the screen next to you, there it is. A grainy image of, you assume, your baby, though it’s difficult for your untrained eye to make much sense of what you’re seeing.

“I’m going to start describing it now,” the tech alerts you gently. “This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“Sugar,” Jack says, his voice low but steady, “look at me.”

You do. Jack’s sat himself down in a chair at your side, making him for once just a little shorter than you are. His eyes betray the outrage he still feels on your behalf, but you can tell he’s trying to tamp it down, aware that that’s not what you need from him right now.

“Don’t listen to her, listen to me.”

It’s an easy command to follow. You could listen to Jack’s warm, confident drawl all day.

“You have been so brave through all of this. I know your decision about what to do was an easy one for you, but then to face down all these hurdles bein’ put in your way, determined to not let anyone or anything keep you from makin’ your decision a reality? I have never, ever been prouder of you.

When this is over, I’m gonna take you home and you’re gonna rest for as long as you need to. We’ll order whatever takeout sounds good to you, and we’ll watch any movie you want.”

“Even The Parent Trap?”

That makes Jack smile for perhaps the first time all day. He’s never particularly cared for that film, one of your all-time favorites.

“Yes, darlin’, even that one. You are not gonna have to worry about a single thing after this. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

You’re glad they don’t have you hooked up to a heart rate monitor to broadcast the sudden rapid increase in your pulse. Jack’s already taken such good care of you. You think you may want him to do it forever, if he’d be willing to.

———

At last all of the preliminary hoops have been jumped through, and Dr. Morgan re-enters your room just as another nurse prepares to hook up an IV of mild sedatives into your arm.

The drugs don’t knock you out completely, but they do make everything look and feel like you’re drifting along underwater. You can see the slightly blurry shape of Dr. Morgan moving around between your legs, and you can feel things happening down there, but it’s like the part of your brain that allows you to actually react to stimuli has been switched off.

Suddenly, however, things sharpen enough that you register a serious amount of pain somewhere near your cervix. Your body tenses up and you whimper, going white-knuckled around the arms of the dentist-style chair they have you reclined in.

But when you look down, you realize one of your hands isn’t squeezing around the arm of the chair -

- because Jack is holding it.

Something else breaks through the haze then, a sound, and you realize it’s Jack, whispering more soft praises and talking you through it.

“You’re alright, darlin’, you’re alright,” he says, “You’re doin’ so well. It’ll be over soon, just keep hangin’ on to my hand, there’s a good girl. My brave, strong, precious girl. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

Jack.

How is it that this man is so perfect? Whatever did you do to deserve someone so selfless, so kind, so generous?

You love him.

The revelatory thought bursts through your mind like a beam of sun through clouds and oh god.

You love him.

You should tell him that.

You have to tell him that.

Right now.

You open your mouth and try to form words, but apparently the part of your brain capable of coherent speech has also been temporarily switched off, and what comes out is garbled nonsense.

He huffs out a laugh, and you feel his other hand come up and softly pet your hair away from your face.

“Hush, darlin’, it’s alright. Whatever it is, we can talk about it when you’re not so loopy from all these drugs, okay?”

Kind, handsome, and smart.

What would you ever do without him?

———

After the procedure Dr. Morgan keeps you in the room under observation for over an hour until she’s satisfied that the sedatives have worn off enough that you can go home. You’re still a bit out of it, which turns out to be a blessing in disguise because it means you don’t really remember walking out past the protestors a second time.

You must fall asleep on the ride home because the next thing you know Jack is opening the door on your side of the Bronco and undoing your seatbelt.

You try to brush his hands away and argue that you can do it yourself, but he just shushes you and hauls you into his arms. He carries you like that, bridal-style, all the way up to his apartment before laying you down gently on his couch. He covers you with a blanket as you start to drift off again.

But you fight it, just for a moment, struck by this nagging thought in the back of your head that you have something you need to tell Jack, though you can’t quite remember what exactly it is.

“Sleep, darlin’. It’s okay; I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The last thing you feel before you’re out like a light is the soft brush of lips against your temple.

Part 2.

———————————————————————

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[chaoticgeminate]

Leslie, This is a love letter for you because your support and enthusiastic screaming in my DMs has been the highlight of posting these chapters for me. It is so important for me to stress how much I appreciate you by using "the fancy" font face. All my love

I had a big vision for these two -as most of my stories tend to turn into- so the story crafting for this was extraordinarily important and the characterizations even more so. Knowing that you think I'm doing a good job with these things really, truly, means the world to me.

These two are flawed and have their own issues to work through, and that is OKAY, what is important is them working through these things together. 💙

You're so Classic (iii)

Summary: When you own a diner there are a variety of people that come to get a seat, Zach has become familiar with the constant and changing guests that come in through those doors. The good, the bad, and the ugly all with their own stories and their own lives. He’s witnessed first dates, last dates, engagements, anniversaries, job gains or losses, and birthdays galore.

Enter Nanette Dougherty.

Former pageant child, debutante, and swimsuit model fresh off a bad date and needing to be somewhere that her roommates and agent won’t try to find her. Where better than a diner full of things she’s never allowed to eat? What Nanette never counted on was the handsome diner owner to change her life.

Pairing: Zach Wellison x Nanette Rose Dougherty [ofc]

Rating: Explicit (Blog is 18+ regardless but this is going to be a bit of a heavy story)

Notes and Warnings: Series will involve some heavy topics including but not limited to body dysmorphic disorder (BDD), eating disorders, body acceptance, PTSD, anger problems, toxic narcissistic parents, and abusive relationships both platonic and romantic. This installment features mild smut, sex aversion, and themes of implied peer pressure. Beta read by the beautiful, lovely, amazing @leslie-lyman 💙

Chapter Art Done by @daddydindjarin 💙 Click Here

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Blueberry Cobbler (10.9k)

“Turn.”

Nanette shifted her pose, bringing her arms up more to push out her chest as the photographers snapped pictures of her profile, making sure to arch her back just so as the scene coordinator gave an approving thumbs up from the sidelines, and despite the chill of the cold air she was having a good time on this shoot. Camille was posing at another area of the coast, just near enough that they could share the trailer for warmth between changes, and Nanette was eager to tell her friend about Zach.

After their incredible first date she’d invited him to a private photography gallery for date number two, it was a former intern she’d worked with in the past named Kaleigh who managed to get the funding she needed to host her own gallery, and Zach had proven he was no slouch in the semi-formal department when he’d shown up. Pale blue button down with the top two buttons undone, black blazer paired with charcoal slacks, and his work shoes polished up? Nanette had seen the eyes on him as she walked with him at her side the entire night, unable to fight the pride and feeling of victory burning in her blood.

He’d taken her home and kissed her again, just as chaste as the first date, and her cheeks had been flush right up until she went to bed. Zach was honestly so much different than she expected, he was considerate and kind in a way that she hadn’t really experienced before, and she knew that he probably had read all the public available articles of the modeling world so his lack of questions was… both concerning and refreshing.

“Darling, you’re distracted.” Harrison’s voice made her look up at the photographer as he smiled, fondly at least, and Nanette couldn’t help but feel like an idiot for letting it distract her at work.

“Sorry Harrison, it won’t happen again.” The snickering from a few other models nearby was ignored but Nanette knew that they’d tattle to Delaney, she wasn’t a stranger to the constant attempts at one-upping each other wherever possible, but given the fact that she wasn’t the type to allow for distractions she knew that he’d probably just check in to see if she was okay at most. For the rest of the shoot Nanette kept her focus on work, that way it would look like a hiccup at best, and as expected her agent just asked if she was okay and then excused her when the client called the shoot.

“So, you’re almost never distracted here on set, what’s going on Nettie?” Camille’s question made Nanette smile fondly, the two slipping out of their showcase swimsuits in the thin changing tents. Out of all the people she’d met after leaving home it was Camille who had been by her side the longest, they’d gone to their first trial photo shoot together after applying to work with Delaney at the same time. If there was anyone she trusted most it’d be Camille.

“I had a second date.”

“With the guy from the club?”

The reminder of Owen made her skin crawl but Nanette shook that away, that wasn’t a problem anymore, she had a reason to deny hooking up with people now that she had a more valid reason that wasn’t just a flimsy no. Having a steady ‘almost boyfriend’ would be seen as an acceptable reason to turn down the advances of others.

“No actually, his name is Zach and he owns a diner called The Chow Hall. He’s really sweet, Cam, and I really like him.” The confession earned a long look from Camille as she shimmied into her jean shorts but Nanette kept her focus on making sure the bikini she’d been modeling was hung up correctly, her attire for the day was a simple sundress so it hadn’t taken much effort to change at all.

“When did you meet this guy?” Camille’s tone was light but there was skepticism to it that Nanette didn’t like, as if her best friend thought her judgment wasn’t good enough, but rather than calling her out on it she kept her worries tucked away.

Camille only cared about her, she hadn’t been there for the meet up with Zach like she had been with Leon or Owen.

“The night Leon dumped me I stopped by his diner, I wanted something to eat so I didn’t look like a worse loser going home you know? He was kind, and he’s hot, so I couldn’t really stop noticing him and decided to go back again.” It was impossible to keep the smile out of her words, to not get a little bit soft when she thought of her first time meeting Zach even thought it wasn’t even that long ago. Camille led her out of the tents and toward her car now that they were both dressed, the Southern California weather was nice even if it was a little warm, and Camille waited until they were in the car to continue the conversation.

