#so if it isn't part of that then I only talk about it if it interests me or if I know a lot about it

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land Part 3

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here!

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

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

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

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

Things get harder though.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s day four. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A compromise?” Jack echoes.

“Yes. A compromise.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all too much. 

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

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

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

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

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

You simply wouldn’t be. 

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

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

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

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

He’s looking for your pulse. 

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

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

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

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

The rhythmic beating of your heart in your chest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only you.

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

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

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

Letting him take solace from every part of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whattt? I can’t want that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chin trembles a little. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bed? Or you wanna shower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doll, I didn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Text me when you get there, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J - Finally have a second. You doing okay?

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

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

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

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

Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack squeezes your hand. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t try to stop me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until they aren’t.

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

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

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

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[verdancy-hime]

Actually most of my problems come from the fact that I hate the sensation of air moving on my skin or the hairs on my skin moving and I hate any part of my body being wet or sticky like sweat is physically painful to me even when I'm a vegetarian and have no stress and stuff and also being even heated above like 55 degrees is anxiety inducing in the extreme and so is not wearing long sleeves like anything touching my arms basically I am too physically sensitive in the literally sense and other than food and having sex and sometimes I guess I like non cardio exercise like walking and stretching and stuff I hate having a body and having a body makes me want to die and anything that makes me feel better about having a body and not like I'm cursed like eating or stretching or shaking or tapping or having sex or dressing up how I want or wearing perfume or fasting (which makes me feel focused and relaxed and let's me eat big meals later) is always punished by someone. But even then like if if were possible to not have a body I would prefer that I can't stretch or bend very much or twist or grow or change shape the way I am supposed to be able to and I stopped talking about it years ago because it's transphobic but having a body where I can't grow my arms to be 5 feet long and hit people with them like whips or grow taller or do a kick flip up a wall or jump really high and dance on the air like I'm walking on tiny particles of it or grow razor sharp claws or wings or anything is really weird and unpleasant. I even instinctively grow other parts sometimes when I talk to men like I can imagine a version of me with different sex parts for a day and it doesn't bother me if I need them for sex it's just weird to think of having them as a body all the time the same way thinking of having claws when I'm trying to do fine detail work or choosing to be really tall and not being able to walk without crouching when you go through a door does. About the only part of my body that usually does what I want is my hair unless it's really humid like I can pretty much fluff my hair or leave it in a ponytail or something and it does something all flippy and curly and cool and different every time it's the one thing about my body that isn't weird and gross and sucky and that people don't get angry at me for. My mom used to but she's gone now and can't force me to cut it.

what are you wearing rn and is it representative of your style

[absdollievu]

hi! i hope this isn't too much for you, i understand if you dont want to write 💖

can u do stalker!abby x reader? im obsessed with those stories but almost no stalker abby stories available :((((

On Her Watch

stalker!abby x reader

Warnings: Dark romance, m@sturbation

You meet Abby Anderson before you realize you’ve met her.

It’s fleeting. You’re leaving the biology building one rainy afternoon, juggling an umbrella, your earbuds, and a coffee that keeps threatening to tip out of its lid. She’s sitting under the overhang near the bike racks, hood up, dark eyes barely visible. You glance at her—something about her size, her stillness, the way she doesn’t fidget like everyone else in the cold. She doesn’t look away when you catch her staring.

Just a moment.

And then you’re gone.

You forget. She doesn’t.

⸻

Abby never intended to follow you. Not at first.

She notices you before that moment in the rain. Weeks earlier, actually—when you’d bumped into her in the hallway between classes, shoulder to shoulder. You’d apologized with a quick, sheepish smile, already late to a study group. She hadn’t said anything. Just watched you disappear into a sea of students.

She remembered your perfume. Clean. Soft. She caught it again, by accident, the next week near the rec center—only this time she followed the scent, just to see if it was you. It was.

It starts small.

She times her runs around your class schedule. Makes excuses to study in the same libraries. Notices your friends. Watches you walk from the dorms to the gym at night in too-thin shorts and a hoodie, humming to yourself. Watches you tie your hair up when you think no one is looking.

She starts building a map in her head: where you go, who you’re with, how often you check your phone, how your face changes when you’re tired or lonely. It’s data. That’s how she rationalizes it. Information. Interest. Curiosity.

But that’s a lie, and she knows it.

She wants to know you. Have you. She wants to unzip your skin and crawl inside, wear you like a feeling.

⸻

You meet her again—properly this time—at the gym.

You’re wiping down a machine, out of breath and flushed. She’s standing a few feet away, towel slung around her neck, hair tied up in a bun. You don’t recognize her, not really, though something tugs at your memory.

“You done with this?” she asks, gesturing to the equipment.

You nod, stepping back, your eyes flicking over her briefly.

“Thanks,” she says, and you catch the edge of something in her voice—low, velvety, patient. She holds your gaze a little too long. Not enough to make you uncomfortable. Just… notice.

You do.

That night, she jerks off in her shower to the image of your parted lips, the damp curve of your throat, the way you brushed past her. She hates herself for it. But not enough to stop.

⸻

The friendship starts naturally. Or so it seems.

Abby finds ways to insert herself into your orbit—just enough to make you curious. She makes a dry joke in a study lounge one night that makes you laugh so hard you snort. The next time, she shares her coffee. The next, you’re inviting her to walk with you to class.

She’s easy to talk to. Uncannily observant. She remembers things you didn’t expect anyone to notice: how you hate the texture of oranges, how you never take the bus on Tuesdays, how you always wear that one ratty sweatshirt during finals.

You start to depend on her.

You don’t see the way she watches your every move when you’re not looking. How she memorizes the shape of your mouth when you talk, or your passwords when you unlock your phone. How she waits until you’ve left the library to grab the pen you forgot and pocket it.

You think she’s just intense. Kind. Private. A little possessive. You like it.

You don’t know what you’re inviting in.

⸻

It builds.

One night, she shows up outside your dorm unexpectedly. Says she was “just passing by.” You believe her. You invite her in.

You sit close on your tiny bed, knees touching. You’re laughing at some meme on her phone, and she’s not laughing at all—just staring at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, a little breathless.

Abby leans in a fraction, voice quiet. “You’re just…hard not to look at.”

Your stomach flips.

It’s not the first time someone’s flirted with you. But this is different. Abby’s attention is like standing in front of a furnace—controlled, focused, burning. Like if she touched you now, you’d melt.

You don’t kiss her that night. But you think about it.

She goes home and fingers herself slow and rough, replaying your laugh in her head like a song she can’t stop humming.

⸻

You start finding little things out of place.

Your charger unplugged. Your sweater on the wrong hook. A lipstick you swear you didn’t leave out.

You brush it off. You’re distracted. Studying. Tired.

You never see the way your bedroom window slides back into place, silently, just before dawn.

⸻

She loses control the night she sees you on a date.

It’s nothing serious. Just some guy from your ethics class. You’re at a pub, laughing. Abby sees it through the window.

She doesn’t go in. She waits.

Follows you home after. Watches the way you stumble a little in your heels, tug your phone out to text someone. She imagines it’s him. Wonders if you’re going to fuck him.

You’re alone. She watches the light go off. Waits.

She just wants to look.

⸻

You’re in bed. Rolled to one side. Your sheets low on your hips.

She presses her hand to the glass. Wants to open it. Wants to crawl in, lie beside you, pull your shirt up and taste the warm skin of your stomach—

But she doesn’t.

Not yet.

⸻

Weeks later. After another night of laughter and long walks. You’re a little drunk. She’s not. But she doesn’t stop you.

Your lips are soft. Her hands are iron. You sigh into her mouth like you’ve been holding your breath for weeks.

She kisses you like she’s starving.

You think it’s the beginning of something new.

You don’t realize it’s the beginning of her finally getting what she wants.

⸻

The first time you sleep together, it’s raw. Tense.

She doesn’t take her eyes off you. Not once.

She touches you like you’re something fragile and holy—spreads you out on your bed, breath shuddering, mouth worshipful. She whispers things you barely understand, hands gripping your hips so tightly you’ll bruise.

You don’t mind.

You come with her name in your mouth.

She stays the night. Watches you sleep, fingers ghosting over your wrist, your lips. Her need doesn’t quiet. It just shifts. Evolves.

Now that she’s had you, she’ll never let go.

And you have no idea what you’ve let in.

⸻

a/n: part 2? Send more requests please!!!

[sunnyside30]

I don't think we talk enough about what Mac falling for Johnny means in terms of his perception of love and his relationship to Dennis. I mean, we talk a lot about Dennis catfishing and e-dating him and the sexual component of it —which gives us plenty to unpack about Dennis' psyche, so it's understandable— but my favorite aspect to dissect is Mac's willingness to "fall in love" with a ghost.

In the episode, Dennis mentions there being texts between them so we know Mac wasn't just talking to a wall the whole time, but he's been stood up by Johnny so many times.. yet he keeps at it, keeps going on errands and to motels just in case Johnny decides to actually meet him this time. He's constantly waiting for someone who never shows up for him, and that's reflective of Mac's entire character. He keeps searching for love and validation from his mom, his dad, Dennis.. and when he doesn't get it, he just keeps on pushing, putting in more effort because maybe this time it will be enough. He holds so tightly onto his faith in god, a being he can't even see or hear, but that represents a hope for eternal love if you do everything right and conform nicely to its supposed expectations.

Mac isn't a stranger to loving distant beings, so of course he fell in love with Johnny. He's so desperate for someone to love him back but the only form of "love" he recognizes is a distant kind. That's why he can't give his date from the episode a chance, and why he doesn't want anything to do with uncle Donald. Easy and earnest love isn't something Mac knows. Hell, it isn't even worth it. Love, in his experience, requires work and sacrifice, otherwise what's the point?

This also plays a lot into his dynamic with Dennis, and why Mac will never let go of it. Sure, we saw him kind of trying to move on in 'The Gang Gets Romantic' by fabricating a love story for himself with Greg, and a more genuine attempt in 'Frank vs. Russia' by dating Johnny, but all roads eventually lead back to Dennis. A part of it can be attributed to Dennis not letting him move on —keeping Mac at arm's length while giving him just enough to keep him hooked— but that's not all. At this point I don't think there's anything Dennis could do or not do to put a definitive end to Mac's obsession with him, because he's exactly the type of person Mac craves in his life. As mentioned before, Dennis is someone that makes him earn his love and respect, and Mac can't find that in other potential romantic partners. He already tried looking for it online, where you can meet all kinds of people from all kinds of places, and who did he find? Dennis.

Obviously, the Johnny thing being orchestrated by Dennis means that Mac "found him" on purpose, but the point here is that Mac didn't know that. From his perspective, it was a fresh start with someone completely new, a guy that met his subconscious requirements. It just so happens that his requirements are Dennis. Because as mushy and gooey as it sounds, at the end of the day Mac is irreversably in love with him. He loves Dennis so intrinsically that he falls for him a second time, without even being aware of it. And I suspect he always will, no matter how many times he tries to move on.

[book-lore]

Okay, so I shouldn't likely take the bait on this but I will this once to say something in case someone comes across this and it does the bad thing of embedding into the back part of your mind: You are allowed to leave a relationship at any time at all. Three days. Five years. Twenty years. It doesn't matter. Sometimes there's nothing even wrong necessarily except that you grew apart from each other. People can (and do!) love their partners and end up needing different things in a relationship. It's okay if you have come to that point and you realize that the sacrifice for the relationship won't make you happier than leaving it. It will hurt, but not as much as growing resentful of them for giving something you really wanted up when they couldn't make up the deficit in the end. That isn't a failing, it's just life.

As to the second post in this: if someone has a structured timeline for the events in your life like this, run. This isn't funny, this is the biggest of red flags. Your relationships are personal and if they are going to be meaningful and healthy, you shouldn't be forced to throttle them with an imposed timeline that makes you feel pressured into decisions about them. In the grand scheme of a marriage, especially if you are being pressured to marry young, a year is no time at all. There's plenty you will not know about a person in only a single year. Six months is nothing. Some people are going to be running full speed into this kind of relationship with enthusiasm and it's not up to anyone but the participants to decide if that's going to work for them or not. But impositions like the one in the second post present clear indications on specific expectations and almost certainly, in a case where someone is expecting to be married by such a tight deadline, there will be other expectations. These are going to include what you can or can't do with your body. How many children you will be expected to have. What kind of role you will have in your own home. When someone sets out a clear and non-negotiable timeline for when you should be making a decision about what ought to be a pretty large change in your life, it's never for your benefit. Healthy relationships aren't like that and this is how people end up in abusive places that become difficult if not impossible to escape.

As always, you are the one to make these decisions and I hope you will think about them as much as you feel you need to. Even if you do, it's possible to make mistakes. Just don't let someone else force you into one. Take the time you need. Talk a lot. Walk away if it's time. Do not give up your autonomy or be pressured into a decision because someone told you that time is running out. You have a whole lifetime to figure out living.

These people are so fucking crazy sidjsifjsofkkslvmslc

[delulukaisen]

Brat Taming

You push Nanami's buttons. His response isn't quite what you expected.

Kento Nanami x f!Reader

CW: brat taming, overstimulation, forced orgasms, oral (f! receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, praise, dirty talk

---

It wasn’t that you didn't respect Nanami. You did! Only… being a brat just came so naturally. You couldn't resist the urge to wind him up, now that the two of you had been together for a while. Perhaps part of you needed to test his patience, find his limits early. See what would make him tired of you, or how far his annoyance would take him. The insecure part of you whispered that.

But if you were honest, it was mostly that it was such a thrill. Your dear Kento was so straight laced, so proper. He was honestly a dream, dedicated and patient. He was sweet and gentle with you, despite his rippling muscles and terse attitude with anyone but you. Of course you were driven with a need to break that stoic exterior. So you pushed and prodded. You questioned and demanded. And each time, he either ignored your bratty behavior, or if you really pushed, you might earn a weary sigh before he would kiss your forehead and redirect you.

Tonight was perhaps a step too far. You'd sent him a nude at work without any warning. He’d only said he would discuss your behavior when he got home. Dread filled your stomach at the short line of text. Was he going to break up with you over it? Was he truly that uptight, so much that your bratty behavior was more than he wanted to deal with? You'd certainly been interested in a more intense experience in the bedroom, but what if he went further than you wanted to punish you? 

Nanami walked in the door with a stiff back and unreadable eyes. You watched as he peeled off his jacket and hung it up, removed his cufflinks, and undid his tie, all without a word. He watched you back in consideration, and though it was difficult to tell what he was thinking, the intensity of his attention made you press your thighs together as heat warmed your core.

“Is there a particular reason you've been running wild lately?” He asked, voice quiet yet filling the room. You could feel yourself blush and looked down. His long fingers grabbed your chin and forced you to look back up at him.

“Answer my question, Y/n.” His words were a gentle command, but a command just the same. You shuddered at his tone, knowing he was serious business, but could not resist that mischievous urge that fluttered in your chest, making you give him a teasing smile.

“Maybe I just felt like it,” you told him, heart racing. Nanami stood to his full height over you with a sigh, your heart stopped and waiting on the precipice.