Both of them knew that Delaney was pretty weird about them dating, no doubt he’d go ballistic if he knew that Nanette was seeing someone who owned a diner regardless of it being a place for veterans to begin readapting to civilian life, and Camille’s discretion was something Nanette always appreciated. Their agent really didn’t have a right to stop them from dating, seeing people, or controlling who they were with but he’d used his position of booking them for shoots to punish them when they did things he didn’t like.

Nanette had a list of other agencies she could apply to if Delaney did go nuclear, she’d lawyered up before signing her contract with his agency to ensure they couldn’t throw in any sort of ‘no competition’ clause to prevent her from staying in the industry at her step-father’s suggestion. Which, realistically, was a good idea since he’d already done that to two models who were now waiting tables doing as many film auditions and music auditions that they could find.

“Can we go there, so I can meet him? Or are you, uh, not that sure about him yet?” Camille’s request ripped her out of her rampaging thoughts, making Nanette look up as her friend waited in a long line of traffic, and after a moment’s thought she decided there was no harm in it. Especially since she knew Zach was a good man and that, once they met, Camille would lose the slight wariness in her voice.

“Sure, I can have a small salad since I skipped a heavy meal yesterday and the day before.” After being a little too close to her maximum allotted weight per her contract she’d severely cut back on everything she was eating or drinking, keeping to her room when she was home since Francesca was still on a deficit and their two tempers mixed as well as oil and water on a good day.

Camille parked and Nanette wasn’t surprised to see the diner had plenty of people inside already, most of them talking and laughing while some were drinking coffee with a book, and she decided not to say anything as her best friend took in the decor visible from the outside. The two walked in and Nanette waved at Akenlolu, the woman was using her cane today but she was here, and the server grabbed two menus with a smile.

“I’ll let the boss know you’re here, he should probably take his lunch break anyway. Water with lemon?” Nanette nodded and Camille did too, the veteran leaving them be as they sat at a booth today, but it was pretty obvious when her friend saw Zach for the first time since her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise.

“Holy shit he’s hot.” Camille’s remark made Nanette giggle with a nod, simply turning her head a little to see him weaving through the tables, and she scooted over closer to the window as Zach set their drinks down with one of his own. He was wearing a short sleeve button down today with his black trousers, the buttons mostly done up to her mild dissatisfaction, but he looked so good.

“Nanette, hi, how are you doing?” He kissed her cheek, gentle and affectionate without being too much, and it made her face warm as Camille’s eyes began to absolutely sparkle.

“I’m good, Zach, just got out of a photo shoot and my best friend Camille wanted to come meet you. So I figured we could split a salad.” He looked over at the currently silent observer and offered his hand.

“Camille? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Zach Wellison.”

“I’m afraid Nanette’s been keeping you quite the secret, I bet she knew I’d interrogate you when we met. I’m Camille D’Agostino, and you’re quite lucky I’m the one you met first since our other friends Melinda and Shaye are a lot nosier than I am.” Zach chuckled but Nanette laughed, covering her mouth to soften the sound, and Camille pouted but she broke into a soft laugh of her own.

“You’re also a model, then?”

“Yep, Nanette and I have modeled for the same agency since we started doing it.” Zach was grinning at least and after Akenlolu came to take orders Nanette found herself relaxing the more that the pair beside her talked, Camille was telling him about growing up on the East Coast and it was nice to know that her friend trusted him enough to tell him where she was really from, and knowing that she basically had Camille’s approval meant a lot to her.

“So what are your intentions with Nettie? I’ll have you know she’s very amazing and she’s my best friend so you need to answer this very carefully.”

“Oh Cam, seriously?”

“Yeah seriously.” Cam sniffed and tipped her nose up at Nanette when she tried to intervene, the interaction making Zach chuckle, and Nanette glanced at him with a roll of her eyes.

“You don’t have to answer her, she’s being ridiculous.”

“I know. But my intentions are simply to take care of Nanette and do whatever is in my power to keep her happy and safe.” His answer earned a nod from Camille but for Nanette her face warmed again since he’d looked right at her when he said it even if he was answering Camille. It felt extraordinarily intimate since his voice was so soft, his eyes keeping hers locked on him, and Nanette squirmed in her seat before she could really stop herself. When the shiver of heat began to run down her spine, sending chills down her arms, she felt a small stab of panic but kept her face as clear and relaxed as she could. Still dealing with the aftermath of what she went through with Owen, emotionally, she didn’t know if she was ready to lie to Zach about enjoying being in bed with him.

It’s fine, she was fine, it was okay to have the guy she wanted to date turn her on.

If Zach or Camille noticed the shift in her behavior neither one of them said anything and Nanette managed to keep her bodily reactions under control, spending the rest of lunch laughing and sharing stories about some of the models they’d worked with in the past or how some of the security for the shoots had looked silly falling into the sand when people passing by tried to come get a closer look and the employees had moved to intervene.

By the time she got back to her place Francesca was thankfully still on set filming for her minor role in an art film, leaving Nanette the rest of the afternoon to tidy up the living room and clean up the bathroom before she retreated when she heard her roommate’s loud car pull into the driveway. Francesca slammed the front closed before stomping to her room and slamming that door too as Nanette exhaled, waiting just in case the aspiring actress decided to come try and pick a fight, and the knocking on her door moments later made Nanette plaster a pleasant look on her face.

All she had to do was be polite and she could get Francesca to leave her be. If she was polite then any problems that came from this couldn’t be pinned on her.

“Hey Frannie. How was filming.” Watching Francesca’s lips tighten into a flat line made it pretty clear to Nanette that this wasn’t supposed to be a casual talk.

“It was fucking awful, don’t pretend like you don’t already know that. What did you do with my moisturizer?” Nanette kept her smile as soft as she could even as her own mood plummeted into anger and annoyance, still reeling from the confusing burst of emotions from lunch.

“It’s in your cosmetic’s drawer, Frannie, I just wanted to wipe the sink counter down so I put it with the rest of your makeup.” The ‘where it belongs’ was unspoken but Nanette should have known better than to think that her roommate, who was already in a worked up mood, would let the issue rest there.

“I use it every day, which is why I keep it on the counter, don’t accuse me of being a slob.”

“Frannie, please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“It’s pretty fucking clear that you think I’m a slob otherwise you would have put it back on the counter top when you were done instead of under the sink. Whatever, thank you for cleaning a little bit.” Francesca’s temper wasn’t gone but she wasn’t as loud or sharp toned anymore, which Nanette would count as a win, and the model inhaled heavily as soon as she closed the door before letting her back rest against it. The sharp, aggressive, tones made her shiver as she fought against the rising panic.

She was fine, she was perfectly okay. Francesca was in a pissy mood but it was fine, it was nothing like her mother and Dad used to be.

Once her breathing was back under control she found herself choosing to collapse in bed, dreading the nightmares she’d no doubt be plagued by after today, but she didn’t have the energy to do anything else today.

Gentle fingers pressed into the curve of her waist, mouth moving languidly against his as she perched in his lap, and Nanette’s own hands were playing with the hair at the base of his neck as Zach held her like she was something precious. His strength went beyond the physical aspects, how he’d easily picked her up and carried her from the doorway of the apartment all the way to her bedroom, the sheer presence of him was making her heart race but not out of discomfort.

“So beautiful.” Zach’s voice was rough with desire against her lips, the flush on her skin luring his mouth to trail open mouth kisses down her neck as she squirmed against his lap and allowed her head to drop back. His breath was heating her already warm skin and the touch of his tongue against her was making her hands shake with how badly she wanted him, teeth setting hard in her lower lip to contain the sounds threatening to spill out of her.

“Let me hear you, pretty girl.” One of the hands on her waist had lifted to tug at her lower lip, his thumb resting against the plush skin right as a whimper bubbled out of her when he suckled at the area between her collar bones. As soon as his teeth nipped, just hard enough to make her gasp, Zach groaned loudly into the open room and moved his hand to grip her hip instead of her waist.

The chills down her spine made her shiver and Nanette felt the touch of his fingers move to her thigh before his hand was sliding up her leg under her skirt. The string of whispered pleas for him to keep going made Zach shiver too and Nanette drew his thumb into her mouth and sucked right as his own thumb brushed over her dripping center on her underwear. The feather light brush of his fingertips was like a spark to kindling with how worked up she was, her hips rocking down for more and her back bowing at the way it felt.

“Look at you.” The drag of fingertips along her covered slit made her whine but when he caught her clit and pressed Nanette’s eyes slammed closed as she writhed from the touch.

“Give it to me, Nanette, let me see you come.” His plea was followed by the touch of bare fingers against her wet lips as he moved her underwear to the side and the thumb in her mouth was pressing against her tongue as she rocked her hips harder before she broke.

Slick wetness between her legs and the aftershocks were the first things to register when Nanette woke up, gasping and breathing like she’d just run a marathon, her eyes wide as she stared at her ceiling. The sensation of fingers pressing into her waist and hips were still there, phantoms of her imagination lingering just out of reach, and the morbid realization of what just happened to her made Nanette’s chest tighten. There was no way, at all, that she could have ever dreamed up something so perfect and so painful.

She wanted to fit in, that was why her mind was trying to trick her into enjoying it, it was just a dream.

But Nanette couldn’t stop herself from crying, mourning something that would never happen that way, feeling bitter that she’d been allowed to create such a perfect scene when she knew the reality was going to hurt her so deeply instead and now this would be haunting her. Silent tears streaked down her face as she escaped to the bathroom and climbed in the shower, washing away the evidence of her shame as she wrapped her arms around her self.

There wasn’t any way for her Mother to know, Nanette hadn’t done anything wrong and she hadn’t technically touched herself.

The water washed away the tears and the slick but it couldn’t erase the pain or shame she felt.

Zach didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

After meeting Camille he’d thought that his relationship with Nanette was solid enough that he could ask if they could be exclusive, if she trusted him to meet her best friends that had to count for something right? He reasoned with himself that she’d been busy, that she hadn’t answered his last two texts because she was just working, since Camille’s Instagram was loaded with pictures of what looked like at least four different shoots in the course of a week and Nanette had two others on hers.

But it still left an ugly feeling in his chest, left the idea that he’d read her wrong and that she was done with him.

He wondered if Camille meeting him had been unexpected and she was ashamed of what he did.

No, no she wouldn’t be. Nanette knew what he did for a living before she went on two dates with him.

Every noise from his phone had him scrambling for the device, worried that he’d miss a chance to talk to her, and it was so distracting that his entire staff rallied together to make him take two days off and rest. Leaving him at home alone, pacing and pent up, as he let the Food Network channel play whatever it was airing while he looked for something to occupy his hands.

Tidying up the various things he left laying around, dusting, running the vacuum and even cleaning the baseboards… he was going out of his mind with this ugly tangle of annoyance and worry caught in his throat.

Nanette wasn’t hurt, he knew that because she was still posting on Instagram once a day and sometimes more, so while he wasn’t worried about her being injured he was worried about her being healthy. It had not escaped his notice that she’d made sure Camille ate more of the salad they ordered and the questions had been burning on the tip of his tongue, to know if they were going to be okay with that little amount of food, but he’d kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place to try and… well to try and control what it was they ate or how they lived.

Zach would never be able to forgive himself if he crossed the line between concern and control, he could still hear the loud shouting not only of his drill instructors and his commanding officers from his time in service but from his own father just over the soft fear in his Mother’s voice. He had always tried so hard to be better than the man that had been determined to shape him into an angry, violent, young man; joining the military to appease his father and to escape him.

He picked up his phone and decided that, regardless of the time, he was going to try and do more than just sit back passively this time as he scrolled to Nanette’s contact and pressed the call button. It was answered but he could hear talking in the background about lighting, positioning for props, and someone complaining about stretched seams.

“I’ll be right back, Shaye. Hi Zach.”

“Hi Nanette, I didn’t realize- you could have let it go to voice mail.”

Guilt rose up in his chest at the exhausted edge to her voice, breathy and tired, and his anger began to slide away into the ugly self-loathing about how he wasn’t actually anywhere near being over his issues with his confidence and self-worth. He had again believed the worst in her, unintentionally pushing his issues onto her actions.

“No, I’ve been really busy lately. I’ve had a shoot each day after my agent got a contract for three different magazines, by the time I get done I’m too tired to do anything.”

“Do you need me to bring you anything? Can I bring you anything? I don’t want to get you in trouble but I can bring something to eat if you need it.”

To try and make-up for his slight Zach felt the need to take care of her, to do something other than just sit back and stew in his guilt. Realistically he knew he needed to reach out to his therapist, she knew about Nanette and how dating a model was tanking his own self-confidence, but right now he couldn’t stand the idea of doing anything for himself and his mental state when the little voice in his head demanded he care for the woman he wanted to be with.

“I mean we’re allowed to eat a light salad with oil and vinegar but they don’t have that here on the catering table so most of us just drink water on meal break. Have been for three days.”

“I can bring a large container of salad greens with some oil and vinegar for you all, I just miss you and want to see you.”

“I… you- really? I mean, I miss you too Zach but you don’t have to do that since you won’t get paid for it.”

“I’m not worried about the money, Nanette, I’m worried about you. You sound exhausted and I can’t imagine how hard it is on you to skip meals like that.”

The confession was a little strong for how he usually handled her career talk but he felt the need to show her that he cared, that he was worried but wouldn’t intervene unless she asked him to.

“I’d like that, Zach, and I know the others would too.”

“Okay, do I need to bring anything other than my ID?”

“No, I’ll let security know to expect you and send you the location. Thank you, Zach.”

“Of course, Nanette, I’ll be there soon then.”

As soon as the call ended he was shutting off his television and hurrying toward the door after changing out his over sized sleep shirt for a tighter fitting white shirt from his dresser, he warned Ramirez that he was coming in to get everything together himself and then he was out the door after putting on his shoes. Zach had the address and put it into his car’s built in GPS, the detour at the diner took a bit of time since he grabbed some insulated bags and containers but the longest part of the ride was heading to the shoot itself.

Following his therapist’s recommendations Zach reminded himself about the things he’d done that were good, that helped people and lifted them up, about all the progress he’d made since meeting Justin and starting the process of getting back on his feet. It was hard to look at it and be proud, when right now that ugly voice in his head was trying to tell him he’d only done good things to repay the chance he’d been given, but Zach knew that wasn’t true.

Even before the military he was someone that his friends could depend on, he was a protector and caretaker and well liked even when he lost his temper or had his own outbursts. He’d been a kid born to unfortunate circumstances who had someone trying to teach him to be cruel, his way of adapting had been avoiding the path of cruelty as much as possible and striving to be kind.

But sometimes he saw it, in his reflection mostly since he inherited his father’s nose and face shape, Zach could see the shadow of anger and danger that was hiding in wait for the moment he slipped up.

“Get it together, Wellison, you’re fine. Nanette’s just busy and she’s not upset with you.” It was rare that he indulged talking with himself but he’d learned that sometimes he needed to.

The shoot was a wide stretch of the shore and security flagged his car into a private parking lot, showing them his ID and then letting them do a pat down before he was taking the cold bags to a tent with tables of sandwiches and snacks. Nanette was posing on the sand right now and his eyes raked over the exposed skin from the mono-kini she was modeling, the butter yellow fabric looked gorgeous on her and her hair was hanging loose as she arched her back a little more like she was getting ready to jump and hit a volley ball back at an imaginary opponent.

A pose where she was on her knees in the sand, hands resting on her thighs, with her hair hanging over one shoulder followed; he noticed how still she was and couldn’t help but wonder just how long she could hold a pose for. The next pose had her leaning back to set her hands in the soft sand, still on her knees, and arching her back like she was stretching and about to get up.

Two more quick poses and lunch was called and Zach caught Nanette’s eye when she started heading toward the tables, watching her grab a larger zip up jacket that she slipped over the bathing suit before she was walking over to him and smiling so gently as she leaned on the table slightly.

“You’re a hero, seriously, I’m famished. I’m sorry it’s been busy and-“ Nanette’s worried expression made him feel guilty again and he captured both her hands in his to interrupt her, loving that he could see the touch of color under the make-up she was wearing. Just being here with her, knowing he could do something for her, was easing the knot of self-loathing that had begun forming in his chest.

“Don’t apologize for working, this is the least I could do for you, Nanette.” He couldn’t tell her what he’d thought, afraid that if he spoke it into existence he would curse himself, so instead Zach kept that truth tucked away to discuss with his therapist at his next appointment. He served up some salad to the models, greeting Camille warmly, and if it weren’t for the sour look on the face of the suit wearing man walking their way Zach would have thought everyone here was very down-to-earth.

“I’m Delaney St. John, Nanette’s agent, you run a diner?” The greeting was borderline rude and Zach felt his already turbulent emotions begin shifting to anger, years of being looked down on by men like this hadn’t done anything for him other than make him defensive when confronted like this.

“I’m Zachary Wellison, and yes I run The Chow Hall.” His diner had made headlines for being one of the only places in LA to hire veterans only so he wasn’t at all surprised to see recognition on the man’s face.

“Right, well, thank you for bringing something to eat for Nanette and the others and being conscious of their restrictions. Ladies, I need to remind you that measurements and physicals are due this weekend since I haven’t gotten any yet.” His eyes darted to Nanette and Zach felt her flinch a little, wondering if he’d inadvertently led to her needing to cut back in order to maintain her weight and measurements.

After Delaney walked away she fell quieter and took smaller bites of food, leaving Zach to believe that she felt like her physical and measurements would be a problem.

“Hey, Nanette, are you going to be okay?” He hated prying like this but he felt guilty again, even if she was an adult with the ability to refuse what he offered Zach would sometimes come and eat a dessert with her and give her a bite or two when she came in for lunch. He watched her nod without speaking, her stare distant, and Camille offered him a knowing smile.

“Nettie will be fine, Louis is good at getting the four of us to stay where we need to. It’s just Delaney being a bastard because Nettie, Shaye, Mel, and I keep ourselves within five pounds of our maximum weight.” The explanation didn’t really soothe his worries, the fact that their contract came with a maximum allowed weight made him angrier than Delaney’s attitude had but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Mhm, I’ll be okay. But thank you, Zach, for worrying about me without being bossy or weird about it.” Nanette leaned up to kiss his cheek and he opened one of his arms, letting her snuggle against his side as she sipped from her water bottle, but he noticed that Delaney was still shooting him dirty looks from where he was talking with the make-up team. Zach met that glare with a flat expression of his own, refusing to back down, and the suit wearing man looked away after glancing at Zach’s bicep where his tattoo rested.

“You know your job, and your body’s capabilities, better than I do Nanette. I’ll still worry but I trust you to tell me if something is wrong that I need to be more concerned about.” He watched her eyes widen, watched the flush darken under her make up, and he wanted to kiss her but the loud ringing signaling the end of lunch interrupted him. Before he left he stopped Nanette with a soft smile.