“What an attitude. I think there's only one way to fix this brattiness of yours,” Nanami said before scooping you off the couch while you squealed in surprise.

“W-wait, Kento, please I was only kidding, I'm not really good with pain--” 

You had never backtracked so hard in your life, your chest pounding as you pictured him spanking you, pulling your hair, saying mean and degrading things that would just make you cry--

“I know, darling. I'll just have to fix you a different way.”

Nanami set you on your feet just before the bed, placing his hands over your hips while he looked down at you.

“You've been pushing my buttons all week. I know you're waiting to see me snap. You're terribly obvious,” he started to say, peeling your shirt from your chest. You let him undress you, breathing in short, excited huffs. Your pants followed, leaving you in the same cute underwear you'd pulled aside to take pictures in earlier. Nanami’s fingers brushed so lightly over your nipples that you shivered, even his lightest touch making you soak your underwear.

“I think I should have your clit in my mouth about it.”

Your eyes widened at his firm statement, mouth going slack.

“You-- what?”

Nanami leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear.

“Here's what is going to happen. You're going to sit on my face until I suck the attitude right out of your pussy, and after you've came so many times you can't even think, I'm going to ram my cock so far inside you that you'll see it poking against that cute tummy. I'm going to fuck you all night, give you so many orgasms that you'll pass out, and then I'll pull out even more from you. You must be such a needy thing to have been so bratty.”

Nanami hadn’t dirty talked you like this before, always electing to be a gentleman. Your knees went weak and you fell back on the bed, looking up at his pleased smile and glint in his eye. He unbuttoned his shirt before leaning down and finally kissing you.

It was a hungry kiss, possessive and rough. He nipped at your bottom lip before pulling away, his hand wrapped around your throat.

“You're going to be a good girl and cum for me as much as I ask, aren’t you?” He asked, and you could only nod your head, too shocked by the side of him you had brought out. It only took him ten seconds to lay on the bed and pull you over him, your plush thighs on either side of his head, pussy hovering over his mouth.

“A-are you sure you want me up here? I'm kinda heavy--” you tried to decline, but his grip on your thighs tightened and he pulled you down until you were firmly on his face, his tongue swiping through your folds with a moan. You buried your hand in his soft blond hair as you gasped.

Nanami sucked your clit between his lips, teasing the bud with his tongue. His eyes never left your face as he drove you to your peak, dedicated and unerring. Every lick, every bit of suction, was crafted to drag you over the edge. You came hard at his ardent attention, shaking and squeezing his head with your thighs, but his mouth merely slowed. He refused to stop.

“K-Kento, please, I just came--” you panted, trying to push his head away, trying to lift yourself up only for him to hold you down tighter. He released your clit only to give you a stern look.

“That’s the first one, sweetheart. You better keep count,” he demanded before plunging his tongue inside your tight hole. You cried out as he fucked you with his tongue, your juices coating his face. He groaned into your cunt, hands bruising on your thighs.

It wasn’t fair. He was too good at pleasuring you, especially when he was laser focused on making you cum. You were still so sensitive from your first orgasm, your second snuck up on you too fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You whined, grinding onto his mouth. His nose rubbed your clit and your mouth dropped in a silent cry as you started to shake, overwhelmed. You fell forward and grabbed the headboard with trembling arms to keep yourself up. You could feel his laughter against your clit.

You were never going to piss him off again. He was a relentless, never ending force, worshipping your overstimulated clit even as you cried. It was as if his tongue and jaw could never tire of eating you. You lost count of the amount of times he made you cum, his fingers plunging into your cunt when you were too tired to try to lift off his face. You became incapable of anything more than whines and whimpers and moans, jaw slack and eyes glazed over. Fucked out before his cock was even out of his pants.

Kento finally detached his lips from your clit with a pop, panting heavily. He maneuvered your boneless body onto the bed, pressing slick soaked kisses across your chest.

“How many was that, sweetheart?” He asked. You struggled to even think of a number, your mind too foggy from cumming so much.

“Hnnn… uh… dunno,” you mumbled, whimpering when he pinched your nipple.

“Tsk. I only asked you for one thing, you brat,” he scolded you before flipping you onto your hands and knees. His strong forearm held you up while his large hand slapped your ass.

“You came eight times, darling. But don't you fret. I'll make it an even ten,” he told you, pressing a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Please, Kento, I'm sorry, I won't be so bratty,” you pleaded again as his hands gripped your hips. You could feel his thick cock sliding against your folds, slick with your cum and his saliva. He chuckled, a menacing sound.

“Don’t apologize now, my love. You needed attention, so you're getting it,” he told you before snapping his hips forward and filling your cunt in one swift motion. You cried out while he began to relentlessly pound your sensitive pussy, gushing around him just from being filled.

“Such a quick one. Do you love feeling my cock stretching you out that much? What a naughty girl,” he teased, reaching around to rub your swollen clit. His cock knocked again and again at your g-spot, his angle just right to drive you insane. He pushed your face into the bed, fingers tangled in your hair just enough to hurt in the good way. 

“Tell me how much you love my cock,” he grunted, softer than the loud slaps of his balls against your clit.

“I love it so much Kento! Need it so bad!” You babbled obediently. As fucked out as you were, you would agree to anything, your pussy doing your thinking for you. Anything to keep his cock stretching you so good.

“Yeah? You really needed a good fuck, didn’t you sweetheart?” He continued. You moaned as his thrusts slowed, hitting deeper, more precisely driving you to ruin.

“You're going to cream all over this cock, right?” He asked, so sweet. You nodded into the bed, his words pleasing you as much as his cock. 

“Good girl. Cum for me, let me feel you let go,” he purred, leaning over you so his breath was by your ear. You came your tenth time, liquid shooting out and soaking Nanami and the bed. You could hear him quietly curse before quickly pulling out, his cum hitting your back a second later. 

Despite your exhaustion and overwhelming bliss, you pouted.

“You didn’t cum inside…?” You whined. Nanami kissed your cheek and stood, already in aftercare mode.

“Mm, good girls can get creampied. Maybe next time you'll tell me what you need, won't you, dear?” He said, an amused grin on his face when your bottom lip wobbled. He kissed you, gentle and soft.

“I'll be right back with water. Can't have you pass out from dehydration this early, can I?” He said so sweetly. Your eyes snapped open from being so close to sleeping. His smile was full of malicious promise.

“Kento…?”

“I told you, didn’t I? All. Night.”

His voice brokered no disagreement as he rose from the bed. You vowed to stop your bratty ways if you survived…. At least for the next week.

[ladykailitha]

Three Cheers for Toby the Tiger! Part 1

Welcome to yet another new story for yours truly! This was another one of those stories that had been percolating for awhile and only recently started writing.

This is just me projecting a friend of mine from middle school who was a theater kid, played several instruments, and had done gymnastics and tumbling on to Eddie Munson. He was the school mascot and was constantly doing jumps and flips off tables and shit. And to me that just screams Eddie to me.

Summary: Eddie's already failed his senior once. And the second go round isn't off to a great start either. So the basketball coach and PE teacher Coach Rowland gives Eddie an ultimatum: either join a sports team or fail PE and high school again. Everyone expects the swim or track teams. But Eddie has a surprise up his sleeve.

~

“Mr. Munson!” Coach Rowland called out as Eddie tried to sneak out of PE yet again. “You get your ass in my office in five minutes or I’ll flunk you out right!”

Eddie winced. He knew he needed the credit to graduate from high school but they were doing rope climbing today and he wasn’t about to have a bunch of jocks mock his form or whatever. He let out a heavy sigh and trudged back into the gym.

He sat in one of the smelly chairs in front of the coach’s desk, resigned. He slouched as far down as he could and glared at the stupid little hockey player bobble-head as if it was the cause of all his problems.

“I know that PE isn’t for everyone,” Coach Rowland huffed as he sat down across from Eddie, “and I know that it’s specifically not for you. But I cannot just hand you a grade and let you pass.”

“I mean you could,” Eddie said with a half smile, “but I think Principal Higgins would fire you.” He shrugged with a grimace.

Coach Rowland laughed. “You’ve got that right. But I’ve talked to him and he said that if you can get on a sports team. Any team, he’ll let you use that as your PE credit. But it will have to be for the whole year.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Wait, what?” He wiggled his finger in his ear for a moment. “I’m not sure I heard that right.”

“Oh you did,” Coach Rowland said. “Any team that you try out for and make, and you stick with it until the end of the year, then it will count as your PE credit.”

“What if I don’t make any of the teams?” Eddie asked, straightening up in his seat. “I’m not the most athletic of sorts.”

“You want me to name the teams that would absolutely kill to have you on them,” Coach Rowland said with a raised eyebrow, “alphabetically or by best fit for you specifically?”

Eddie grimaced. When he did show up for shit his competitive edge prevented him from faffing it, so his mile run time was decent, his sprint speed was on par if not better than the track team’s star runner, Louis Murphy, and his backstroke was the best in the state for the swim team.

He opted not to do that one when he learned that the team had been okay’ed for wearing brief style Speedo’s. He was little gay boy in a small town, getting beat up on the regular would have been a bad look. Especially when long time crush and king extraordinaire, Steve Harrington was made co-captain this year.

“But it’s whatever team I want and succeed at making the team, right?” Eddie asked, licking his top lip slowly, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“That what the principal said,” Coach Rowland agreed. “Why, what have you got in mind?”

“I need to check something first,” Eddie hedged. “You wouldn’t happen to have the rules for all the teams would you?”

Coach Rowlings got up and rifled through his filing cabinet. He handed it to Eddie. “Whatever you’re planning, don’t go looking for trouble, Munson. I don’t think you want to test the principal’s patience with you.”

Eddie stood up and patted him on the shoulder, waving the rule book. “I’ll tell you what, if my first choice falls through, I’ll try out for the swim team.”

Coach Rowland frowned. He had been trying to get Eddie to try out for the swim team for the last three years and the answer had always been no. Dread pooled at the base of his spine. Whatever this kid had planned he knew it wasn’t going to be good.

He watched as Eddie walked out of his office with a spring in his step and whistling ‘Holy Diver’ by Dio.

~

Eddie read the rule book front and back and looked for every possible angle, but it absolutely didn’t prohibit what he was about to do in any way.

Once he was sure he had all his ducks in a row, he started gathering up the things he would need for his chosen tryout.

He called Jeff first.

“Jeffrey my good fellow!” he greeted warmly. “I have a dire need of your boombox for the morrow!”

Jeff let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t why you’re even doing this, man. You could just tryout for the swim team and suck up your little crush so you can fucking graduate.”

“Because beloved companion,” Eddie said brightly, “that would be conforming and I want to prove that you don’t have to take the easy path if you really want to be yourself.”

“God, dude,” Jeff huffed. “Fine. I’ll bring it tomorrow. But you owe so much if this goes to fucking hell like you know it will.”

“Oh ye of little faith...” Eddie said and said goodbye.

To be honest he really didn’t have much faith in the school administrators to let him join the team of his choice, sexist pigs that they were, but he wasn’t just out to prove a point. He could do it.

Next port of call: Brian.

“Bri-guy, my man!” Eddie greeted.

“No.”

Eddie blinked for a moment and then cocked his head to the side. “I haven’t even asked for anything...

“No,” Brian said dryly, “not yet you haven’t. But you’ve go a bee in your bonnet about being asked to join a sport so that you can actually fucking graduate and instead of going out for track which would be the best option for everyone involved, but especially you, you’ve come up with this cockamamie plan that will most like get you suspended if not out and out expelled.”

Eddie’s head rocked back from the sure force of Brian’s rant. “Deep breath, man. How long have you been holding that in?”

“Since you told us at lunch.”

“Oh okay, then,” Eddie said in a clipped tone. “I can do this. I actually would have joined the gymnastics team or tumbling team if they fucking had one. But they don’t so this is my alternative. Yeah, I’m a good runner and a better swimmer, but this, Bri? This is something I’m actually impassioned about like D&D or playing guitar.”

Brian let out a long heavy sigh. “Fine. What is it you want?”

Eddie told him and after some fierce negotiations with Brian’s sister, Maddy, he secured the second piece of his tryout materials.

The final part took two thrift stores and a minor theft get but then he was all ready. He packed all of it in his van and grinned.

~

The next day he walked up to Coach Miller. “Hey, Coach,” he said brightly. “Have you been informed of the deal the principal gave me, right?”

The short blonde haired woman, crossed her arms in front of chest. “I also know that you have to tryout and make it, for me to even consider it.”

“After school at 3:30pm?” Eddie asked with broad dimpled smile. “I bring the tunes and the noise, have no fear.”

She looked him up and down. “Deal.” She stuck out her and he took it, shaking it once.

He skidded to a stop when he saw the crowd that had been gathered on the football field. He had been expecting only handful of people to witness this, but appeared that word had spread of his tryout.

The football team was there, the basketball team, all the coaches. And he meant all the coaches. From the girl’s softball team to the swim team, their coach was there. And of course Principal Higgins.

He stepped out of the dressing room and out onto the field. His hair was in pigtails and his ass was barely covered by the super short skirt. He picked up the pompoms and turned on the tape.

Then Eddie got into position. “Oh, Mikey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind! Hey Mickey!”

And immediately Eddie did a backflip and land into the splits. Then without using his hands at all, he got back into standing. He did twists and turns and a whole routine to the song “Hey Mickey” by Toni Basil.

By the time the song ended the crowd had gone wild and Eddie’s pigtails was drenched in sweat. He was grateful for the cool autumn breeze cooling his overheated skin.

He looked up into the crowd and several of them were rolling around with laughter and astonishment. He grinned.

Coach Miller, Coach Rowland, and Principal Higgins came over to him after what looked to be a furious huddle.

Principal Higgins face was dour and cross while the two coaches looked like cats in the cream.

“It seems I am being overruled,” Higgins growled. “But it appears that according to Hank and Joan that there are no rules against boys joining the cheerleading squad.”

Eddie jumped up and down. “Yes, yes, yes!!” he cried pumping his fist in excitement. He really didn’t think that they would let him.

“However I must think of the parents of these young girls and the certainty that they would not want a boy with their daughters,” Higgins continued.

Eddie felt a cold dread settle in the pit of his stomach. He stopped his celebration. “But that’s not fair. I deserve a spot on the team. I tried out, I have the skills. I could be a spotter if they don’t want me on the team-team. Just...come on.”

Higgins expression softened. “Oh I have intention of bowing to their demands, Munson. But I think I have a way that would mitigate the worst of the protest before they even occur.”

Then two kids walked up with what looked to be a mess of material and a giant foam head. It took Eddie a few seconds to realize what it was. He looked back up at Principal Higgins in wide eyed shock. “No way.”

“I’m afraid it’s this or another team,” Higgins huffed, putting his hands on his hips.

“He means it ironically,” Coach Rowland said, putting his hand on the principal’s shoulder, “he’s in disbelief.”

Eddie reached for the costume with grabby hands. “Gimme!”