“Hey, can you let me know when you’re not busy? I want to plan a date if you’re okay with that?” Nanette blinked and nodded, lips lifting into a fond smile.

“I’ll text you my schedule when I get the chance, Zach, and I’m sorry again I’ve been so busy.”

“Stop apologizing for that, just take care of yourself.” He earned a giggle and kissed her forehead, making Nanette gasp softly at the touch of his lips, and Zach grabbed the empty bin of salad greens to bring back to the diner with a smile on his face and relief blooming in his chest.

He was okay, they were fine.

Nanette was still shaken from seeing Zach on site and revealing the truth of what they were to everyone but not anywhere near where she had been, which was good, and Nanette felt the weight of Delaney’s stare as she talked with Louis about her new schedule for the gym. After the series of shoots had finally ended she had three designers who reached out to hire her for their evening wear runway events, an offer that Delaney would have been an idiot to refuse since the COO of the agency had been the one to pass the message along.

Thanks to Louis monitoring her weight and measurements on a bimonthly basis already she’d known that she’d been flirting with her limits, the most recent deficit was self-imposed and her trainer had been proud of her for making that call and following through with it. There was a lot to do still since she was just shy of a few pounds below where she was allowed to be, of course, but that was the point of a new schedule and working with Louis to create an eating plan that would better suit her.

“You’re doing a good job, Nanette, I’m proud of you. You make my job easier and I appreciate you, girl.” Louis’ praise made her smile, unable to help the way she felt knowing she was doing something good for him, and as her trainer walked away she found herself face-to-face with her very upset agent.

“Is something the matter, Delaney?” His lips curled slightly into a scowl at her pleasant tone and she kept the shakiness from her voice as best as she could, for all the times she resisted his more outlandish requests and tantrums she was still worried about the idea that he’d try and crush her career. But when he handed her a bundle of paperwork she’d been given two days before, that she’d refused to sign, Nanette found herself looking up at him and all the shakiness leaving her.

“Why didn’t you sign this?”

“I’m not going to get a breast enlargement and you legally can’t force me to do so, nor can you release me because of my refusal.”

He stared at her and she stared right back, channeling as much of her mother’s quiet anger as she could, and the man’s nostrils flared slightly as he clenched his fingers around the twenty-page long surgery and recovery plan. But for as much as she was fighting it she couldn’t help but feel that worry, that niggling little fear that he was only doing this to help her later, and she hated that she wasn’t sure but Nanette was sure she was happy with her body.

There was nothing wrong with her the way she was, her shoots were popular and now she had been specifically requested by new clients to the company.

With her silence and continued refusal the man finally tucked the papers away and grabbed his tablet, e-mailing her an updated schedule with a lot of new shoots and events on it.

“Very well. Seeing as several others have agreed to it I’m diving their workload, and I don’t want your boyfriend on site again.” Delaney’s sharp tone made Nanette flinch, but only after he’d turned away from her, and she made a noncommittal noise as she turned around to go find Camille and the others.

Shaye and Mel had complimented her on landing a man as good looking as Zach, with several other girls admitting they would snatch him up in a heartbeat if she fucked up with him, but Camille had pulled her aside to quietly confess that she was happy to see Nanette with someone that was good to her. Knowing her friends liked him made it harder to come to grips with the fact that she was terrified, her brain had created this impossible fantasy and she wasn’t sure how long she could lie to him about enjoying sex, and as much as she wanted to run away she also couldn’t imagine not having him in her life.

But they were too far gone to ever be able to just be friends.

Camille spotted her and a testament to Nanette’s control of her facial expressions came in the fact that her best friend hadn’t noticed any of her inner turmoil, or maybe it was a testament to Camille’s friendship that she noticed and hadn’t said anything. Whatever the case was Nanette was able to breathe since the girls were too eager discussing the new work that had come in for them with how many of the others had agreed to get breast enlargement surgeries on the company dime.

The more modeling they did meant they had more opportunities to be picked up by bigger contracts, become more desired and maybe even get as far as being on the runway for Fashion Week in Paris.

Nanette found herself nodding and humming along where she needed to as her friends talked even with her mind miles away, trying to think about how best to approach the subject with Zach. It was possible he would be okay delaying sex, that maybe he wasn’t so traditionalist to expect it from her on the third date, but most people she’d gone out with having the intention of dating them monogamously had proven too eager and often pushed for it on the first date.

Zach wasn’t anything like anyone she’d met before though, he was down-to-earth and patient, he was kind and considerate in a way that most people she’d met weren’t. But the fear that she’d bring it up and find out he did want it, that he’d only date her exclusively if she was willing to sleep with him, kept her from doing so. When he’d called her up saying he missed her, without even being upset at her for ghosting him, she’d been -and still was- plagued with guilt.

This sweet, caring, man had wanted to see her so bad that he’d been willing to bring a salad to a photo shoot for her and the other models.

Meanwhile all she’d been able to think about was how awful she was for treating him like the men she’d been with before, guilty for trying to put him on a pedestal and running from him because her own traitorous brain couldn’t just let her have this one thing, and yet he only seemed to want to take care of her and make sure she was okay.

“So, since we have three days off please tell me you’re going to go on date three with Zach? He’s a real sweetheart, I think he’s the type to be a giver if you know what I mean.” Shaye waggled her eyebrows and Melinda burst into laughter, the raunchy grin on Camille’s face made Nanette nod even though the implication compounded the guilt she was feeling for ghosting Zach because she wasn’t normal.

“Excellent, I have the perfect dress you can wear too. When Cam drops us all off I can pop in and grab it for you.” With that said the four of them left the agency gym together and began walking toward the parking lot where Camille had her parking pass registered, it was further away but the walking was good for them and it was a gated parking lot with security on site twenty-four seven.

Nanette let the girls fantasize about what her third date could possibly be, they all agreed that it was unlikely for Zach to take her out to eat after his visit on set but the girls were quick to throw around walks on the beach or going out to the club, and Nanette knew that they had him all wrong. The beach walks were more likely than a club, Zach had proven he was very much a romantic with his picnic date, an artist with how he’d reacted to her date at the photography gallery, and it made Nanette wonder what he might have up his sleeve next.

After taking the dress Mel had for her and then being dropped off at home, which was blessedly empty since Francesca’s minor role required her to drive four hours upstate and was paying for a hotel for three days, all Nanette could do was stare at her phone and work up the will to text or call Zach again so they could coordinate a time and place. She wanted this date, she did, but it still felt overwhelming knowing that everyone was expecting her to sleep with him now that it was date three. That he might expect her to sleep with him since it was date three.

It was absolutely shitty of her, to go radio silent and use her work as an excuse for not contacting him.

The fact that he trusted her enough to know her own body had her eyes filling with tears, this was completely new to her. Even her mother and step-father had policed her diet and any sort of activities she’d done when she was shifting from pageants to modeling, and as a child growing up she’d only really known heavy restrictions and being interrogated about every little thing she did. This level of trust was… new.

Tapping out a text to let him know she was officially free for three days, sending it before she could stop herself, Nanette wiped away the tears and began the chore of cleaning off her make-up instead of dwelling on her twisted up emotions. The chime of a response made her glance at the device and smile, he clearly had it on hand if he’d answered that quickly, and she tapped the call button before throwing it on speaker since that was what he’d wanted.

“Three days huh? Well as much as I’d love to steal you away for all three I don’t want you to get sick of me either.”

“I could never, Zach.”

It was upsetting how hard on himself Zach could be, she wasn’t blind to how he seemed to not realize how incredible he was, and Nanette wasn’t going to let him keep doing that if she could help it.

“How about Saturday night I take you out?”

“I’d like that, is there any way I should dress?”

“Semi-formal, I’ll pack something to eat for dinner but I’ll keep it light.”

“A picnic at night? I’ve never done that before.”

“Good, then it’ll be a complete surprise. How was the rest of your week?”

Things with him were easy in a way Nanette hadn’t ever had before, revealing her new workload and why -ignoring how her heart skipped when he called her perfect the way she was and being upset that her agent even wanted her to undergo any cosmetic surgeries at all- and Zach told her about two new hires and how Akenlolu’s waiting paid off in being hired for an accounting job after completing the required education for it.

After putting on her moisturizer and tying her hair up loosely to keep it off her face she went to the kitchen with her phone in hand, throwing together a light dinner of whitefish over greens, and she talked with Zach well into the evening as he asked about her favorite films and music. Steering the conversation from work where they began learning about each other, like how Zach’s mother was actually from Mexico and he spoke fluent Spanish and how she was never taught any foreign languages as a kid.

By the time they were both yawning, needing to go to sleep, Nanette didn’t want to let him go. Something about him made her crave the closeness, like this, just a little longer she wanted to live in this time before she would have to deal with the physical of their relationship. But they couldn’t, both of them too tired after the day, and Nanette refilled her water bottle but paused as she looked in the full-length mirror in the living room.

Taking in her appearance, pausing on her thighs and hips, turning to the side and pressing a hand to the smooth skin of her torso.

She was in weight range, her measurements hadn’t changed, she was fine.

Just in case she was going to make sure she didn’t eat anything heavy, just to be safe.

He was excited, basically dancing on the balls of his feet as he slipped into a pair of comfortable but dressy shoes, and Zach ignored the rising nerves as he looked in the mirror at his reflection. His slacks were wrinkle free aside from the ones due to motion and wear and his button up was crisp and clean, the white fabric was miraculously stain free and he ignored the faint five o’clock shadow as he used a nice cologne and ran a hand through his hair. Leather belt through the belt loops of his pants, sleeves rolled up since the night was warm, and Zach was out the door before he could worry himself late.

The food was already packed away, no dessert tonight, and he only cursed Saturday night traffic once as he made his way to Nanette’s apartment building. He glanced at the bouquet of flowers on the passenger seat again, hoping his mother’s lessons in craft earned him something, and he hoped Nanette liked the handmade silk flowers. Recycled from silk fabric that came from clothing meant to be destroyed for small things like fraying or stains on a small area, he’d worked to reduce as much of the waste as he could and was proud of the colorful arrangement.

They were a variety of colors and fabrics, the stems and leaves were multitudes of greens while the blooms were vibrant mixes of colors and patterns, a rainbow of silk and a mish-mash of designs, but he’d been told by Hill and Mosby that the bouquet was beautiful so he was hoping they weren’t lying.

He pulled up to the temporary parking place and grabbed the bouquet, calling Nanette to come down since he didn’t know exactly which apartment was hers, and Zach felt his breath catch in his throat when she stepped out from the building. The dress was stunning in an ombre of colors like the sunrise, her dark hair pulled up in a twist with a few loose strands to frame her face, and her lips were dark and curling into a smile as she walked over.

“These are for you.” The words were just above a breathy whisper, his eyes wide, and Nanette’s smile seemed to grow into a toothy grin as she examined the silk flowers.

“This is beautiful, I love that they’re fabric so I don’t have to be afraid of them wilting.” He noticed the shiny diamond bracelet and took note of it, since he doubted she’d wear anything less precious of a stone, but he was drawn to the way her eyes were on him as she leaned up to kiss him right on the corner of the mouth. It was hard to restrain himself from capturing her in his arms and kissing her properly, the tease of her cheek was the only thing he gave himself, and Nanette giggled when he opened the car door for her before settling into the passenger seat.

He had to get moving or there was a chance he might try and convince her to have a night in.

“I hope you can dance in those.” He glanced at her strappy heels, ignoring the flash of discomfort seeing the red sole disappear as the interior light turned off, and Nanette giggled as she set the bouquet down beside his cold bag.

“Of course I can, I didn’t know you could dance. You never said.”

“My Mama took me with her to lessons when I was growing up, I used to- I had a lot of energy to burn and she didn’t want me doing it in a dangerous way.” Maria Wellison, bless her heart, had wanted him to be gentle and calm, not as angry and aggressive as his father so Zach had dance lessons after school instead of hanging out with the other military kids who started getting into trouble for fights.

Zach honestly could never thank his Mama enough for what she’d done, teaching him how to do basic needlework and make silk flowers and letting him create, and even though he’d never get her back into the States again now that she and his father were divorced he talked to her at least three times a week.

“Your mother sounds lovely, she must be proud of you.”

“She is, yea, even if it’s hard for me to believe it sometimes.”

He glanced down when Nanette set her hand on his where he was tapping the gear shift nervously, unable to meet her eyes since he was driving, but the warmth of her voice and her words made him wish he could pull over and look into her eyes.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Zach, you’re amazing. What you do for others is something so kind, you give them a chance to adapt and grow and find a place to belong after what I an only imagine is such a hard life.” He felt that glaring self-doubt ignite, the reminder of what he’d done during his time in lingering, and even though he knew she was right he couldn’t shake that darkness looming just out of reach.

His therapist and Justin were the only ones who knew that some nights he woke up with the phantom sensation of a gun in his hand, with blood and dirt on his uniform, and the sound of gunfire deafening him as he curled in bed. Part of him was afraid that he’d mess up, that if he pushed this too soon he’d hurt Nanette because he was stuck with his demons, but he couldn’t live in fear forever.

“Thank you, Nanette, I’ll try to remember that more.”

“You’d better, you’re a good man Zachary Wellison and I’m so happy to have been able to meet you.”

The park wasn’t even close to being full when he arrived, slinging the cold bag over his shoulder, and Nanette looped her arm in his as they traversed the stone pathway toward where a pavilion was set up with picnic benches and other people loitering around or eating. He handed his tickets to the attendant and they picked a bench to sit at, ignoring the eyes on them as he unpacked the lean meal, and Nanette was making it pretty obvious how curious she was as she looked around.

“In about an hour there’s going to be live bands playing, tonight is slow jazz and R&B.” He remembered her mentioning that she listened to a lot of Etta James, Louis Armstrong, and Ella Fitzgerald after moving out of her parent’s house. He knew tonight that there was a veteran he met on tour singing Andrea Bocelli covers too, which was why he’d been pretty excited that the stars had aligned for him, so it was hard to contain that energy.

He watched her eat, unable to help it now that he knew a little more about her work life and her restrictions, but clearly he’d packed the right things since she didn’t hesitate or even question it. Zach had gone for lighter and brighter greens, pickled onions, and roasted chicken with warmer spices like cinnamon and cardamom and turmeric to balance the vinegar and tangy flavors on the greens. It was hard to avoid using certain ingredients since that was how his Mama taught him to cook but finding new recipes online had worked in his favor, knowing that Nanette liked everything just made it that much better.

By the time they were done eating, with him taking the cold bag and dishes back to the car, the bands were done setting up and he spread out the blanket he’d brought so they could sit in the grass with everyone else as the benches were moved off to the sides of the pavilion to create a dance floor.

“Thank you, Zach, this is beautiful.” Nanette’s voice was soft as she slipped her hand in his and rested her head against his shoulder, the first group up leaned right into romance as the petite female singer began crooning into the microphone and her band mates began playing the bouncy melody of Ella Fitzgerald’s It’s a Pity to Say Goodnight. Nanette softly sang the words beside him, making Zach smile as she tapped her thumb against his hand in time to the melody, and he grinned before helping her up and moving to the dance floor.

He was pleasantly surprised that she could keep up with him as he free styled a dance routine, adding some jive style moves into his spins and twirls, but she kept up with him and he was reminded that she had grown up doing a variety of talents and pageants of all kinds. It made him smile as he pulled her close when the music shifted to something slower and the singer’s voice lowered, with Nanette mouthing the words and the live instruments echoing under the pavilion top.

They stopped here and there to simply sit and listen, or when the performers would switch out, and after four groups Zach smiled when he saw Guzman get up on stage.

“Guzman is good, I know him from when I was in the service, he sings Andrea Bocelli and sounds great doing it.” Nanette’s eyes twinkled and she got up, offering her hand to him, so Zach followed her to the dance floor as Guzman looked right at him and winked before spinning his guitar around his body to play. The familiar strumming as Zach and Nanette started to dance together made Zach smile as he leaned his face down enough to whisper the lyrics into Nanette’s ear.

Bésame Mucho was the one song he remembered his father ever singing to his Mama and even that was when he was very young, before the man lost all the rest of his kindness, and Zach couldn’t help but sing it to Nanette. Something about her chased away the darkness in his world, and even with the pavilion only illuminated by fairy lights the world around him was brighter with her in it, and Zach made a promise to himself that he’d do whatever it took to make sure she knew that. A promise that he’d never lose this blossoming love or any of his kindness, that he’d be patient and understanding always so that his world stayed this bright.

Like there was just an aurora around the two of them when they were together like this or something, it was cliché but the whole cartoon sparkles and bubbles were really a thing since his belly felt like he’d been filled with butterflies, and her playful smile was softened by the glow in her eyes.

His first kiss with her was there on that dance floor, her hand in his and his other hand on her back, but it was perfection as she pressed her lips to his and swayed with him to the music. That light feeling in his chest followed him all the way through Guzman’s set, all the way back to his car as the park closed down, and Nanette’s hand in his stayed there the entire ride back to hers.

“Zach? Did you- do you want to come up?” He felt the slightest shake in Nanette’s hands and heard it in her voice, unsure if it was nerves or excitement, as he reached a red light Zach glanced at her face carefully. There wasn’t anything in her expression to say she didn’t want this, that he could see in this lighting, and Zach had to turn his head back to the road before he could really examine her expression. Things with Nanette were surprisingly easy compared to what he was used to, everything he’d been through so far often came learned or acquired the hard way, and Zach wanted this to be another easy thing for them.

If they were compatible everywhere, as a couple and in bed, he’d feel much better asking her to go exclusive.

“Only if you want me to, Nanette.” He answered truthfully, that while he did want to have her under him or on him like that he wasn’t going to demand it, and he felt Nanette’s grip on his hand tighten a little only briefly.

“I want you to come up, Zach.” They pulled into the parking lot and Zach wasn’t surprised when the lot security was suspicious but Nanette cleared his car as a guest vehicle, which was a big commitment since it basically gave him free reign to come over when he wanted unless she revoked it, and he followed her to the elevator after finding her designated parking space.

But something about having her like this, in this closed space knowing what she wanted from him, created something electric in the air and Zach began noticing everything. How Nanette’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, how her pupils had expanded when she tipped her head to look at him, the way she seemed to fidget and how her grip on his hand kept shifting just a little.

Like she couldn’t contain herself with him.

He didn’t have to question it as he turned to face her, the elevator doors sliding closed after what felt like a century, because Nanette made it clear as she stepped close to him and kissed him. Zach moaned into her mouth, unable to help himself, hands dropping to her waist to hold her close and Nanette whined softly against his lips as she gripped his biceps.