The kid holding the costume handed it over while the other kid held on to the head. Eddie unfurled the costume with unbridled glee. It was Toby the Tiger. The school’s mascot. He remembered when he was freshman and even his sophomore year that they had someone perform in it, though these days it was usually a cheerleader who was injured and would just clap and cheer.

Principal Higgins blinked at him in confused shock. “You want to be the school mascot?” He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to be in the smelly costume making a fool of themselves in front of others on a daily. It was a literal nightmare of his.

“I would prefer to be on the cheerleaders’ squad,” Eddie admitted, looking at the costume with unholy glee, “but this is a very cool consolation prize.”

“Ah.” Principal Higgins still didn’t understand but he recognized enthusiasm when he saw it and he wasn’t about to dissuade him if he truly wanted to do it.

Coach Miller stuck out her hand. “Welcome to the squad, I can’t wait to see what you can do!”

Eddie shook her hand.

Coach Rowland turned to the assembled crowd. “Shows over, guys! I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than stare at a dude in a mini-skirt.”

Eddie twirled the skirt and popped his ankle. “I thought I looked cute! Green sooo looks good on me.”

Coach Miller shook her head. “Go hit the showers and then we’ll start with weights to train you how to do those moves in the costume.”

Eddie leapt into the air and cheered. “Go Tigers!”

~

Tag List: TEN SLOTS OPEN

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[rainaftersnowplease]

What are you talking about? Columbine was in 1999. I'm 35 and we did lock down drills in every school I attended past the fifth grade. Shen absolutely would have experienced them if he's in his 30s. His cool demeanor could absolutely be explained by a nonchalance towards the idea of a mass shooting in theory.

It's also partially that he isn't at the end of a 12 hour shift already, and that he has more experience than you're giving credence to. Javadi has a different reaction because she's a third year medical student, and Shen is an attending physician. The med students and interns haven't dealt with this from the caregiver side before, so they're experiencing it from a new perspective. And they have literally half a decade less experience than he does in some cases.

The idea that weird shit only happens at night is frankly hilarious, considering everything the crew deals with in the preceding episodes as well. I don't think any part of this argument holds much water, if I'm honest.

Oh.

[kkochigomi]

the ultimate guide to f***ing nomin

part one | part two

PAIRING: reader x jeno + jaemin

GENRE: smut, angst

SERIES WC: 35k

PART ONE WC: 15k

SYNOPSIS: DJ Juliette is over just being a DJ. She misses being a producer and working with artists but no one is biting anymore. She's living from paycheck to paycheck, so when MC receives a pink business card from that company, she should take it. But her fellow SHAWOLs are screaming at her and she knows better. So they send in the heavy arsenal wrapped in head-to-toe Chanel. This woman, named Lindsay Liu, knows she can talk her into it.

WARNINGS: dom!Jeno, switch!Jaemin & mc, PIV, DVP, cunnilingus, thigh humping, pussyjob, lots of sloppy kissing, deepthroating, rough sex, large... sizes, bisex, very strong language, threesomes, one reference to slight racism/xenophobia (very small inclusion, that character sucks, doesn't go into detail), CONVOLUTED AND CONFUSING AS SHIT, slight language barriers, hella campy/maybe even bad, mc is described as American and having a midsized body, explicit language and descriptions of sex, working at SM Entertainment, mc has a "stage name", Juliette isn't her actual name, let me know what I missed! (had to split this into two parts or Tumblr wouldn't let me post it)

+ dialogue and text messages italicized in their entirety means MC is translating them from Korean!

PROLOGUEˋ°•*⁀➷

Since you discovered your first iPhone had garageband on it, you’ve been drawn to production. Combining your passion with your– at the time– niche interest of k-pop, you garnered a little following on Tumblr making demos for your favorite groups. But as you got older and grew out of k-pop, you associated producing with that childlike naivety. So you switched to what your parents wanted.

Thankfully, you decided to ditch computer science in 2019 and do what you truly wanted, sending you deep into the underground. You weren’t the best or the most well known producer, but you could produce and you weren’t super expensive. As you worked your way through your bachelor’s degree, you got better and better. You became a little more sought after. Unfortunately, the underground was highly competitive. And you were sick of feeling like you slapped someone’s mother for asking artists to sign a contract. But luckily for you, you were being classically trained unlike most of the other producers you’ve met who are self taught. Some of them play instruments and know a bit of music theory, but your degree gives you a slight leg up outside of the underground music industry. 

So you ditched the underground in 2022. With your knowledge, jumping into the overside of the music industry wasn’t impossible. But it wasn’t easy. At all. You barely got any bites. Unfortunately, in this day and age people have stopped chasing after being pop stars and realized how lucrative the production scene was. Most labels weren’t desperate for producers. In the states, that is. 

DJing is fun. It’s cool… but you’ve always thought of it as a side gig. Good to break up any sameness. But lately it’s been your only source of income. And there’s nothing fun about living paycheck to paycheck. Or admitting your parents were right. 

You default to an easy crowd pleaser as your mind drifts. A rapper you used to work with often hits you up every once and a while. His latest text being:

if you’re worried about Drex threatening to slash your tires, don’t even sweat it! you’re always welcome back

You couldn’t afford slashed tires then and you definitely can’t now. Plus, you’re hungry enough without competition. You just want to make art.

“Excuse me, Juliette?”

Right as you step off stage, someone calls out your alias. You’re thinking it’s management, so you turn around excitedly and await payment. Before you is a middle aged Asian man with thick-rimmed glasses. You don’t recognize him, but the smirk on his face reeks of upper management. A smile that can only come from someone about to pitch you something they’re confident you won’t refuse. More like cocky. 

“...Yes?”

The man immediately launches into his spiel.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you worked with Flowra for a song on his new album, right? I’m Lee Sung-Soo, by the way. You can call me Chris.” He presents his hand to you. You did work with them, but they scrapped the songs you did together. Oh god, is this guy here on behalf of someone else?

“I’m not underground anymore.” You explain curtly, walking away. Chris awkwardly retracts his hand before jogging after you.

“Good! I’m actually an A&R director for a music label in South Korea.”

You freeze involuntarily. You hate to admit your younger self is squealing deep inside you. The you at the forefront, however, knows better.

“Which company?” You pose with severity. There is a wrong answer.

He does that annoying smirk again, feeling like he struck something. He speaks in Korean, but it’s simple enough for you to understand. When you started college, you were still heavy into K-pop and thought learning Korean would make engaging in Korean media much easier. So you took Korean 101, 102, and 103 before you realized how useless these skills were and slowly faded from the fandom. You still kick yourself for not studying Spanish instead. 

“Are you familiar with Korean music?” He says, his eyes brightening upon noticing your lack of confusion. However, you note how he doesn’t say the company name.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Take this!” He presents you with a card that he must’ve had ready since he approached you. You notice the card is pink. You look up, plastering a big smile on your face as rage boils in your gut. 

“Absolutely not.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

The week following your meeting with Chris, SM is all you could think about. You were having a battle with your inner naive fangirl and your reasonability. 

Think about how many times they’ve been sued for mistreatment! I mean come on! This is SM we’re talking about!

You could meet Key.

You slam your pillow over your face and scream. It is simply preposterous how much weight that one possibility has. It’s not even certain! You turn to what you always do when you need to shut your brain off and let it rot, social media. You opt for Instagram. Though you rarely post, you need to keep track of your DMs in case artists reach out. It’s also your favorite place to keep up with celebrities. You opt to check your DMs first. Immediately you’re stumped by a name. Not because you don’t recognize it, but because it sounds so damn familiar.

Lindsey Liu.

Your knee-jerk reaction is to assume you’re thinking of Lucy Liu, but when you look at her profile picture, she even looks familiar. 

lindsayliu Hey doll~ I’m looking for someone to produce a project I’m working on. I have my own professional studio, so you can just come to my place to work on it. I know it’s sudden, but how does tomorrow sound?

‘Hey doll?’ you think, scam detectors blaring. You click on her account, her number of followers dumbfounding you. Twenty-one MILLION? You don’t personally know of bot accounts that are that ballsy with their follower counts but you know exactly what to do to fact check. You scroll throughout her posts, checking all of them for their engagement. By the looks of it, her followers aren’t fake. You even spot celebrities like Jackson Wang and Bae Suzy in her comments. On that same train of thought you check which celebrities you follow are following her. You’re shocked to see you have to click on them to see them all. You check each of their accounts, too. Just in case. And also because you’re in disbelief. You realize then where you recognized her from. Pictures with East Asian celebrities you follow.

You don’t even want to get excited and share the news to your friends and family because they’ll just ask you who Jackson Wang is. You haven’t been in touch with a real life k-media fan since high school. No one in your contacts understands how cool this is.

You clasp your hand over your mouth, unsure what to do with this information. From your research, she’s the only daughter of a Chinese billionaire. As for what she does? You’re not entirely sure. Just a vague rich influencer. Half of her pictures are her dressed to the nines in some sort of low lit venue. She’s either accompanied by her girlfriends or a drink or both. This backs up what you googled about her being a party girl. A controversial aspect as it seems. As if most of the people criticizing her wouldn’t do the same with that amount of money. Scrolling through her pictures, you could tell you would be susceptible to a parasocial relationship. You find yourself trusting her, but you know better than to be a victim to another Anna Delvey.

Hey! I don’t mean any disrespect when I say this, but I want to be upfront about a few safety measures. A friend of mine will know my location at all times and who I’m meeting with. I also have a producer’s agreement for you to sign to protect both of us. If you need to arrange for a lawyer to look over the contract, we can push the session back. Or you can have the contract signing and studio session on different days.

As you typed out the message, your excitement dwindled. The possibility of this being a scam and her being scared away now seems more plausible after letting everything simmer. Of course you’re happy you’re not going to get scammed, but you’re also pondering the possibility she’s legit and is offended by the message. Still, you don’t leave the message thread.

She doesn’t respond for several minutes and you need to relieve a little of your stress. You turn the tv on and put on anything. You throw on a show people have been begging for you to watch but you’re positive won’t be your style. Twenty-three minutes pass, no response. You’re not exactly sure what you’re expecting, her being legit means she’s definitely not glued to her phone all day. She has the money to actually experience things you only view through social media.

Three episodes pass and you’re apologetic to everyone online and in your life you ignored about watching this show. You’re completely, utterly engrossed. So engrossed that you forget the name Lindsay Liu. 

An entire season later, you sniffle and set your box of tissues back on the nightstand beside you. You’ve ignored your growling stomach in favor of being glued to the tv for long enough. You reach for your phone to order what you’ve been craving this entire time when you see the message thread. Lindsey had sent a message three hours ago.

“Holy shit,” You laugh, nose still clogged with snot.

lindseyliu Sounds good! I have a few more ideas to make you feel safer. We can do a video call beforehand and I can even show you my surroundings in case you think this is some weird new version of pig butchering lol. I’m sure you’ve already looked me up, but I can show you my ID to confirm my identity. I think signing the contract beforehand is great! In fact, you can pick a cafe or something where we can meet up. I usually arrange for my driver to pick up the people I’m meeting with, but I understand the implications of someone from my camp transporting you. Instead, I can send you some money and you can order your own uber.

lindseyliu Pleeease let me know if there’s anything else I can do~

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Lindsey is quite the character. When you’re texting her and in real life.

“I knew a lawyer wasn’t necessary, this is a standard producer’s agreement.” Lindsay lowers the packet from in front of her face and smooths it onto the table. She glances up with a small smile as she slips a rectangular clamshell case from her purse. She cracks it open to retrieve what you assume is an exorbitantly expensive pen. She taps it to the first dotted line, freezing with her brows knit together. She takes a quick inhale before asking a question.

“How much do you make?” She twirls her pen as her posture shifts completely into focusing on you. Your mouth snaps shut, puzzled as to what she could be asking. You look around as if the bustling cafe will serve you any clues.

“Are you asking what my rates are?” You slowly move your finger to one of the many paragraphs on the contract. “$100 for every six hours. It’s outlined in the agreement.” You laugh nervously. She did read it, didn’t she? She laughs as well, but hers is incredulous.

“And that is criminally low, but that’s not what I’m asking. Is there a reason you charge that low? Do you get so many clients that how low this rate is doesn’t matter?” She’s starting to look worried… or maybe that’s judgement. You shift in your seat, hand rubbing your upper arm.

“N-no… it’s actually the opposite. I can’t afford to charge any higher. Then I wouldn’t get any bites.” You sink a little, unable to look at her after admitting something so pitiful. Lindsay looks to be fighting a fierce inner battle. She looks over the mezzanine the two of you are sitting atop of, stroking her chin. Why your nervousness manifests into a dry laugh, you’ll never know. One slips before you can get the words out.

“Is there something wrong? I mean, you can pay more if you’d like.” You offer half-jokingly. Lindsey’s eyes return to you after that, looking austere. You clench your mouth shut.

“You know, Juliette, I didn’t reach out to you because I heard you were cheap. I reached out to you because I heard you were good– no, great. After hearing it for myself, I was flabbergasted that I didn’t recognize your name. Forget about money, talent like this deserves fame!” She gathers both your hands with pure elation in her eyes. You’ll admit, it’s rubbing off on you. For a split second, the most vivid image of you with a Grammy in your hands flashes in your mind. But then you came to your senses. You carefully ease your hands away and she looks at you curiously. 

“I um… I’m sorry again if I sound rude but, I’m not entirely sure why you care so much?”

Her face softens in understanding.

“Right, and I’ll be totally honest with you. I’m very familiar with the music industry, but not exactly the western side.” She peeks to see if you’re following and you nod. She was born and raised in China, so it makes sense. 

“I’m a little close with some of the music executives in the East and I often pick up on tidbits of information. I’m sure you’re familiar with Chris Lee?”

Your expression hardens.

Oh. 

Oh.

You push yourself up from the table and take a deep breath. Of course. It’s so obvious now. You don’t know how you ever thought SM would take no for an answer.

“What’s the matter–”

“I am not working for SM. D– Are you a k-pop fan? Hell, you have to be aware of how bad SM’s relationship is with China, for good reason.” The anger squeezes the words out of you until there’s barely air left to supply them. You were worried about getting Anna Delvey’d and got Lee Sooman’d instead.

“Hey listen, I don’t work for SM. Like I said, I only heard about this through the grapevine.” Lindsay is cool as a cucumber as she attempts to talk you down. She gives you a look as if to say ‘I know you know you’re being unreasonable’. It only angers you further, but when she gestures for you to sit back down, you do so. Not only because you were causing a bit of a scene, but because you do have some things to say. 

“So, what, I was never getting paid? Was there no song?” You grill her but she stays calm, relaxing back into her chair even. 

“I never said that. I heard them lamenting over losing you and I had to check you out. I’m sure you know that I’m a no good party girl if you did your research. I’ve been dabbling in music. You wanna hear it?”

“No thanks. I believe you.” You reply sarcastically and roll your eyes. You’re more angry at yourself. How many times are you going to be almost coerced into literally selling your soul to satan. She starts speaking again but you don't even look at her in favor of mourning.

“You asked why I care so much?”

That catches your attention and you side eye her. 