He let her walk him back to the wall of the elevator, let her cage him against the solid surface, and he was just as addicted to the feeling of her lips on his as she seemed to be because even parting for air was so brief and the chime of the elevator shocked both of them when it sounded. Nanette’s face was flushed almost as pink as her dress, breathing erratic, and Zach let her pull him to her apartment while taking note of the number on the door as she unlocked it.

There was a full length mirror in the living space, the kitchen wasn’t large but it was tidy and everything looked like what he’d expect from a pretty fancy LA apartment, but her room was surprisingly small until he realized that the closet was bigger than her room when she practically tossed her heels through the door muttering something about putting them away later.

He grinned as Nanette pushed him back onto her bed and Zach let her straddle his lap as he slowed things down, one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her lower back as the kiss turned languid. He wanted to savor this, to get to watch every expression on her face when he was able to touch her bare, and Nanette didn’t fight it. The slow movement of their lips, the way her hands drifted down his chest so her nails could run along his torso over the shirt, all of it made his head hazy and the blood rush south when she bit his lower lip and rocked her hips in the same beat.

Zach found the pin holding her twist up and pulled, the loose braid dropping down her back, and Nanette whimpered against his lips as he let his tongue run against her mouth before she opened for him. It was bliss, the feeling of her wet tongue brushing his and the smell of her perfume this close, her warm body perched in his lap as she angled her head to deepen the kiss. He was content like this, sitting on her bed just kissing her, but Nanette shifted again and he could tell she was either turned on or impatient and he couldn’t decide which choice he liked more.

“So beautiful.” He traced his nose along hers before trailing soft kisses across her cheek to nip at her ear and Nanette squirmed, gripping the fabric of his shirt as she shivered, and he licked the shell of her ear in a tease as he rocked his hips up and used the hand on her lower back to hold her still.

“Can I taste you, Nanette?” Zach was a giver, always had been, when it came to relationships; his biggest problem was that he had a habit of giving too much and getting heartbroken in return when his partner never reciprocated, be it affection or time or even just being there. He couldn’t turn that off and the desire to have Nanette writhing over him as he looked up at her, as she trembled above him, it was all consuming.

“Y-yes.” Nanette’s voice had gone quiet, uncomfortably quiet, and Zach paused what he was doing to study her face. He could see it now, in the wide eyes and parted lips, the discomfort lurking in her expression. He stopped her when she tried to distract him with a kiss, with her hips on his, and the shine of tears on her face put a full stop to everything.

“Hey, easy, talk to me. What’s going on?” He softened his voice, making her sit beside him, and Nanette’s body shook a little before the tears slipped free as she smeared her make up to wipe them away.

This was not how things were supposed to go but Nanette knew she’d messed it all up and now Zach was going to leave for good.

Couldn’t just keep it the fuck together for a little bit longer, what a joke.

His eyes were wide with worry and Nanette knew he deserved an answer, as much as she wanted to just run, but her breathing and her emotions just wouldn’t cooperate. It took several long minutes of Zach just holding her, using one of her handkerchiefs to clean up her face and then hugging her, before she found the ability to even speak again.

“I’m sorry I just- I’ve been all up in my head all night because I knew I wanted this with you but it’s never… there’s something wrong with me because it’s never been good and I don’t want you to leave because I’m not good enough-“ The words tumbled out before she could filter them, needing him to know that it wasn’t him that was the issue, and she had to stop herself as soon as she admitted that she was fucked up somehow. It was officially over before it began, it didn’t matter how patient or kind a man was when it came to their work, she was going to find out that she wasn’t worth his time or effort since she couldn’t enjoy sex.

Zach tipped her chin up and pressed a kiss to her forehead, shaking his head gently and hushing her.

“If it was never good for you before it’s because whoever you were with didn’t take the time to find out what made you feel good, Nanette. Your OBGYN hasn’t said there’s something medically wrong with you, have they?” He was watching her face now and she shook her head, he was right in that because Dr. Samuels had done some pretty extensive testing when Nanette went in last year and finally mentioned the pain, and her doctor was a very sweet and thorough woman with everything before giving Nanette a clean bill of health.

“No, she hasn’t. But how can- it’s consistent, which means it has to be me-“

“That’s not true at all, Nanette, it’s not uncommon for men to ignore what makes their partner feel good and that isn’t a you problem. If you’re not ready I’m not going to push you okay? I’m not going to leave you over this either. I like you and what matters most to me is that you enjoy what I do and consent to what I do, the second you don’t want it means I stop.” Zach’s reassurance, and his firm stance, made Nanette burst into heaving sobs as it sank in that he meant what he said.

His arms around her were solid, they made her feel safe, and Nanette clung to him as she whispered gratitude into his shirt until her voice was hoarse and her eyes burned from how much she’d cried. The entire time he’d held her close, promising her that he wasn’t leaving her, and Nanette believed him. What she didn’t count on was Zach rummaging through her kitchen, the smell of something warm and sweet in the air when he returned to pull her out to sit on the couch, or for him to give her hot blueberry cobbler -which she’d admitted to having just once as a teen and lying to her mother about- with a promise that he could wait.The smell of his cologne and the cinnamon sugar crumble, the taste of his mouth and the blueberries on her tongue, all of it made her feel safe. It made her feel seen.

All Fics Taglist: @hardc0rehaylz @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @musings-of-a-rose @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @rominaszh @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry

Just Pedro Taglist: @maievdenoir @beecastle @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms @aynsleywalker @lovesbiggerthanpride @mswarriorbabe80

You're so Classic Only: @green-socks @whataperfectwasteoftime

[chaoticgeminate]

William is an Irish menace. All Pero wants to do is eat (not just food) and all his wife wants is to live a life of peace with her husband. Can't do that if William shows up with work 😅

But yes! I agree! Papa Pero deserves a bunch of little girls to raise (and maybe one son, if I feel like a benevolent writer) so it felt only right.

You want thots? I give you thots.

I am still thinking about Pero Tovar (by the end of it you will know who send this message lol)

He’s been gone all summer and is just so back before the first snow. And you prepared everything but…. Conveniently you left the wood chopping for him so here you are on the little porch in front of the little house you shaded, wrapped in a blanket that finally smells like him again, a tea in your hand, looking respectfully, as Pero chops firewood.

He started out with an old shirt but now, even though its freezing outside he got rid of it.

He groans everytime the axe comes down, his hair clinging to his face with sweat, his muscles flexing, sweat running down his chest….

Oh dear, my hand slipped, oops.

NSFW below the cut 💙 Mentions of pregnancy, allusions to fertility issues

Summer hadn't been nearly as easy for you as you'd hoped, not with Pero being called upon by William for a new job right near the end of the Spring planting season, and as much as you treated that Irish menace like family you also wanted to threaten him with the business end of the woodcutting axe.

His timing was entirely unfair.

Your husband had promised his return before the cold winds of winter had settled around your little home, and your last night together had finally taken.

You'd been married just shy of two years and not once in the many times you'd lain with your husband had you been able to feel the signs of new life within you. Pero had been truly supportive in the wake of your growing fears, even offering to write to the Eastern soldiers for possible medicines to try, but that meant he would have to go collect them and you'd been fearful in his attempt he wouldn't make it home.

The rumors had been ugly in the nearest village, whispers of the word barren following you like a shroud, the church patrons whispered of sin and being cursed by their God. Now many of the men and women had begun offering help, with Pero away, and you'd turned down most of them out of sheer pride alone. The help you did accept came from those who had been kind, who had shown you sympathy and compassion, and your tiny cabin was ready to host a newborn at long last.

The blacksmith had helped repair the locks on the doors, windows, fence, and hen house; the tailor's daughter had ensured you had plenty of tunics and dresses to wear as your body changed, as well as clothing for the babe, and several young members of the militia had taken to fetching your water from the river and checking over the woodwork of the cabin and roof to make sure it'd stay warm through the winter and secure without your husband.

The cradle was a gift from the tavern owner's wife, all of her children grown and moved from the village due to work or marriage, and now all that was left was to gather your eggs daily and gather the wild berries that grew in the brush to clean and make treats to sell.

The woodpile had once been full but with your baking, your desire to heat water for a hot bath much more often, and the need to boil your water more thoroughly -at the doctor's advice- you were watching the pile of stored wood steadily decline.

The chill of fall had set in, winter winds nipping at your heels, when you heard the sound of metal armor and hoof beats on the path and you rose from bed slowly as the baby definitely woke up to the noise and pressed on your bladder.

Wrapping yourself in a blanket, sliding into your soft boots, you stepped outside and heard Pero talking with his stallion in the stable and resisted the urge to smile.

"You were racing winter, I see. Welcome home, my love."

Pero turned his head to look at you and you watched the way his eyes traced your face, then drifted lower, and you let the blanket fall open as you held your arms out for a hug. His dark eyes grew impossibly wide, the brush falling from his hand, and Pero's steps were slow as he approached.

"Mi amor, you are- we're going to have a baby?"

"Yes, Pero, I found out not long after you left-"

His kiss was voracious, taking you by surprise, and you smiled against his mouth as your husband's shaking hand pressed gently to your swollen womb. The baby, as if sensing their father's presence, kicked stubbornly against the interloper and Pero's breathing skipped in awe.

"I must- the wood store is low. I'll not have you going without baths and boiled water." You squealed in surprise when he pinched your derriere and guided you to the bench on the little porch, his eyes alight with joy, and it was easy to answer his questions after he stripped off his armor and brought several large logs to the chopping block.

As he worked you watched him begin stripping off layers, despite the chill, the way his skin was shiny with sweat and grime from the travel home. Your heart thundered in your chest and a different ache, a different hunger, began to make its presence known. When he stripped off his tunic, leaving his chest bare, your eyes traced every little sliver of richly colored skin.