“You’re absolutely right about SM. I hate them too. It’s the talent I’m focused on. You deserve to be paid better and the idols deserve better in general. Are you familiar with dearALICE?*” She takes a sip from her latte as she waits for your answer.

“... No?”

“Exactly. One of the members is a friend of mine. K-pop audiences don’t know they have a pre-release single out. People who don’t listen to K-pop don’t care. Focus groups are reacting negatively to every song DJ Rouge produces. They ended up rejecting Rouge altogether. James is worried sick about how the higher ups are talking about them. If they don’t find a producer who can give them a fresh sound that impresses the focus groups… James and his members might be put in the dungeon. They’re too talented for that.”

With that, Lindsay finishes her latte and stands from the table. You find yourself looking down at the lower floor now, immersed in thought. Lindsay tells you to think about it and message her before she leaves the cafe. SM putting an artist in the dungeon? Now that’s opening up old wounds. 

You felt so helpless when it happened back then.

( *Nothing stated about dearALICE or any real life artist or company reflects my opinions of them or what state they're in in real life. It is just made up for the narrative. )

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

“I dunno… she seems strange. You can be an heiress and be sketchy.” Bloops and beeps sound as your best friend plays on her switch, laying like a corpse on your bed. What she says just blends in with her gaming commentary for you. You’re just thinking out loud. 

“The song is bad though*…” You mumble through nibbling your thumb nail. It commits the grave sin of having an instrumental be the chorus and a bad instrumental at that. You’ve never heard of a DJ Rouge, but he oughta be ashamed of himself. The poor souls are even drowned out by the backtrack and compressed all to hell.

“I can do better…” You say a little quieter, unsure of where it came from or if it made you sound arrogant. You really, really could though. You got a feel for them as much as you could. Listening to any snippet you could find of them singing or performing. Getting a feel for their natural aura and the vibe SM had in mind. You were waist deep into research when the question hit you.

Why you?

Why is Chris Lee in your DMs, checking if you changed your mind? Furthermore, are you the only producer they approached? That’s impossible. A company of their size probably has so many producers at their disposal. This feeling reminds you of being in the underground again. You hate this feeling, but you glance over at your document, feeling pricks of excitement.

( *Nothing stated about any real life artist or entity reflects my actual opinions, and is done solely for narrative purposes. )

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

You blindly reach for your drink and brush against something. Multiple of something. Cans of soda and energy drinks topple off your desk. You look guiltily at your ipad propped up next to your monitor. The 3D man staring back at you smiles, oblivious to your chaos.

“Caleb, what am I doing?”

Just then, your ‘quality time’ session expires, the app prompting you to add more time or quit. There’s no need for more time. You glance at your finished project hesitantly. 

Lindsay messaged you five days ago and you told her you were still considering it. Truthfully your inner fangirl broke free from her chains and took the reins. Any breaks you had from producing the demo you spent rewatching your favorite SHINee moments from when you were younger. It was like the emotions never left. Taemin, the love of your life after Caleb, isn’t under SM anymore unfortunately (more like fortunately). But your bias and favorite person in the world still is. There’s a chance you’ll never meet him, but the odds are increased compared to before.

You close ProTools and Love and Deepspace before rolling away from your desk, thinking about how to celebrate finally completing this project. Your heart thumps against your ribcage at the thought of busting open tumblr and reading some Caleb smut. It takes you a moment, but you soon realize how sad that sounds. Your reward is imagining yourself having sex. You sigh, planning to text Lindsay after you commiserate with your bestie. 

I NEED to get laid

like… yesterday

You laugh to yourself, thinking of how she’ll respond. Either by agreeing or getting angry at you for reminding her of little play she gets.

Hey, sorry for the delay, how does Tuesday sound?

Lindsay’s phone buzzes and her acrylics clack against the screen as she opens the notification. She gasps lightly before the corner of her mouth curls into a smirk. She snorts, shoulder bouncing as they are kneaded into by her masseuse. Lindsay relaxes, sweeping her legs onto the living chair. If you’re having trouble with that, Lindsay has an offer that’s going to be hard to refuse.

She dials Chris’ number and he answers quickly. 

“They’re busting my balls over here.” He rushes out, already prepared to scold her. 

“Relax! I told you I would handle it.” She laughs softly into the receiver. 

“You better, because if you screw this up for us, Mr. Jang won’t want to see your face anywhere near here. Your gambling? It’s a bad look.”

She tongues her cheek as she thinks about your message again. 

“Hmmm, I’m feeling like raising my bet for dearALICE to 300k.” His silence on the other end makes her cover her mouth and laugh harder. “Oh, and tell James we’re best friends now, I’ll explain when I get there.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

TUESDAY

“It’s fine. I already told you! A girl’s gotta get laid.” Lindsay shrugs, struggling to suppress her smile.

This only makes you crumble further with a wail of despair. 

“No, no, no!” It’s not being slutshamed that you’re worried about. It’s the soul crushing, utterly debilitating cringe. Your brain is distorting the message to be way more aggressive and debauched than it was and you wish you could turn it off. The moment your friend asked what you both had planned for Tuesday, your stomach dropped. You were hoping– praying to anyone that the message didn’t send. You weren’t so lucky.

“But girl! You live in Los Angeles! You can’t find a man?” Lindsay throws her leg over the other from the other side of her dining table.

“I don’t want a boyfriend, I just– NOPE!” This is the opposite of turning your brain off. This was the satisfying conversation you were supposed to be having with your friend when you sent that text. Not this embarrassing, confusing mess. You haven’t even told her about your demo yet.

“Look, do you want ice cream?” You don’t get to answer before Lindsay smiles at the woman… accompanying (?) you both by the table. She comes back with two tubs of ice cream with labels that can only be described as a graphic designer’s wet dream. You don’t even try to pronounce the name of the brand. You hesitantly grab the spoon like a child parsing if they’re doing something naughty. You glance at Lindsay who is already bringing a spoonful to her mouth. She rolls her eyes back with a moan of pure ecstacy. She points at the ice cream approvingly, nodding at you.

Well, if the ice cream is poisoned, at least you won’t have to feel the cringe any more. You peel the lid away and dip your spoon. Plain vanilla can only be so good. At least, that’s what you thought before the succulent ice cream smoothed over your tongue. In seconds you become an ice cream snob, because the cheap ice “cream” you bought at the store isn’t cream at all. This is what cream is truly like. You suddenly feel like falling to your knees and apologizing for the ice cream you made in middle school from shaking a bag.

After giving you some time to mingle with euphoria, Lindsay speaks again. 

“I get you, though, about not wanting a man. I hate men.” She digs up a heaping spoonful as she speaks and you forgive her for lingering on this topic. It’s the least you could do. 

“Love dick, though.” She says casually before popping the spoonful into her mouth. You blame the loud laugh that bursts through your lips on how loose and joyous the ice cream was making you. 

“Huh?”

“Dick?” Lindsay cocks her head to the side, a much too innocent gesture for the body part she just repeated. “Love it! Can’t live without it. I just wish it wasn’t attached to a man. Or if it was, it was attached to Qi Yu and he became real for some reason.”

Lindsay looks like a goddess even now while pigging out on ice cream, so it stuns you that she has fictional crushes too. With how she looks, she could easily bag a guy that looks like the fictional characters you fawn over.

“Is that an anime character or…” Your curiosity takes over. You’ll eventually get to the demo. 

“Oh! I mean… Rafayel. If it was attached to Rafayel.” She corrects before licking the back of her spoon. Your ears perk up but you don’t accept it at first. You jokingly say hot girls play Love and Deepspace, but is this hot girl actually playing Love and Deepspace?

“Rafayel?? Like, fishy?!”

Lindsay just grins at you, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh my– what level are you?” You don’t usually ask your fellow Love and Deepspace girlies this, but you need to parse how deep she is into the game before you get delusional.

“I’ve been playing since the game was released, so I’m at level 80. I’ve nearly gotten all the boys to level 100. I need to work on the two newbies, I’m a little behind.” She laughs and you almost bow to her when you remember she’s filthy rich. Of course her affinity is that high. Still, you can’t slow the fondness growing in your heart. This has to be a ruse, right?

“It’s so unfortunate most men pale in comparison. Everyone talks about k-pop idols who look like them but it’s usually not even close.” She sets down her spoon and covers her mouth with her hand, looking at you like she’s deliberating whether she should say something.

“K-pop guys aren’t really my type, but I met these two? I kid you not. It’s like being with real life Rafayel and Caleb. My two favs!” She squeals giddily and you involuntarily squeal with her. The thought of you with Rafayel and Caleb flanked by your side? Rafayel isn’t even your second favorite but you have a soft spot for him. The thought is enough to melt you into a puddle on her white, porcelain marble floors. You don’t know how she brought the whore out of you so easily.

You want to ask who so very bad, but she’s back to eating her ice cream. Dancing to indicate she’s just as blissed out as you are.

As the meeting progresses, you’re less eager to reveal your hand. Lindsay suggests you at least try it out, a trial period. You want to at least show dearALICE the demo and a vacation to Korea doesn’t sound horrible. But you know better, and she already lied and blindsided you once. What, one tub of ice cream and conversation about your favorite game and you’re just going to bend over and take it? They call it selling your soul for a reason. You didn’t ditch the underground to become chained to a soulless company. 

One you know the troubled history of.

“I would miss my bestie too much. I’m sorry…”

“I’m not fluent in Korean.”

“I don’t have the money to uproot my life right now!”

These are the excuses you offer up in favor of cursing SM’s name for however long she’ll allow it. For some reason, you’re getting the vibe that she sees right through your excuses. She crosses her arms and sighs. The two of you had moved to her chic office, and you think that’s partially responsible for why this all feels so real now. 

“I don’t believe those are why you don't want to move.” Her stare is intense, like she’s waiting to see you cave. You were right, she did see right through you. “Do you want to know why they’re so enthusiastic about you?” 

Not exactly what you were hiding, but now that she mentions it…

“Yeah. It’s a little confusing.”

“They’ve been following you for longer than you think. I have, too. It was only after I heard SM wanted to hire you that I knew you were kibumberry.”

You recoil at the mention of your old Tumblr blog. She saw those horrible demos? Her and… people at SM?

“Yeah, I was a huge fan. Now that I look back on it, a lot of those demos weren’t great, but there was one from 2018. Your most popular one before you disappeared. Key saw this one and loved it.” Your vision of Lindsay smiling before you gets a little hazy. You don’t know if you’re getting light-headed or what, but that information just refuses to settle in your brain. Key? Kim Kibum?

“No…” You try to stay calm, stay reasonable, but your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“The fact that you were only eighteen when you made it threw everyone for a loop. Unfortunately, and you know how execs are, they thought you were too inexperienced and it was too risky. But it’s been seven years. I think it’s time you realize that potential.”

You look up at Lindsay with a twinkle in your eyes. Just then you see something in her’s, something that constricts your heart with fear. She smirks, a knowing look on her face. She sighs peacefully before driving the nail in further.

“Well, when I spoke to Kibum about this recently, he was a little worried about SHINee’s next comeback. Don’t get me wrong, he’s excited to finally work with you and maybe even release that song. He just doesn’t want to get your hopes up about anything soon.”

“Are you sure you have that right? He heard my work? From back then? And liked it? I-I don’t know, this is all too much!” You look to the ground, trying to make sense of any of this. Lindsay smirks again, obscuring her face with her hand as she lets out a small laugh.

“Oh, doll. You haven’t even asked about the pay yet.”

CHAPTER ONEˋ°•*⁀➷

“I never thought I’d have a salary, but it’s just too much money to pass up on, mom.” You have your phone pinched between your shoulder and ear as you fold clothes and set them into your suitcase.

“Oh I’m not worried about you having a salary. In fact, that’s ideal. I’m worried about you going to a different country. I told you this when you were younger. Baby, those men don’t care about you. All that fake shit they do to the camera is to get money out of you–”

“Mom, do you really think I’m uprooting my life to date boys?” She didn’t need to know that in that moment, you thought back to the two idols Lindsay was talking about. But who cares? You can’t even explain to her that the one plastered all over your walls? The one you stole her lipstick to litter kiss marks all over his posters? He’s not even where you’re going. “I’m going to fulfill my dreams. Focus on the money and salary part if you have to.”

“Oh I am! I just hope you’re not living in a fantasy, babe. Why did I hear from one of my colleagues that you named yourself after one of Shine’s songs?”

“Okay, bye mom!” You hang up, throwing your phone on the bed as embarrassment and anger fight for dominance in your chest. 

It didn’t matter that everyone in your life was telling you not to do this. The tickets were already paid for by SM and you already have your apartment set up for you. It would be disrespectful. But also…  and this is the part you left out when sharing the news… violating the contract you signed without a lawyer present.

You hurriedly defend your actions as dread starts to set in. Yes, as outlined in your contract, you’re officially starting a 9-5. And you’ll probably have no free time. And all of this is going to be hard to adjust to, but Lindsay is going to be in Korea a week after you get there. She’ll have your back.

Lindsay, who is on a private jet as you speak, is popping a bottle of champagne as everyone around her cheers. They're celebrating finally meeting the quota.

You’re flying economy eight days later, stuck in between a bickering couple who insisted you were okay sitting between them. You don’t know what you expected. You’re not Marshmallow, they’re not forking up anything higher than maybe premium economy for the likes of you. You’re not proud to admit that you’re already slightly regretting at least some of this. You pinch your nose bridge, cursing yourself for not having a lawyer look over that contract.

Your apartment is smaller than the one from home, and you barely take your shoes off before your phone buzzes. It’s your work schedule. You start in two days. 

What have you done?

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

A week in, you’re sending a hysterical, long message to Lindsay. They have you waking up at five a.m. almost every day. Even on days where you just have to sit in a meeting that is only translated by one of the execs when he feels like it. You’re not allowed to be seen on your phone if you’re not on break. Not even to check your email or a text. If they catch you, they scold you like a child.

And worst of all? Your creative freedom is a forgotten dream. Your moodboards are laughed out of the room. Your bulleted lists are shot down. No, they have their own bulleted lists. You garnered the courage from your pure annoyance with all this crap to suggest that hey, maybe we shouldn’t drown out dearALICE’s vocals. You know, the core part of the song? What happened? You guessed it.

You were fucking scolded.

The money isn’t worth this. This is something you knew already. You told yourself this as soon as you decided to pursue your dreams. No price is worth forfeiting your vision. 

You listen to your dearALICE demo again and again, mourning the loss of all your hard work. Your mind wanders to your last saving grace in all this turmoil. You switch to your seven-year-old SHINee demo. Would Key fight for your creative freedom? Or is that wishful thinking too.

Lindsey and who the hell are you?

You gawk at the message before groaning and throwing your phone away. She needs to figure out she texted the wrong number quickly so you can talk about this with someone who won’t say ‘I told you so’. Your phone buzzes again and you forlornly retrieve it.

Lindsey oooh em geee girl. lol i totally sent this to the wrong person. noooo don’t be discouraged.

I’m sorry, I’m genuinely wondering if I should cut my losses and just lawyer up to break my contract early.