By the time he was finished chopping the wood and storing it in the bin your desire for him was a mess between your legs and your lower lip was red and puffy from biting it, Pero's eyes found yours and you knew the moment he recognized what you wanted.

Watching his muscled arms flex, though you noticed he was thinner than when he'd left -which was about the usual way it went- and you missed the softness of your husband's body when he'd been home to eat and life peacefully. But this version of him, his beard somewhat longer and unkempt and his hair in desperate need of a trim, you didn't mind this version of him either.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"Amor-"

"I'm allowed, Pero, if you're gentle. Please-"

His hand was slick with sweat as he cupped your face, calloused from his sword and the woodcutting axe, but Pero knew better than to deny you. Not that he would, your husband wasn't shy about how carnal his desires were and had told you many times that the sight of you carrying his child would likely make him more ravenous and grouchy than usual.

He pulled you against his body, the road filth and sweat soaking into your dress, and you dragged him inside by the placket of his trousers as he whispered about drinking you down while he waited for the bathwater to heat before he would do anything else to you.

[chaoticgeminate]

I love you Les.

I'm not super emotional that she's SamG canon, I swear, I just have dust in my eyes

I really love the world you created for SamG, it's magical and real and beautiful. The story of star-crossed lovers finding their way to one another is always one of my favorites, but Pero and Tessa took that and cranked it up to the highest degree.

What makes SamG so amazing is the care and attention you put into every character, not just Pero and Tessa, so leaving them out felt like it would be a slap in the face to all of the work you did to create such an amazingly tight-knit family like the Walshes.

I'll be honest when I wrote it this that one of the main reasons I didn't give Teagan the ability to see her own string was because I felt like her magic had to have some kind of limitation. She could easily guide people to their string mate if she wanted to, she could give people their best friend or their fated loved one like her ancestors had but at the cost of not being able to do that for herself.

The other was that I knew I'd get sappy with it and this would become so much more focused on Teagan rather than her seeing Tessa and Pero's love bloom, when the whole point was to show you how magical Tessa and Pero are to me 😅

Thank you Les for being my friend and giving us the magic that is SamG, the love story of Tessa and Pero, and all the little glimpses through their life together.

Love and Red

Summary: Teagan had always seen the little red strings, never her own for some reason, but always everyone else's.

Rating: General Audiences (Dedication Fanfic is Explicit)

Notes: This is a fanfiction of a fanfiction, which I feel is becoming my thing to be honest. This is dedicated to the lovely @leslie-lyman and Stranger at my Gate. Glimpses of Pero and Tessa's story through the eyes of an outsider. This is posted with her permission!

Please check out her stories (if you're over 18, minors are not allowed) and send her some love!

Teagan had always seen the little red strings, never her own for some reason, but always everyone else’s. Connecting pinkies with little red bows, sometimes they went on for miles and miles with no end in sight and sometimes they were right beside each other. A husband and wife, a pair of brothers, grandparent and grandchild. In the past it was said to be the red string of fate that bound lovers’ souls, but now she knew that it wasn’t just romantic love that the strings would show.

Platonic love between two best friends, familial love between old and new generations, all of it was love and all of it was beautiful. But romantic love when reciprocated glowed like Christmas lights, glittering like something precious, and sometimes Teagan would just watch the people in town who found their string mate. 

Wonder why she didn’t have one, or if she did why she couldn’t see it.

This made growing up difficult in a different way than just small-town popularity contests, seeing her classmates with their strings and people around town with theirs; she’d always been called absent-minded or stupid because of the distractions with the colorful shades of red that invaded her life. But there was one girl who had a string that was dull, present but so very faint, and Teagan had thought it unfair that someone as kind as Tessa Walsh had a string that she couldn’t see the end of.

Most people had strings that traveled miles across rooms, across streets and lakes and oceans, whenever theirs wasn’t close by; but Tessa’s string looked like it led to the woods but it never moved to indicate there was someone on the other end. Teagan had tried following it once when her parents had been busy at work and left her on her own, back in middle school, but the string vanished in the middle of the woods near the strangest trees she’d ever seen.

Teagan had no explanation, not that she even knew how she saw the strings to begin with, and after that she could only hope that one day Tessa’s string mate would appear. Taking advantage of the fact that she was as good as invisible to everyone, hiding her eyes -such a pale blue, are we sure she isn’t blind, her mother had once remarked- behind the long strands of mousy brown hair that she allowed to fall over her face when she turned her head down to do her work in school was how she managed to get through her youth.

Learning and observing more and more about the strings while her father taught her all manner of hobbies, it had been his attempt to encourage something to keep her wandering attention and to a degree it had worked, she was sort of an all-around artist. Pottery, ceramics, blown glass, painting… it was things she had done with her dad and things that she did when the loneliness was a little too loud.

University had been the largest factor that stopped her from focusing on the strings as hard as she usually did, there were too many and her schoolwork was so much more challenging, but that behavior carried over even after she graduated. Even as she watched people pair off, meet their string mates, as she watched some strings thin out as friendships faded or break when loved ones were lost.

Teagan’s career practically stumbled into her, if she were being honest, she’d always sold things she made as a small side hustle. Blown glass charm bracelets, beads, and figurines; wooden figurines or beads carved and painted as well as pottery and small paintings. All custom made, all handcrafted, and all of them well loved by the recipients.

One such recipient had been writing a romance novel, had plans to try and sell it, but wanted the cover art style that was practically gone now. Instead of Canva style images she’d wanted an oil painting picture, the classic look, and paid two other students to be the models for it while Teagan had painted it.

Never had she imagined becoming the next Elaine Duillo but it had happened after Time Lost hit the shelves and novelists began blowing up her professional email for requests to paint covers for their books too.

Moving back to her childhood home was done quietly, her parents retired and moved South so she’d bought their place from them since she had no siblings, and the entire ground floor was turned into a storefront and studio. Being as busy as she was with getting her new store situated, her painting studio ready, had meant that she hadn’t been paying attention until one day she went to go shopping and saw something she thought impossible.

Tessa Walsh was walking beside a man at the grocery store, he was tall and imposing but when she wasn’t looking he watched her with the softest expressions, and between their hands the red string was vibrant with the faintest of a glow. Romantic love, not yet requited, but there; Teagan felt like an idiot standing in the produce section with a head of cabbage in her hand gaping but it was beautiful.

The glow of it was red with the faintest glimmers of gold, something she’d never seen before really, and Teagan abruptly snapped her mouth closed to turn around. Unaware that Tessa’s new companion had actually noticed her, more because of her sudden movement than anything, she returned to grabbing her groceries and thanking whatever powers that be for Tessa’s good fortune.

Teagan was hard at work, with Thanksgiving around the corner the ornaments and handcrafted figurines were all selling out so fast, her pottery wheel felt like a slave driver and sleep was hard to manage with the stress of keeping everything on the shelves. Just like last year she’d known this time of the year was going to be a warzone on her sanity, a lonely Thanksgiving coupled with a lonely Christmas had led to her spending more and more time in her studio or in the store for the span of the last three months of the year.

The backlog of book covers to paint was growing, even though they weren’t actually due for at least a few months -as she specifically told people that October through December were dates she would not be painting covers- but they were still there. Thom stopped by to pick up the bulk order of ornaments that they sold at the tree farm for her, after he’d stumbled in looking for a gift for Amie the first year Teagan had her studio open she’d offered to sell them to the Walshes at production cost in exchange for word of mouth advertisement, and he ended up staying long enough to help clear the room out when he saw how frazzled she was. 

“You could come to ours for Thanksgiving, you know, not a single Walsh would turn you away. We’ll also cut your tree before the official opening, since your ornaments always do well.”

“I could never impose, Thom, but thank you. Tell the others I said Happy Thanksgiving. I’ll be around for my tree after the farm opens. It’s crazy busy this time of the year, you know?”

He left while reminding her that if she came by she wouldn’t be turned away if she changed her mind, making her grin slightly, and Teagan took the brief respite of an empty shop to restock what she could on the actual shelves before working to paint some of the dried pottery pieces waiting to be finished.

What she hadn’t counted on was Henry making an appearance a few days later, also extending an invitation to Thanksgiving at the Walsh residence, and Teagan laughed at the man before sending him on his way with a painting he’d commissioned of a whimsical forest scene at night with fairies hidden in the shadows of fireflies and a sleeping family of foxes just barely visible in their den.

Teagan spent Thanksgiving with a microwave meal and her pottery wheel, her paintings didn’t sell as fast as the other things she sold so those were fine, and she had a surplus of pre-made pieces that would last at least four days. Which meant that the Saturday after Thanksgiving she could join the others in town and watch the lighting of the tree, spotting Amie and Thom and the other Walshes watching proudly.

But Teagan was drawn to the golden glow that had nearly engulfed all the red in Tessa’s string connecting her to Pero, it was new and strange for her. It made her think of hope and fear and change, like Pero and Tessa were on the precipice of something and unsure of what they were going to do.

“Hey Teagan, didn’t see you for Thanksgiving?”

Henry and Martin’s greeting made her jump nearly out of her boots.

“Oh, uh, I was trying to catch up on stock. It’s uh, I wasn’t expecting so many people to come actually find my studio. Figured they’d just buy what they needed from the tree farm since its all in one place, you know?”

Martin pulled her into a tight hug.