Lindsey texts back at the speed of light this time.

Lindsey What?? OMG! If you need anything, let me know and I’ll help you out. Because you know how little of the lawsuits against SM were won! It’s scary…

I know… 

This is just everything I stand against and I let my excitement cloud my better judgement. 

Lindsey Yeah :((( you do what’s best for you!

Lindsey I almost forgot, I was just talking with Yizhuo (she’s a member of a newer SM girl group) and she’s a Love and Deepspace girlie just like us! I’ll send you her number

Ah, Love and Deepspace. You lost your streak for the first time since you downloaded. Every time you’ve opened it, you get scolded by Caleb for being gone for multiple days so you dread visiting him. Maybe playing it for a little will fix you. 

Lindsay sends you her number, but you’re hesitant. You hate meeting new people. It would be nice to have someone to talk about the game with since your friend doesn’t play it, but it’s going to be so awkward.

You’re immediately sucked into the game as soon as you open it. Lucky for you, Sylus’ birthday event just started. You have a lot of grinding to do. You have to find the willpower to open the app when you get home and not just rot in your bed watching tv. Your dinky Korean phone sends a notification and you check it quickly, traumatized from the last time you missed a text from Chris.

+010 XXXX XXXX Heeeey! PLEASE tell me your favorite LaDS guy, I need to know.

This must be Yizhuo. Did Lindsay give her your number as well?

Hey, this must be Yizhuo? And my favorite is Caleb… haha

Maybe: Yizhuo AAAAAH WHAT?! Girl he’s mine! Lol, just kidding. But I think I can’t live without him :*) We even have similar names lololol

LMAO really? Me too tbh… can’t get through paperwork without him

Yizhuo Yes!! I prop him up when I’m practicing so we can exercise together

Halfway through the conversation, you call each other so you can talk while playing the game. You suppose it is easy to get along when there’s a strong common interest. You’ll admit she was a welcome distraction. You even successfully started playing the game regularly again. She says you helped her with her streak as well. 

It’s not long before you guys start saying what’s really on your mind.

“If Yizhou would give me a chance I would wear him out good.” NingNing (as she told you to call her) hums like she just ate something delicious. You sigh loudly. Your vagina agrees. You’re a little scared to have a one night stand after the talk your boss gave at a meeting one day. He warned against inappropriate behavior and making SM look bad. It felt a little pointed at you, as you were one of two Americans, and the other one had been living in Korea since they were ten. You’ll admit you let an innuendo slip in the break room. Never had you experienced embarrassment than when the two other people there looked at you like you had two heads.

What if the person you sleep with finds out you work at SM? You have pictures from work on your Instagram, and you were told to follow the official SM accounts on all socials. If it got back to your boss, he would probably slut shame you. Or worse, you’d get fired and your mom would rip you a new one.

“Do you know where a girl can get a good dildo?” You grunt, selecting the ‘palm’ interaction with Caleb for the eightieth time today.

“The SM halloween party.” NingNing practically honks at her own joke before snorting into oblivion. You just sit there with your mouth agape. You never really pry into her idol life or what other idols are like. After producing for not only dearALICE but RIIZE and Mytro too, you get the sense their day to day is just as mundane as yours. They’re just as terrified of the higher ups as you are. Every time one of you gets scolded, you all just look at each other. You’re not going to lie to yourself and say you’re not intrigued about other things. Especially since you can’t get what Lindsay said out of your mind.

“I’m just kidding… or am I? Sungchan, where you at?”

You and NingNing immediately start screaming and laughing like you’re both up later than you should be at a sleepover. 

“NingNing!”

“I’m just kidding! I’m just kidding…”

You anticipate what she’s going to say and say it at the same time. 

“Or am I.”

You’re sent back into hysterics like school girls. 

“You should come this year! The staff aren’t not allowed to do much, but it’s still fun!”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her since she seems so excited to have someone to talk about LaDS with, but you probably won’t be here that long. The longer you stay, the more your only passion becomes a chore. You didn’t used to hate the mundane parts of production, but they’re like a slog now.

I looked it up, and maybe I can get a settlement with them and maybe have my contract altered?

You’ve been working with Lindsay on what to do. You feel like she’s the only person you can be truly honest with. However, you notice her texts are getting shorter.

Lindsay hmm yeah that sounds rght

Sorry if I’m asking for too much, but could you ask your lawyer if that’s even possible? I’m grasping at straws here haha.

Lindsay yeah my lawyer is here with me, we happened to be meeting each other when you txtd. he says he’s surprised you’re trying to leave. he said so many people would kill to have this job, and that you should consider yourself lucky to have an easy job.

Lindsay i persnkly dont agree, but he’s saying waking up at 5am isn’t tht ba,d

You can’t help how your chest gets hot at that insinuation. Did he seriously think that’s all you were complaining about? It was a large factor, but that’s minimizing your complaints. You don’t even know what to say. You’re not going to argue with him through Lindsay.

His words linger long after you read them. Every time a group’s manager makes a rude remark or scolds you, you wonder if your frustration is unwarranted. If you should just be taking it because the pay is good.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stomach it. So when the overpaid babysitter tries to tell you how to do your job, you snap a little bit.

He shouted at you for over ten minutes while the group watched in horror. You balled your fists and avoided his eyes at all costs, lest he see the fury in your eyes. You get home and slam your door shut, chucking your phone at the wall with a frustrated grunt. Are you a child? And what does he know about production? If it were up to him, the finished product would be filled with dispassionate performances. And you’re sick of the little jabs at your instrumentals.

You furiously type up a text to Lindsay.

Lindsay, I’m sorry. I want to help James and everyone else, and I’d hate to let Key down—

You stop as you type that. Would future you hate you or love you for this decision? Probably both. The unknown is scary, but what you might do to one of these group’s managers scares you even more. You don’t need to be in jail and all over the news.

— but I can’t do this anymore. I’m going through with terminating my contract early

It was only there for a split second, but you swore you saw a message from Lindsay only for it to disappear.

Lindsay Come see me on your next off day.

The true power of a billionaire’s daughter is having mansions in multiple countries. This one is nicer than the one in America, though. It’s clear she stays in Korea a lot more.

“Please, sit. I’ll have Misook bring in some tea.” Lindsay gestures at the woman standing by the wall patiently as you sit opposite her on the other couch.

“Misook, can you please bring some chamomile tea for me and my friend? Add a teaspoon of honey and ensure it isn’t too hot when you bring it over.”

Misook agrees with a warm smile and bows before doing just that. Then Lindsay turns to you and you get this feeling in your gut. A similar feeling to how you felt on the plane ride here. Something about her patient smile unsettles you.

“SM sucks, huh?” She squints and wrinkles her nose at you. You clench your teeth and smile, hesitantly agreeing.

“It’s just not for me.”

“Every time I get home from a meeting I feel like a ball of stress. Work stress is worse than regular stress, it’s harder to get rid of.” She lets out a lighthearted chuckle and you’re starting to understand your unsettled feeling. This casual air to the way she speaks to you doesn’t feel natural. And you hate that the thought comes to mind, but what does she know about work?

“Yeah, the tea is very thoughtful actually.” You both laugh insincerely. The laughter prolongs awkwardly, like one person is waiting for the other to stop.

“Tea won’t do it, girl! I'm telling you, I’ve tried so many things. The only thing that truly gets rid of the stiffness is good dick.” 

Misook is back and you’re glad you’re both speaking English. She sets the delicate china in front of each of you.

“How have the men here been treating you? Same shit, huh?” She lifts the small saucer and teacup, nodding at you before taking a sip. You follow suit, delaying your response. You actually don’t like tea, but you’re hoping the calming effect everyone talks about is real.

“Actually, I haven’t had sex since I got here. Well, longer than that but you know what I mean.”

Lindsay slams her saucer to the table and gawks at you. “You what?!”

Before you could deescalate her energy, she is standing up and making her way to you. She sits next to you and gathers your hands in her lap. With a passionate look, she says,

“No wonder you’re so stressed out! Doll, you have to let it out! You literally work around hot men all the time!” She shakes your hands for emphasis and you slowly slip them away to lessen the sudden overstimulation.

“Ahem, no. None of them are my type, and—”

“And nothing! If you’re about to tell me you’re too scared to have sex with an idol because you could get in trouble, then you’re crazy! If anyone knows how to not get caught doing something they aren’t supposed to, it’s k-pop idols.” She stands in front of you like a hero who just rescued a civilian.

“And not only that, they are itching for it. When you have to sneaky link for sex every time, you start to have less of it. It’s exhausting! But it only makes you crave it more. Who is your type.”

“Well Taemin is my ultimate—”

“No. Someone still in the company.”

“Um… I don’t know. I—”

“Someone like Caleb? Strong, nice smile, dog-like energy? Unfortunately who I'm thinking of is a bit of a… package deal.” The look in Lindsay’s eyes when she glances up at you makes you wonder if she knows exactly what you’re thinking. Your mind goes straight to what’s been plaguing your mind since you got here.

‘... but I met these two? I kid you not. It’s like being with real life Rafayel and Caleb. My two favs!’

“Those two you said remind you of Raf and Caleb…” You start and she perks up. “They’re under SM?” 

They very well could be. Before you slipped out of the fandom, so many groups had debuted. You just weren’t interested in anyone other than the groups who got you into k-pop in the first place. Still… wouldn’t you have at least heard it from the LaDS fandom? You hear about that one twenty-year old from that survival show group who looks like a baby Sylus, never a duo that resembles Caleb and Rafayel.

“Yeah. D’you want their numbers?” Lindsay’s phone seems to teleport into her hand as she points it to you. 

“N-no! Do you know how weird that is?”

How weird this all is. Is she telling you to use the musicians you work with? If someone did this to you, you’d slap them across the face. 

“Weird? They’re practically begging for it. I bet you’ve noticed how feral Yizhuo is.”

“No, Lindsay. That’s not why I’m here. I don’t use my access to celebrities to sleep with them, it sounds predatory.”

Lindsay's face pinches then, plainly expressing her disfavor. She straightens it out shortly after, tapping on her phone. You have no clue what she’s up to until your phone buzzes. You slip it out to see a link to download an app. SCR is the name of it, and it looks sketchy as all get out. You look at her questioningly. 

“Don’t believe me,” she gestures at your phone, encouraging you to download it, “see for yourself.”

CHAPTER TWOˋ°•*⁀➷

To be clear, any group of people when using an app where evidence of what they say can’t be traced would say pretty racy things. Regardless of fame level or profession. These idols just have more resources with more restrictions to boot. Still, you’re not going to pretend these messages didn’t catch you off guard. Once you finally downloaded it, you were faced with UI that can only hint to some sort of malware on your phone. You couldn’t look at the app for long at first because it gave you a headache. The first message to you was from Lindsay. You couldn’t help but notice you never signed up, yet your full name is your display name. Lindsay’s being the same makes you feel at least a little more at ease. 

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Once you see this message, lmk.

You text her back, awaiting this evidence she seemed so confident about. Instead you get… instructions?

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Welcome to SCR! Wondering what that stands for? It’s pretty cut and dry! It stands for Secret Chat Room! It was created by someone just like you who was constantly surveilled and needed an escape. We apologize in advance for what the background of the app might do to your eyes, but you have to understand it’s needed! You see, this specific pattern causes a glitch in most phone cameras that warps any pictures taken of it. As for screenshots, if you have ever used snapchat you know you get notified if anyone takes a screenshot. The same goes for SCR. They are also strictly prohibited. Any screenshots taken will notify not only the users in that chat, but me, Kim Heechul, as well. We will work together to ensure the photos no longer exist. That will be a hassle for both of us, so let’s not take it there ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Anyway, enjoy your time with SCR!

You drop your phone onto your bed and rub away your chill bumps. Why is this message so… threatening? He’ll ensure the photo no longer exists? You shudder as you lift your phone again. This is the closest you’ve ever felt to the deep or dark web or whatever it’s called. This feeling only intensifies when you see one of the groups Lindsay invites you to. 

Cheesily named “Gossip Girls”, this is the only chat you’re in with zero idols in it. It’s full of all of the non-idols that managed to get an invite. This is a very deliberate decision, because all they do is gossip about idols. This is how you find out Yuri is currently… We'll say deciding between a few men. None of them have any clue according to this stylist. You learned about an orgy, some 4th gen idol getting herpes and then taking a sick leave, fights that broke out, and groups/members that have beef. Your heart races as you look over these career ruining pictures sent to the group chat. Drugs, sex, and just all around delinquent behavior. In just thirty minutes of being glued to your phone, you had so many public images ruined for you. 

What they say is true, these idols are not who you think they are. You knew this, but seeing so much being confirmed in such a short amount of time winded you. You had to take a break. How do these girls do this all day? Then you felt it… that hint of exhilaration. You are (slightly) ashamed of yourself for opening that group chat back up to feel that rush of utter shock. It was then that you saw a picture of a once princely L from Infinite being very unprincely that you decided it was enough for the day. Your bingo card for the next one million years would have never included L snorting crack from someone’s asshole and you seeing it with your own two eyes.

“Wow…” You exhale shakily. Just like post-nut clarity, you feel extremely disgusted the longer you sit on what you saw. Not in them, in yourself and everyone spreading these photos and rumors. Isn’t the whole point of the app to escape prying eyes? That gossip girl group chat feels like reading gross tabloids or rubbing elbows with sasaengs. 

You let days pass by without opening that god forsaken app. Thankfully there are no notifications for the app, so it was a peaceful separation. 

This weekend is the first in a while where you and NingNing are both free. You flip a coin and decide the two of you are playing Animal Crossing today. You go from having a cute date to being stuck in a loop of whacking each other on the head with your nets. 

“Ooooh if there was a fart option so help me!” NingNing growls. You cease your whacking as the most visceral image is triggered into your mind of L snorting that crack from a crack and since NingNing unfortunately mention farting–

You shout loudly in an attempt to force the image from your brain, tossing your switch like a frisbee to the other side of your bed. “Oh my GOD!” You screech like you just witnessed an unimaginable eldritch horror. 

“What?! What?!” She sounds worried, but you can still hear the cartoonish swish and womp of her net upside your poor villager’s head. 

“Why L??! Why?!” You wail in agony before falling forward onto the bed. 

“Oh, right. Lindsay told me she invited you to SCR. I feel like it’s a… what’s it called… canon event for everyone to fall out of love with their favorite idol after downloading it.” She laughs crassly before stuffing her mouth with chips. She knows? She knows about this and she’s this casual? Your mind is permanently altered!

“You–! Did you see the picture too? Doing crack is one thing. Snorting it out of someone else’s ass is–”

“He did what?!” Only then does the whacking finally cease. You sit there, feeling like the physical manifestation of a question mark. 

“You didn’t know?”

“How did you know that?”

Upon learning about gossip girls, NingNing demanded to be added. There was no way in hell you were making that decision so you redirected her to Lindsay. She immediately hangs up on you, only to call you back about five minutes later. 

“So?”