“Hey, don’t you dare downplay your work. People love what you make, Amie and Thom said they give out your business cards to nearly everyone that comes to pay for their tree because they ask about what else you make. You thinking about hiring anyone to help?”

“I mean, I should but right now I just need to find my footing first. So, uh, Tessa’s… boyfriend? He from Chicago too?”

Henry and Martin both chuckled and you peered around them to see Tessa leading Pero away down toward the rest of town.

“Pero and Tessa aren’t dating, not yet at least.”

“Oh, I just- I thought that they were. They love each other so-”

“I knew we weren’t the only ones to see it! Tessa is being stubborn about it, even the kids know..”

“Their string is so bright, it’s obvious.”

“String?”

Panic seized Teagan momentarily, a reminder why she didn’t really go out of her way to converse with too many people on the topic of love, she’d never really been good at stopping herself.

“Red string of fate, you know? They love each other so much that anyone can see it.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed only a little but Martin laughed softly, accepting it as a playful sort of answer, and Teagan could have kissed Miss Moira when she called for Henry and Martin. Sneaking away so they wouldn’t find her, cowardly as it was, led to Teagan nearly stumbling on a lightshow that only she could see.

Pero and Tessa were kissing and the glow of red and gold around them was radiant, in a way that made Teagan’s eyes water, it was a love that was so beautiful but there was something sad about it too. She hadn’t really ever felt the emotions that came from a string, not until she touched it, but their love was so strong that even from so far away she could feel it like a summer bonfire.

They didn’t see her when they left, thankfully, but as Teagan watched them leave she was struck with the realization that the string had lost the golden tint now that they’d evidently figured it out. But that didn’t explain why they had gold in theirs to begin with and she was suddenly wondering who, or what, Pero Tovar was.

Henry cornered her in her own store not long before the Solstice, Teagan suspected he’d put aside time after work before going home for the day, and she gave up the fight and instead let him stay as she flipped the closed sign over and let him sit down in one of the wooden rocking chairs that she’d inherited with the house. He cast a major judging expression over her microwavable dinner that was half-eaten and cold, hidden behind the counter, but she could care less about that.

“What is it, Henry?”

“You weren’t lying or joking, were you, about seeing the red strings of fate.”

“No, and I promise you I’m not crazy-”

He stopped her before she could work herself up, the shaking in her hands as she sat on her counter turned register table stopped as he held them still, and tapped her nose gently.

“Teagan, I come from a family of magic too. Can you tell me about Pero and Tessa’s string?”

“Well… it’s different. I mean, it’s a romantic love so it glitters like red Christmas lights now that it’s reciprocated but there’s gold in it and I’ve never seen it before. It’s also kind of… sad? Like it feels like the two of them have a powerful choice to make and they’re both hesitating.”

“You’re not wrong about that, is the string thing why you don’t really branch out and come to anything smaller than a town size event?”

Teagan felt her throat tighten.

“I just get overwhelmed-”

“Can you see your own string?”

The fact that he figured her out so quickly should have felt painful, it should have made her angry, but instead she felt defeated.

“No, I can’t. I can see all of it, the romantic strings and familial strings and platonic ones but I can’t see my own.”

Henry was quiet for a long moment before he wrapped her into a tight hug.

“If you feel alone you should stop running from us, I won’t tell anyone else about this except Martin -he is my husband- but I promise you that everyone in my family would understand.”

“Thank you, Henry.”

“You should really eat some actual food and not… those.”

“The last time I tried to cook I nearly blew up the oven, so if I do have a soulmate out there they better be able to cook.”

Henry stared at her for a long time before he shook his head and left, the insanity of the solstice had almost made her forget about her Christmas tree but Teagan remembered when she walked into the upstairs living room and stared at the empty corner of the room. Tomorrow she’d have to venture over to the farm, before the shop got busy, and Teagan nearly jumped down the stairs when she remembered she’d left the half eaten microwave meal down there.

Maybe Henry was right to be worried but she was fine.

What Teagan hadn’t realized was that she’d meet Pero the next day, pulling up to see the tree farm busy as ever, and after choosing a small tree -one that was easier to heft up the stairs- she nearly stumbled into the taller man before he caught her so she didn’t fall backward into someone else. 

“I’m so sorry-!”

“Apologies, did you need something?”

“Oh uh, I was going to find Thom so I could get my tree-”

“I can assist you, I am Pero Tovar, which tree?”

He looked at the tree that was only a little taller than she was with a faint smile and Teagan couldn’t help but let her hand brush through the golden and red string, it was back to being gold with only flashes of red for some reason, but the overwhelming sense of hope and pleading cut through her like lightning.

They had a big choice to make indeed but she didn’t know what it could be or why it was gold other than magic being the answer. When in doubt just blame magic, after all, since she had nothing else to go on.

“If you are anything like Tessa with her decorations this will be buried in lights and baubles.”

“Oh, uh, I only really put lights on my tree. I sell ornaments, I made all the wood and glass ones that Thom brought back before Thanksgiving-”

“You are Teagan? That is very fine, delicate, work. Very impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“What else is it that you make?”

“Paintings, pottery, ceramics, bracelet charms, jewelry, wooden figures… just about anything really.”

Pero hummed as he carried her tree to be wrapped up, the size of it and his strength making it easy to carry, and Teagan noticed the abrupt way the string seemed to begin moving and imagined Tessa had her own things to handle this season.

“I will have to come by your store then, to find a present for Tessa.”

“Of course, and I make things custom as well so if you don’t see something you like then just let me know. It’ll take a little longer to make if its brand new to me but it shouldn’t be that long of a wait.”

Pero tucked her tree into the bed of her pick up and after she paid for her purchase, along with a light scolding from Amie about missing Thanksgiving, Teagan was on her way home and asking the fates again to be kind to Tessa. They weren’t exactly friends but Tessa had always been kind and Teagan still believed that if anyone deserved a powerful love like what she had with Pero that it was Tessa.

It was sometime after Christmas that she found herself at peace, finally, the shop was less hectic and things were quiet. Teagan had her easel out in the storefront today and was working on the first of many backlog book covers, the likelihood of anyone actually coming in was basically slim except she heard the cheerful bell and looked up to see Pero looking around curiously.

“Pero!”

His string was red, pure glittering red and pulsing like a heartbeat, radiating joy and happiness and serenity at long last.

“This is far more than I expected. Where is it you live if this is your store?”

“Oh, uh, upstairs. I remodeled the downstairs into a large open concept store and studio, so upstairs I took down non-support walls to make a living room area since I live alone and don’t really need all the extra bedrooms.”

The house was an old Victorian anyway, three floors with a basement, though the interior had long-since been remodeled to something much more modern; she still had a lot of space she wasn’t exactly using here.

“Practical.”

He was perusing the pottery and ceramics, the plates and serving trays and bowls, the sets of brightly colored and patterned pieces were always eye-catching. He looked at each plate, each small serving bowl, and each little part of one of the more vibrant tapas sets she’d put together after seeing a few online that she really liked.

“Is this sold as a set?”

“Yep!”

“Tessa does love to cook, this would look good when she hosts dinners.” His face fell when he saw the price tag and Teagan knew that he wouldn’t just take a handout, he didn’t seem like the type.

“I don’t make a lot of pottery because I can’t really afford to keep buying the firewood for the kiln unless I have large batch orders, and I’m not anywhere near strong enough to chop my own.” He perked up, instantly, and Teagan was relieved.

She wanted him to be able to give Tessa the lovely tapas set, the vibrant colors and patterns deserved to be used for lively parties, but she hadn’t really had any other way to justify giving him a discount of any kind.

“I could chop your firewood, if you would allow me to purchase this set.”

“How about I draw up an agreement, I’ll put a sold tag on the set, and once you’ve signed it then we can get it wrapped up?”

“This is acceptable, Teagan.”

The whole set was over $600 but included a lot of pieces. Two jugs in 1 liter volume, one butter dish, two spoon rests, three oil dispensers, 40 shallow plates ranging from a two inch diameter up to a 10 inch diameter, 24 bowls ranging from a 4 inch diameter up to a 16 inch diameter, and three utensil holders to match.

It had taken weeks to get everything made, painted, and glazed but the colorful end result had been well worth it. Nobody wanted to buy individual pieces but the price tag deterred even the most longing of potential customers.

One short call to Amie, so that she knew Pero was going to be doing contracted labor and work out a price for his time, and Pero signed the agreement before helping Teagan box the set up to take home to Tessa.

“You will allow me to take these before I work?”

“I trust you Pero. I hope Tessa likes it.”

When he stared at her for a long, quiet, moment she wondered just what he was thinking until he hummed thoughtfully.

“You remind me of someone I knew, a bastard of an Irishman.”

“Oh, well, my grandmother immigrated over here from Ireland. It’s why my parents named me Teagan, to honor her.”

Pero made a soft sound, not affectionate so much as it was understanding, and she realized belatedly he’d come here with Thom and the kids. The other Walsh let her give him hell for staying in the car, it now made sense why Amie was so confused about her call, but she didn’t keep them long after that.

It was a few days later that Tessa showed up with Pero for his first shift chopping wood, thanking her profusely for the tapas set, and Teagan couldn’t help but grin as Tessa looked at all of the other items she had on display.

“I wasn’t going to let him walk here without it, it’s beautiful… how much you love one another.”

Tessa’s face gained some color but she smiled so softly, so affectionately, that Teagan felt peace knowing that whatever choice had kept them tumbling was finally made and it was very clear they’d made the right one.

The way Tessa’s string gleamed and glittered was proof enough that their love truly was magic.

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