“Check the group chat! Everyone is freaking out!” She laughs mischievously. You take a deep breath as you eye the group chat moving quickly. You shut your eyes as you press the group. When you crack your eye open, you see all hell breaking loose. The group chat is not happy about an idol being there, panicking about the messages they sent and the lack of an option to delete them. 

“Is this what they’re saying about me?” NingNing laughs, presumably doing the same thing that you and everyone else is doing and searching her name to see how heinous the rumors about her are. 

Ning Yizhuo`⎚⩊⎚´ -✧ oh… is that all you guys said about me? I’ll have you know, Sungchan and I did not date. We did fuck though ;))

The group chat explodes again, seemingly accepting another degenerate into their little club. Speaking of degeneracy…

You hadn’t checked the other group chats you were invited to. The first one you check is named “Scheduling”. A little vague and scary, but it turned out to be one of the guesses you had. An idol sends a message of when they’re free and, well, looking to score. They ask anyone interested and that meets the criteria they outline to message them privately, so the chat is full of requests and no responses. You see requests from lots of idols, but what you’re starting to gather from this and the next group chat is that some idols aren’t on this app, for obvious reasons. More importantly, SHINee is nowhere to be found. You can’t believe the disappointment that nips at you. 

The next one seems like a general group chat with what must be everyone on the app in it. It’s pretty similar to gossip girls, with the exception that you see the degeneracy of the idols from the source. You catch yourself laughing at some of the messages. 

“Oh! I almost forgot. If you’re on the app, you should join this one.” Says NingNing with her mouth full as another group chat pops up on your screen. “00-04z”.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Lindsey Liu꒰੭ believe me yet?

You suppose you don’t have a frame of reference, but this is a bit what you expected all celebrities to be like. But you haven’t seen, say, Emma Watson taking a selfie mid-coitus. But if you said you didn’t feel like you were introduced to an entirely new world, you would be lying. You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t look up interviews with every idol you find something out about to compare. That kept you up far past your bedtime.

It was 3am when you decided to open the chat NingNing invited you to. You felt like you were stranded in unfamiliar territory. It was filled with idols you didn’t recognize. You’re positioned back to when you were first added. The conversation continues without anyone mentioning you. Only for a bit.

Han Jisung⓪⓪ hey

Baek Jiheon⓪③ rock paper scissors?

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ are you in preschool? lol no. 

Han Jisung⓪⓪ kids.

Baek Jiheon⓪③ come ooonnnn!!! T__T

Kim Chaehyun⓪② There’s only one spot left. We have to decide.

Han Jisung⓪⓪ fresh meat

Yoon Keeho⓪① ?

Park Sohyun⓪② huh?

Zhong Chenle⓪① where?

Yang Jungwon⓪④ Why would you say it like that…

Kim Suyeon⓪③ new member? Where?

Han Jisung⓪⓪ … the only member with their name in english

Your head is already spinning from the amount of unfamiliar names, reading these messages about you only makes things worse. You find yourself holding your breath despite knowing this conversation happened hours ago.

Choi Jongho⓪⓪ Can they even understand us? haha

Yoon Keeho⓪① AYE. You there?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Guys omg lol. That’s my girl friend. She’s ‘00.

Park Sohyun⓪② A girl????

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ yessss. another point for zero-zeros.

Jang Eunseong⓪⓪ Another point for GIRL zero-zeros. We were drowning :*)

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ maybe she could come lolololololol

Baek Jiheon⓪③ WHAT?! 

Yu Jimin⓪⓪ She hasn’t even spoken yet lol. NingNing?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② She’ll come eventually. She’s a little shy.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② awwwwww

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Shy? ;3

Oh god, what was NingNing doing? She could have lied and said you were asleep. She’s not lying, but there’s something about being introduced as shy. Some people see it as a challenge. Those are the vibes you’re getting from this Jaemin character. Just from one text.

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Someone spell out the pronunciation of her name in Hangul

That ‘Keeho’ person does it, and you watch in horror as they speculate about your attributes. If you’re tall or short, what your ethnicity is, and as Jaemin put it,

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Ha Ha. Yeaaahh, stay away from her you junkie.

As you scroll down, you notice that he seems to be very curious about you. Everyone is, as you’re the first non-idol to be added to the chat. You can’t help feeling like a carcass with several vultures circling overhead. 

Your blinks get heavier and heavier until you drift into a different room. You’re tangled in red, satin sheets like the last tv show you watched. It feels nice, far nicer and more vivid than it should. You want to sink deeper when you feel a pair of hands on you. The hands sizzle against your cool skin, wasting no time getting under your flimsy slip and fondling you. You would be shocked if it didn’t feel so good. With two hands on your breasts, you feel another cup your heat. A strangled moan breaks free from your lips as you close your thighs around the hand. The first pair pries them back open. The omniscient sense that only exists in your dreams tells you that you know these two men. You can hear a dog tag jingling as the second one slips your panties to the side. If that’s Caleb, and this is your dream, the second has to be Sylus. But no, there is purple hair in your peripheral. Rafayel and Caleb… you feel lust skitter up your legs to your lower stomach. You bite your lip as a finger slips into your heat. You peer over at Rafayel as his finger slips into your mouth. 

“Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?” He turns to someone in the doorway. As soon as you follow his eyeline, Lindsay slams the door shut. You jolt from the noise back into consciousness. You peer at your front door as if Lindsay would be there, your skin still feeling seared where those hands were.

Your lustful bliss wasn’t able to ease you through your work day unfortunately. As your bosses and the group’s managers pried any tranquility from you, you focus more on the strange part of the dream. Lindsay’s eyes become more haunting. Your last visit to her house is all you can think about. Then you start to pick apart all the other times you spoke with her–

“Are you listening? Hey! This is fucking garbage. What the hell were you thinking?!” One of the A&R managers, Mr. Myeong snaps in front of your face before banging his fist into the keyboard. You can’t stop your hands before they lurch toward the keyboard to stop him. He screws something up with your project, so you just apologize, dodge his eyes, and reach for your mouse. He smacks it away, cursing at you. You grasp your hand, looking up at him in disbelief. Bad idea. He chuts and almost shoves you straight out of the chair. You stumble away, barely catching yourself.

He mutters under his breath, clacking at the keyboard and clicking the mouse like it personally affronted him. 

“How many times do we have to correct you before you get it right?”

You hazard a glance toward the monitor. You gasp, covering your mouth as you watch him delete the entire project. He moves to your other pro tools files, highlighting all of them. You lunge toward him, grabbing his hand on the mouse before shouting for him to stop.

 He rips his hand away, standing from the chair and giving you the most disgusted look you’ve ever been given. He swiftly raises his hand and you flinch, guarding yourself. 

“Piece of trash…” He says under his breath before storming out of the room. Your heart thunders against your chest with each of his footsteps away from the media room. You don’t realize that you’re still guarding your face and lower your arms. You stand there, staring at your feet but really at nothing at all. You raise your shaky hands before balling them into fists.

The next two weeks feel like torture. You don’t dread work like normal people do. You prepare yourself for the emptying of your will and passion every time you clock in. Your bosses keep criticizing your messily tucked in shirt or mismatched socks but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. 

You can feel yourself starting to hate producing.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’re going to quit.

Lindsay keeps texting you, but even deciding whether or not to answer is another layer of stress you can’t afford. You catch a glimpse of her celebrating her card pulls and you feel guilt tug at you. It’s just too much. Admitting your mom was right isn’t half as bad as suffering through this job.

I’m going to miss you, NingNing :((((

NingNing Ughhhh, I guess we can still talk about LaDS but that’s already what I was doing before! I want to talk about LaDS with someone I already know IN REAL LIFE!!

You pout for her, sitting on the edge of your bed with the horrendous posture you’ve adopted. As you type your response, something hits you and you backspace it all.

Why don’t you talk about it with Lindsay?

NingNing Oh PLEASE. She would just tell me to shut up.

Why would she do that, you think. But you suppose those two do have a sibling-esque dynamic. You exhale deeply before lying back on your bed. Your legs draw together like they do every time you get home nowadays. Especially after that dream, you can’t help touching yourself as soon as you get home. You bite your lip as you slip your work pants off and your underwear. Lately everything has been arousing you. You can’t watch any movie or show with a sex scene or else you’ll end up rewinding over and over until you get off and feel disgusted with yourself. Men at work with tight pants, women at work with tight blouses. Everything sets you off. It’s excruciating since masturbating or humping your bed like you’re doing now isn’t cutting it.

Forget someone finding out you work at SM, you don’t even have time for sex. That, and there was something so sweet about rotting your mind to porn. Love and Deepspace smut was great, but you had to use too much brain power. With porn, you could just turn it off. 

By month four of working at SM, you were a husk. The only thing that made something break through were the worried looks on the idol’s faces when they worked with you and the hurt texts from Lindsay. 

“I appreciate that you’re finally listening to instruction, but can you please speak louder?” dearALICE’s manager pats you on the back before humming encouragingly. He was less upfront about his disrespect, and you can’t decide if that was better or worse. He didn’t understand personal space and his only mode of speaking was sarcasm and backhanded compliments.

Despite feeling like the puppet they always wanted you to be, you still received “notes” at the next meeting. The next A&R staff assembly included a portion about enthusiasm and the cons of having a resting bitch face. Basically they want you to be a puppet and be happy about it. That’s a step too far for you. They’re getting what they want anyway. They keep bringing it up until you’re being pulled to the side by Chris himself about your strange behavior. It’s not that you’re being a smartass, you just don’t have it in you to emote while speaking to him. 

“Can you at least try to smile? D’you know how disrespectful it is to reply like an annoyed teen to your higher ups? Cut it out!” He shouts, through with trying to hide the fact that he’s scolding you on the side of the hall. Your coworkers walk past, looking confused and scared by the outburst.

You can’t catch a break from your coworkers either. To them, you’re an unenthusiastic trouble maker. Pretty much everyone in the building hates you. It doesn’t matter, you won’t be bothering them for much longer. 

Lindsay seems more erratic this particular day, blowing up your phone to the point you have to put it on do not disturb.

You get home and the cycle repeats. You strip down, hump your hand until you cum, turn on porn to do it again, turn on one of the more salacious sex scenes you can’t stop thinking about to do it again. And right as sleep is cradling you, the dream is vivid in your mind. You think of the soft satin against your legs, the fingers in your mouth and in your cunt and you jut into your hand one last time. Then you drift to sleep, the exhaustion at its peak. 

CHAPTER THREEˋ°•*⁀➷

No matter how many times your alarm goes off at five a.m., you always find yourself in a battle with your nineteen year old self. Because it still doesn’t seem real that you have a real job. With a schedule. And a fucking evaluation each quarter.

NingNing are you not seeing the gc? Lindsay just sent something CRAZY

You choose to ignore her text for one simple reason. It’s much too early to translate. You’re already grouchy from the impending evaluation, you’d rather just hurry and get ready for your first scheduled session. 

And throughout all three hours of said session, your phone is buzzing into oblivion. You have to wonder if a cartoonish vein is popping out of your forehead when one of the members stops singing in the booth. You look up to see not only him, but everyone else in the studio staring at you. 

“Juliette, if you need to excuse yourself for a moment to answer your phone, please do so.” Says the boys’ manager, looking unimpressed with your attitude. Embarrassed, you immediately stand up, bowing at everyone in the room and softly apologizing in Korean. 

You rush out in the hall, half of you just excited to be relieved of the tension you caused and the other half is eager to mute NingNing and Lindsay. Both of them are urging you to check the gossip girls group chat. You search for the app, forgetting what it’s called since you rarely use it. The less familiar logo is grouped with the other messaging apps. SCR… right, you think, and what does that mean again?

You’re tempted to delete it since it’s collecting dust, but deep down you know exactly why you won’t. You pretty much pass out as soon as you get home, so you haven’t checked it. But you haven’t forgotten the new world that has opened up to you.

The group chat has over 999+ unread messages. You’re not sure just how much that plus is hinting at since you rarely open it, but you remember there being significantly less the last time you glanced at the home page. And that wasn’t that long ago. That’s when you see the previews of the messages flying by. 

their shoulders are so broad, it gets me… this is so strange Lindsay, do you know their type? I wa… kinda horny now lololol I bet they only like really skinny girls… So what’s their size? Don’t leave us… i’d pay just to see it lol god they would KILL on onlyfans

… What in the world is going on? You tap the group chat at the speed of light. Frustratingly you’re positioned where you left off two months ago. When you finally get to what you assume NingNing is freaking out about, you see that it’s already translated for you.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Hello dolls, As some of you may know, I am moving back to Shanghai for the time being :*(. I know, I’m so sad! I’ll miss seeing your gorgeous, gorgeous faces in real life. Anyway, I’ve decided to leave you guys with a parting gift. Me being the only person to experience this feels like a waste. One of you has got to have sex with Nomin.

You gasp, hugging your phone against your chest. Your thighs clench on their own, feeling that lust creep through your bloodstream. God, not right now. The door creaks open and you feel your soul threatening to leave your body. 

“Are you okay?” The manager peeks his head out, looking just as annoyed as he always is.

“I-I’m sorry, there’s an emergency!” Your face is sizzling hot as you lock your phone. His face gradually softens. 

“You don’t look too good, you can take a short break–”

“Okay, thanks!” You rush toward a bathroom, any bathroom. Only when you’re locked in a stall do you feel yourself calm down. Your face is still hot to the touch as you unlock your phone. You have to admit, Lindsay really caught you off guard. God… if someone had glanced over your shoulder, you would’ve had your ass handed to you. Despite what their artists sing about and how they dance, SM is a very sexless place. Any innuendos or allusions to sex are strictly prohibited. A part of you felt like that was only targeted at you because you were American (not that you would blame them). But after being here for four months, you’ve gotten very used to the sterile environment. 

You’re already so sensitive to anything suggestive. Is she joking? If she is, it is a little funny. You think to message her that before you continue. 

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Don’t worry, I won’t be jealous or anything. If you know me, then you know I refuse to be attached to any man lol. But you should know that they don’t just fuck anybody. From what they’ve told me, they don’t look at most girls. They’re very particular about the girls they seek out. If you ask me, that’s exactly why they barely have threesomes lol.

The first of many thoughts to surface is that Lindsay is clearly not joking. The next is a glaring question.

Who is Nomin?

You know better than to assume the k-pop industry debuted a nonbinary idol, so you’re not surprised when your google search returns two men. You’re also not surprised that you don’t recognize them since they debuted around the time you stopped caring about new groups. You recognize one of the names, you figure it must be from one of the group chats. They’re handsome, though. Very much so. They’re both charming in their own way, and you can see why they’re paired up. The vibes are reminiscent of the classic cat/dog dynamic you’ve seen. You tap your index finger against your lips as you sift through the images. They have nice physiques. They’re okay, I’ll always be a Taemin girl, though. You spin your ring mindlessly, unable to tear your eyes away from Jeno’s bare torso.

Right, the message.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Here, I’ve compiled for you the steps to attempt to get Nomin’s attention. Just to get it out of the way because it's obvious, you have to be up for a threesome. Even I couldn’t get one of them alone. Also, no idols. Upsetting one fandom is already horrifying, upsetting two is just reckless. Anyway, Tip One: - Don’t try so hard. If you look as good as they do, you get suitors constantly. And having to constantly deal with loud and unsubtle people is annoying. Besides, no one likes desperation. Tip Two: - If you’re going to change up your style and approach, don’t lay it on thick in either direction. Don’t become a BDSM dungeon master with your breasts practically falling out of your shirt. I bet you would look great, but you’d be ignoring tip one. But don’t put on that weird demure act either. If you’re covered head to toe and pretend to be sex averse, how are they supposed to know you want to fuck them? - (extra hint: dress casually, but give them something to… you know. A shirt just tight enough or a skirt just short enough they think their dirty thoughts were their own fault. Just off the top of my head, something like a graphic tee that’s slightly cropped with high waisted jeans that cover your midriff. Make sure the shirt hugs you just right 😉)

You laugh to yourself. Graphic tee she says. She could’ve just said t-shirt, but she’s making it very obvious. Perhaps on purpose. You pinch your jacket closed as if someone can see you right now. You’re wearing the same shirt you had on when you met her, now that you think about it. 

Tip Three: - A quick Do & Don’t for you: DON’T pretend to be their biggest fan. Name a single idol who has dated a fan. Exactly. DO become the best fan fiction character you can be. And I mean best. Don’t go to their concert and read a book, that’s ignoring tip one again. Don’t say you hate their music or hate boy groups. Subtler. Say you love boy groups. Hell, say you love SM groups… but you’re not very familiar with new ones. Throw an older group out there like I don’t know… SHINee. I think that’s why they reached out to me, being a 2PM fan and all. I wouldn’t have even looked their way on my own and I think that excited them.

That tip is the final straw for you. That one message was correct, this is strange. If she wanted to recommend you… have sex with those two, why wouldn’t she just message you? And are they even aware of all this? It all rubs you the wrong way and you start to text her exactly that. Lindsay beats you to it, though.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Have you read the group chat at all?

Yes, what the hell.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ What did you think of the tips ;)

Lindsay. Don’t you think this is a little inappropriate?

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Hey, I said they don’t like the innocent act.

I’m not participating in this! It feels icky. Am I crazy?

You exit out of her chat to message NingNing the same thing. You can’t be going crazy. This is weird. You fan yourself and exhale.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ A little!! :D 

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ They’re already texting me that they’re going to be so lonely and horny when I leave… they may even have to play with each other to cope…

My GOD Lindsay.

You swipe the messenger away entirely, only noticing then how hard your heart is beating. You close your eyes and your mind immediately betrays you and paints the images you saw of Jeno and Jaemin together vividly. You ease onto the toilet, hands pressing against the stall on either side of you. The images refuse to cease and you let your thighs squeeze just a little. 

Your phone buzzes and you send a ball of saliva back to roll down your parched throat before opening the app again. 

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Last time I checked on you, you told me you haven’t been getting any play recently. They’re going to be in the same boat soon.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Remember what I told you? Idols have to be picky about who they sleep with and how often they do it. I know you’re thinking about quitting because this job isn’t what you saw yourself doing, but you aren’t utilizing the perks, doll </3 !

The perks? Your perks are a discount at the SM cafe, 15 days of paid time off per year, a free bus pass, and making your passion your job. Getting closer to celebrities so you can fuck them sounds like something scumbag villains in Kdramas do.

No, this is wrong. There’s something about Lindsay that just feels off. You think back to that picture she sent you. You scroll through all her unanswered texts to you until you see it. She sent two pics, one of the five star card she pulled and the other of all ten cards. Why does NingNing feel she has no one to talk about Love and Deepspace with?

You reverse image search her pictures and it pulls up a reddit post. It’s the exact same freeze frame from the video that plays when you pull that card. And the ten pulls are identical.

NingNing Oh it’s absoLUTELY weird. But I wouldn’t put it past those two to be that freaked out.

NingNing Whatever you do, don’t tell 00-04z about this. It’ll be our little secret.

NingNing It’s going to be funny to see everyone try and fail to seduce them lol

Each of NingNing’s messages slide down at the top of your screen, replacing the previous. You completely forgot about that group chat. Jaemin…

Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?

You hurry back to the recording room, apologizing and bowing 90 degrees to everyone in the room.

“Get over there already. How long are you going to make everyone wait?”

“I’m so sorry.” You say as you skitter over to the mixing desk. As soon as your thighs press against the seat and push against your vulva, you clench your thigh tighter, unable to stop yourself.

The minute you get home, you fumble with your keys trying to get in as fast as you can. You burst through the door and throw your purse off before practically ripping your clothes off. You don’t have to wait until you’re close to sleeping for that dream to appear behind your eyelids today. It’s all you could think about once you put a face to those words you’ve been replaying in your brain. You have another face now, too. You whimper as you stroke your aching clit. You replace Rafayel and Caleb with these new faces. It’s so wrong, but you can’t help yourself. It feels like the dream finally progressed. You have something to put in you other than fingers. Two things you want to shove anywhere they’ll fit.

You shove your face into the covers as a despaired moan is pulled from your body. Cum oozes over your fingers as you continue to hammer them into your throbbing hole. You cum five times until you have nothing else left and your poor nub starts to hurt. Only then does the guilt truly set in. Are these two meant to be the Caleb and Rafayel duo? They look nothing like them. And which is which? You laugh to yourself, mental and physical exhaustion dragging you to hysterics.

She got you.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Every time NingNing tries to talk to you, you get distracted by the people with huge, hulking cameras following you.

“The guys are– ignore them. They follow me everywhere.” NingNing seems completely unbothered when she mentions that, but it sure bothers you. Even with her bodyguard following close behind. It takes her a few more tries to get your attention.

“Hey!! Everyone in the 00-04 group chat is confused. I invited someone and they don’t even speak in the group chat. You’re making both of us look weird!” She nudges you, her Americano jostling in her hand. You don’t know how to tell her that you’re terrified to open it after you came to the thought of Jaemin and Jeno on three separate occasions now. You don’t even know them from a can of paint but you’ve imagined them in every possible position. 

“I dunno, it feels awkward.” You speak low and lean a little closer, unnerved by the amount of people looking at the two of you. 

“They’ll love you! They’re already excited to meet you! Especially Jaemin, idiot won’t stop bringing you up.” She mutters the last part, clearly not the biggest fan. You hurriedly sip your latte to hide any suspicious facial expressions. 

“J-Jaemin?” You sputter after swallowing your drink haphazardly. Great going, genius.

“Yeah, ugh. Anyway, if you were in the group chat, you’d know we were planning to go to Switzerland in December. We have a huge chalet booked because we intended for twenty people to come, and we even got twenty multi-day passes for skiing. Long story short, too many people dropped out for comfort so we’re kinda scrambling. Are you interested?” NingNing looks over just in time to catch the twinkle in your eyes. She laughs mischievously as you try to fix your face. You’re not the biggest fan of going somewhere colder for vacation, but any vacation sounds good right now.

“How long are we gonna be there? Did you already buy plane tickets? What day in December should we–”

“My GOD girl! I’m guessing that’s a yes. Since we’re leaving the country we’re thinking two weeks. Is that good?”

You peer over at NingNing, a smile slowly fading in for both of you.

“Tell me more.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Michelle link

Michelle Happy to see you’re doing well. Would’ve loved to hear this directly from you but you barely speak to me anymore.

Of all the consequences of you going all in on work, losing your best friend was the hardest one. You didn’t realize you favored texting or calling NingNing about one of your many shared interests over reaching out to your friend until she sent you that. You cautiously click on the chat, knowing that your read receipts are on and you’ll have to answer as a consequence of wanting to know what that link is.

Underground Producer Juliette spotted with aespa’s NingNing Coming From a Coffee Shop. Fans Speculate Over a Possible Solo Project For The Idol

Will that always be your title? How long has it been since you left the underground?

Those were your initial thoughts until this article kept coming back to haunt you. It was shared in three out of four of the group chats you were in. You’re getting more DMs from artists than you ever have (long after you needed them). You, of course, were scolded at work. And you have your first direct message on SCR that isn’t from NingNing or Lindsay.

Na Jaemin Is that you with NingNing in that picture 👀

You immediately ignore the message. Your excitement is simply too great to handle right now. You can’t have him sensing your sins. 

Instead, you finally hazard a glance of the 00-04z group chat.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Ooouuuu she’s cute :3

Jung Sungchan⓪① how do we even know that’s her

Jung Sungchan⓪① the article says juliette

Choi Beomgyu⓪① tha’ts her stge name dumbass

Huh Yunjin⓪① Learn how to spell b4 calling someone else a dumbass lmaooo

Bae Jinsol⓪④ idk if this is inappropriate to say, y’all will let me know anyway lol but her clothes fit her just right

Park Sohyun⓪② JUST right

Park Sunghoon⓪② oh here cum the lesbians

Park Sohyun⓪② Sunghoon’s just mad Xinyu rejected him for me lolololol

Yoon Sangah⓪② lolololol

Oh Haewon⓪③ lolololol

Shen Quanrui⓪④ lolololol

Kim Sunoo⓪③ lolololol

Park Sunghoon⓪② Sunoo whose side are you on??

Kim Sunoo⓪③ … the gays? tf

Jake Sim⓪② Just saw the pic y’all are talking about… that’s my type haha

Baek Jiheon⓪③ And what is that (,,◕.◕,,)

Jake Sim⓪② Not stick thin😏 I like some meat on the bone

Baek Jiheon⓪③ (ಠ⌣ಠ)

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Now y’all are speaking my language lol who are we talking about

Zhong Chenle⓪① you never come in here and when you do you refuse to scroll up smh

Everyone reacts in shock to his message, including you. This is your first time seeing his name outside of a search bar. Every time you tell yourself to stop picturing these poor men in indecent situations you feel it more vividly. Jeno’s sweaty chest as he ruts into from behind and Jaemin’s sweaty shoulders under your palms while you take it. I mean… both of them seem somewhat interested… so you can't be that bad, right.

Kim Dayeon⓪③ talking about how you like girls with meat on their bones as if it’s OUR FAULT WE’RE SKINNY. JELLYFISH STRIPPED ME OF MY MEAT.

Jake Sim⓪② Calm down pls T__T I promise I wasn’t dissing skinny girls, I love all women. You’re all beautiful

Jay Park⓪② Damn straight

Kim Dayeon⓪③ Alright then >:(

Baek Jiheon⓪③ I forgive you (♡°▽°♡)

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Wait, so who’s Juliette 

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Is she here?

Lee Donghyuck⓪⓪ scroll up farther for god sake

He could scroll up… or you could just…

Hello. Um, you guys are right, my name isn’t Juliette.

… get things started. You properly introduce yourself for the first time in this group chat. Everyone properly introduces themselves, and you find Sohyun, Xinyu, Jinsol, and Jake in your DMs. It’s far too much attention to handle. You feel a little dizzy from all the emotions demanding your attention.

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Look at my messages;3

“Oh right.” You panic and switch to his DMs, not expecting new messages. 

Na Jaemin So you are as cute

You chew on your lip, feeling as though releasing it would release a whine as well. The heat brewing in your core is intense. You can feel the base of your thighs dampening. It’s like he knows just what to say to drive you crazy.

Na Jaemin I wanna see you

Your breath catches, rereading the word as if it would help you decode it. He couldn’t be asking to meet up so he must mean– Oh…

He’s asking for it.

Na Jaemin Nonononoo lololol I’m sorry, I’m just used to being forward on this app. That was disrespectful. Idk why this app brings it out of me.

No, you’re okay. 

If I’m honest… It does that to me too.

Right about now you would be throwing your phone away, too scared to see his response, but you’re glued to the screen. The typing indicator appears before disappearing. It never comes back. You decide to check the group chat while you wait when you see it.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Ah…

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ I know that name. Are you friends with Lindsay?

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Whatever weird shit she said to you, don't spread it here

Shit. Shit. You were right. God, you should have immediately warned them about the messages she sent to gossip girls. Instead you’re sitting here drooling and implicating yourself. The chat goes from fawning over you to wondering what you and Lindsay did to piss Jeno off. 

You knew it. You knew this was weird and you knew you shouldn’t have gone into that stupid group chat. You already took off those two weeks in December, and you were really looking forward to a getaway where you didn’t have to pay for plane tickets or a place to stay. Did you just blow it? 

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Noooo she’s not close to Lindsay, Lindsay just helped her get this job and helps her out from time to time.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Oh yeah, I forgot you were friends with Lindsay too. Keep your mouth shut, too.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Why are you acting like you don’t know how Lindsay is? She’s eccentric and out of touch. What else do you expect from a billionaire’s daughter?

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Can she be eccentric to herself?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② You KNOW she can’t do that.

Han Chowon⓪② This is the most I’ve ever seen Jeno active in this gc lol

You want to say something or apologize, but truthfully you don’t know what he’s actually referring to. What if you just implicate yourself further.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Ugh fuck off Jeno you scared the new girl off

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And Lindsay scares ME.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Not enough to stay out of her pants lololol

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Hey

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ How did you know that?

Nakamura Kazuha⓪③ Omg? So it’s true?

Kim Jiwon⓪④ Oh my god…

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ You see what I mean? Lindsay can’t keep her mouth shut, and neither can her little friends

Oh Haewon⓪③ can you chill tf out

Watanabe Haruto⓪④ …

Watanabe Haruto⓪④ so was she good

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ I was wondering the same lolol she’s so hot

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Tooootally dude

You think to yourself if the threesome stuff was actually real but you catch yourself and toss that idea. You think of a way to clear your name without hinting at anything more. 

She does say a lot of weird things but I usually tune her out lol

Or just tell her she’s being weird.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Yeah Lindsay said something totally weird recently and she messaged me privately to see if I thought it was weird too lol

And we’re not really cool like that, promise

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Oh don’t worry about Jeno, he’s just being a diva

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Am I though, because they both just said she says weird things too

Oh Haewon⓪③ SHE’S AN ECCENTRIC BILLLIONAIRE!!!

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Eccentric 👏🏻 Billionaire 👏🏻

Yeah, but still. She does give weird vibes, ngl.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And she’s a fucking pathological liar

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Maybe I should start spilling secrets about her, see how she likes it

Huh Yunjin⓪① YES PLEASE GAWD SOME DRAMA

Yoon Keeho⓪① LMAOOOO

Ning Yizhuo⓪② jiFWLBFIEB

You thought maybe Lindsay was just a nuisance to him in a similar way she is to you. But this hints at something maybe a little deeper. 

Maybe for you as well.

The group chat goes dormant after realizing Jeno was bluffing. He tells everyone in the chat they have a gossip problem and disappears. You refresh the homepage mindlessly, frustration prodding at you. You switch over to your DMs. You notice Jaemin finally texted back. 

Na Jaemin Wait so you know Lindsay?

Na Jaemin Oh you guys aren’t close. Well let me know when she’s coming back if she told you. Or if she’s ever coming back. 

Na Jaemin Idk.

Nothing about his texts indicate that he harbors the same feelings for Lindsay. Maybe he and Jeno aren’t as much of a unit as Lindsay made you believe. You stay with these messages, rereading them and feeling a tinge of pity. 

Well, I definitely know she’s coming back because she has a mansion here.

Na Jaemin What?!

Na Jaemin Well I guess she is rich, but I didn’t know that.

Na Jaemin Are you sure you guys aren’t friends?

One thing you know for absolute certain in these trying times is that you don’t want to be confused to be on Lindsay’s side.

Absolutely not, I haven’t spoken to her in around two months or something lol.

Na Jaemin I seeeee

Na Jaemin Anyway, make sure to text me again sooner than that ;3

The only way you can quell the fluttering in your chest is through a girlish squeal paired with you kicking your feet. Should you be guilty about all this if they reached out to you first?

CHAPTER FOURˋ°•*⁀➷

You cross your foot in front of the other to see the outfit in a different pose. You are unfortunately not allowed to wear a costume to SM’s Halloween party, but you can come. And you can dress up a little bit. Not too flashy, they said. You opted for a blouse with a high neckline with short butterfly sleeves that just cut it off from being a tank top. You thought that was too much already, so you paired it with black slacks. A high bun with two pieces to frame your face shouldn’t be flashy.

Whatever, if you get scolded, you’ll drink. If you get scolded for getting drunk, hopefully they’ll fire you. You smooth your hands over the pants slowly, letting that thought simmer.

Yeah, you haven’t considered that. If they fire you, there won’t need to be a lawsuit. You definitely wouldn’t fight it. But is it too soon to go home? You think about your mother and how she’ll nag you. You think about how you have no friends at home anymore. How NingNing would miss you. 

Are you seriously considering this? You can’t. Not after they killed your passion.

No, you need to go forward with this plan. You made a new friend here, you can do it again back home. And your mom will be alright.

Your uber notifies you that it’s outside and you snatch your purse with renewed vigor. 

You’re going to get fired from SM Entertainment.

The dimly lit venue is enough to get you in the partying spirit. Luckily there are enough people here that you shouldn’t be scolded the entire night. You want to be seen on your worst behavior but you don’t want your buzz killed.

You find NingNing who is dressed as Jobu Tupaki. Specifically her goth outfit. You compliment her and give her a hug. You greet Winter who is dressed in Barbie’s cowgirl outfit, Giselle who is Lola Bunny from Space Jam, and lastly Karina who is Disgust.

“Did you guys do a movie theme?” You ask, a little sad looking at their costumes. The FOMO just set in.

“Nah, we’re just that in sync.” Giselle says with a smirk, wrapping her arms around Winter and Karina. Karina brushes her arms away.

“Yes. We did a movie theme.” Karina explains, shaking her head at Giselle and making an expression that fits her character.

There wasn’t much to do but walk around, talk, eat, and drink alcohol. You made sure to get your grief’s worth in alcohol. You drank for all your forgotten projects, for your crushed dreams, and as a fuck you to your manager who threatened to hit you. That memory had the jello shots flying. NingNing found it amusing but her members were a bit worried. Especially after NingNing starts joining “for the bit”.

‘Can you guys stop’ turns into ‘are you guys gonna stop’ before the other three decide to leave before it gets embarrassing. Thankfully you and NingNing were both giggly drunks so you mostly stood by the wall and laughed at everything and nothing. 

“Look. Omg, look, LOOK!” NingNing shouts as she points across the room very overtly. Thankfully who she’s pointing at doesn’t see her do it. There are two men in similar military-esque costumes. Who they’re specifically dressed as, you can’t tell from this distance, but there’s a girl with her back arched and her ass poked out speaking to them. You would say she looks hot but she’s in a slutty schoolgirl outfit. 

“That outfit?” You nudge NingNing before pointing at your mouth and pretending to gag.

“Yeah, and that violates rule number one AND two.”

In your defense, you were drunk, so your brain was a bit laggy. “Rules? Rules to what?” You slur out, slightly stumbling and bumping into her. 

“My bad. Tips, I mean tips. Tip number one and two. Don’t try too hard and don’t dress extra slutty to get their attention.”

Then it clicks. You didn’t even realize who the two men were. Jaemin takes off his sunglasses, revealing the annoyance in his eyes as he folds them into the collar of his jumpsuit. Jeno has his mask pushed up so his bangs are peeking out, looking everywhere but at the nuisance.

Whoever they're supposed to be, they look damn good. Jeno has a vest on and a black shirt rolled up to his elbows. You can see his forearms flex every time he clenches his fist. Jaemin has his jumpsuit rolled up, too. All you can think about is them putting you in a headlock. You roll your eyes back as you giggle blissfully to yourself. 

“Ooh? Was that reaction for them? Are you gonna throw your hat in the ring?” NingNing gets far too excited, leaning forward to get a better glimpse of your face. You push her back against the wall by her head, shaking yours.

“I’m not playing Lindsay’s little game.” The smile slowly fades from your lips, a bitter taste left in its wake. Suddenly, the girl in the schoolgirl costume is getting escorted out of the building. She doesn’t go out without a fight, shouting back at Jeno and Jaemin for ‘a little help’ just to add more embarrassment. 

Just as the situation escalates and she starts screaming like a banshee, something red obscures your vision. You try to maneuver around it but it keeps moving into your vision. You look up in annoyance to see Mr. Myeong. You feel the warmth drain from your body as your annoyance turns to fear. 

“Who said you can look in my eyes, hm?” He says and you immediately look downward. He cuts his eyes at NingNing and tells her to beat it. She does, but not before looking at you like a sad puppy. He starts to scold you about how much you’ve drank and how you’re two seconds from getting kicked out but you can’t focus on that. The rule was a lie, he’s a staff member and he’s wearing a costume. And not just any costume. In perfect comedic fashion, he’s wearing a devil costume.

Maybe it’s because you really wanted to wear a costume and now you’re re-pissed, but you laugh openly at the situation. You sold your soul to the devil, this evil manager is like the devil, and now he’s standing here scolding you in a devil costume. You laugh even harder. 

“Are you– Are you laughing? Have you lost your mind?” He snaps at you before prodding at your forehead with his finger. You immediately stop laughing. He does it a few more times, asking who you think you are and where you learned your manner from. He asks why Americans are so incompetent and why they even hire ‘the likes of you’. 

At that, you grab his finger before he could make a permanent mark on your forehead. 

“You crazy bitch! Let go of me.” He tries to rip it free but you tighten your grip. By now, a few people are watching. This is it. Your chance. You chuckle a little before leaning closer.

“Forgive me for laughing, it’s just…” You lean next to his ear, digging your fingernails into his finger. “How the fuck am I supposed to take you seriously with that ridiculous costume on?”

He finally breaks free, immediately cocking his hand back. That same hand. But this time you just smile and close your eyes. Everyone is looking now. You’ll be free after this. You take the moment to consider your next move. Maybe you’ll stay here and produce freelance. Whatever you do, you’ll surely be kicked out of SM because the minute he slaps you? He’s getting all the pent up frustration from these four months.

“Hey, hey!” You expected someone to notice, but this unfamiliar voice sounded light, conversational. Like he just found his buddy after looking for him at a party. You snap your eyes open after noticing you haven’t been hit.

Jeno is smiling at the manager, his wrist firmly in Jeno’s grip.

“Let me go– What is wrong with you?!”

“Oh my!” Jeno lets go of the man’s hand to cover his mouth and the manager loses his balance. He falls flat on his ass. “I saw the red and thought you were Xiaojun. I’m so sorry, sir!”

“I– You–! Help me up this instant!” His voice booms, but only you flinch. You look up at Jeno who is approaching you. Realize now that he’s Ghost from Call of Duty. And that this is your first time seeing him up close in real life. His friendly smile flickers away to reveal a grimace. For a second you think it’s aimed at you until he speaks. He leans in to speak next to your ear. 

“Are you okay, that asshole didn’t hit you, did he?” His breath hits your ear and gives you goosebumps. All you can do is shake your head. He doesn’t get to lean back before he’s ripped away from you. 

“Hey! You piece of shit! Mind your own business.” 

Jeno doesn’t hide his glare this time, and Jaemin steps in between. 

“I’ll apologize for him, sir.” Jaemin bows ninety degrees, apologizing heartily to the shorter male. As his torso lowers, you catch a glimpse of Jeno grasping his hand tightly. Mr. Myeong bristles at all three of you now. 

“You sons of bitches! I’ll ruin you all!” He turns to you, wagging his finger. The parts of his skin that aren’t covered by the splotchy red paint are rivaling makeup in color. “I’ll ruin you!”

His words curdle the minute they’re introduced to your system. Ruin? 

Will you have a choice in working in Korea?

“Mr. Myeong, that is unnecessary. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.” Jaemin outstretches his arms in an attempt to placate but it’s no use. Mr. Myeong just keeps feverishly pointing at you and screaming. 

“You don’t know what she said to me! You weren’t raised to value respect,” Mr. Myeong rolls up his sleeves and a few onlookers gasp, “but I’ll teach you.” He charges forward and swings his hand with more force than last time, closing his fists. You snarl, ready to end all of this. If getting punched by a middle aged man is what it takes to continue producing in Korea, it’s not worth it. You see red, readying your foot and eyeing his crotch.

Unfortunately for him, Jaemin is more focused on blocking the path toward you than stopping Jeno. Jeno presses his two hands to Mr. Myeong’s chest before using all the force his muscular frame can muster to shove the small man to the ground. His body bounces, head knocking against the floor as he slides back far. He's momentarily stunned. Only then does Jaemin switch to stopping Jeno before he pummels Mr. Myeong. His shaking fists are clenched tightly as he tries to shake Jaemin off of him. Jaemin keeps firm on his shoulders and tries to get Jeno to focus on him. It isn’t working.

“Are you going to keep doing this shit? Huh? How long are you gonna keep this shit up?!” Jeno lunges especially hard and nearly slips from Jaemin’s grasp. His words strike you, but you cut your introspection short. This is a mistake you’re only willing to let yourself make. Then suddenly you’re walking over to help Jaemin restrain him.

The security finally intervenes when Mr. Myeong tries to stand back up and stupidly confront Jeno once more. The two of you are having a hard time restraining him right now, if Mr. Myeong had run up? You probably would’ve relented just to get out of the way in time. 

Jeno finally calms as a roaring Mr. Myeong is escorted off the premises, and you finally breathe. You step back from the two men only to be ambushed by four women. 

NingNing stays flanked to your side as everyone recovers from the debacle. Her and her members continually ask if you’re okay, but all you can notice is everyone staring at you. You’re not certain, but you swear you overhear someone’s whisper.

“He said she said something to set him off. I wouldn’t put it past her. She keeps causing trouble.”

There’s a chance you misheard or mistranslated, but your mind already convinced you it made too much sense.

Soon NingNing and her members are carted off by their manager. You watch them make their way to the exit, NingNing saying something to Jeno and pointing at you before Karina urges her to hurry up. You haven’t moved from the wall. Your eyes sink to your legs, knowing whatever is paralyzing you is all in your head.

“Someone made a call or something because there are cameras everywhere out front.”

You hear a male voice closing in followed by another one. 

“That’s okay, we can go out through the back.”

“Do you really think they haven’t thought of that?”

“No one should be leaving through there, they cut it off as a security measure. They might be waiting there now but if we give it a little bit…”

The second voice trailing off made you realize how close they were. You look up to see Jaemin and Jeno for the first time since that mishap. This is when you finally recognize Jaemin’s costume. It’s some bootleg version of a Top Gun jumpsuit. However… you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how he resembles Caleb if you squint. Was this what Lindsey was seeing when decided on that ploy? Was he even meant to be Caleb? You breathe a quick laugh, unable to help yourself.

They’re giving each other a look before Jaemin peers over at you. He gives you a wolfish smile. 

“There’s the smile I remember from the photo.” Jaemin steps to the side, shifting his attention to you. “You had me worried.” He steps forward and leans in and for a second you expect him to ruffle your hair like they do in Love and Deepspace. Man, you’re drunk. You shrug, pursing your lips as you peek over at Jeno. His face is a little more somber, eyeing you intensely like he’s trying to read you. Your smile drops when you meet eyes. 

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And she’s a fucking pathological liar

Just what else has Lindsay lied about?

“We’re going to head out in maybe,” Jaemin draws out the word as he checks his watch, “thirty minutes? You shouldn’t ride the bus while you’re drunk. We have room since we’re driving ourselves.” Jaemin tilts his head at you. 

“Call?” He asks.

You nod sheepishly, knowing this must have been what NingNing had requested before she left. Jaemin smiles before dropping his head and exhaling through his nose. As he picks his head up you hear him whisper something. 

“Cute.”

You take a quick breath, unable to stop your thighs from clenching together. You widen your eyes as you stiffen up, checking to see if he noticed. You peer over at Jeno as well, your face feeling like it was lit on fire when you catch him staring at your legs.

“I need water.” You say, maneuvering around Jaemin and rushing past Jeno. You walk around looking for something that will stop your head from spinning every time you make a turn. There are no water bottles at the refreshment table and no water fountains in sight. As you go to turn down a dark, empty hallway, something firm and cool taps your shoulder.

You turn to see Jeno holding out a water bottle to you. 

“Where are you going?” He asks you in that same annoyed tone idol managers do. You would get upset if your vision wasn't spinning at the moment. You miss the bottle the first time but manage to grab it the second. All of your brain power goes into getting as much water in your system as possible. The giggly drunkenness is gone. The alcohol is just amplifying what you drank to forget.

When you finish, Jeno reveals the second water bottle, asking wordlessly. You accept it.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Your sobriety is creeping on too fast to justify the question plaguing your mind. Jeno is driving while Jaemin is in the passenger seat reading Jeno’s texts for him.

“It’s from Dugwan hyung. He wants to see you,” Jaemin looks over, fretful, “like, now.”

Jeno tightens his jaw. 

“‘m not goin’.”

Jaemin sighs. “If you aren’t going, I’m not either.”

Silence drapes uncomfortably over the car and Jaemin throws some music on. Unlike where you work, this venue is pretty far from your home. Thankfully, the car ride carefully takes the knotted thoughts in your head and unweaves them. You stare serenely out the window as soothing R&B plays through the speakers.

“Is this it?” Jeno’s voice jolts you from the edge of sleep. You hum before squinting at the building you’re parked outside of.

“Mm, yeah.” You say, unbuckling your seatbelt. You take a moment to rub your face before thanking the two of them. 

“I’ll walk you up.” Jaemin says, already halfway out the door when Jeno protests. “Stay here then!” Jaemin clicks his tongue before looking Jeno up and down with faux incredulity. He slams the door then, leaving Jeno to groan and glare at you through the rearview mirror. You slowly slip out of your seat, carefully eyeing the annoyed Jeno.

“Which floor?” Jaemin asks after you join him in your building’s elevator. You’re not sure which 'three' applies to this scenario so you guess. Judging by Jaemin’s snort as he presses the button, it was wrong. Today marks the first day anyone has outright laughed at your Korean. You scoff, trying sino this time. He nods approvingly, giving you a thumbs up.

Before the doors can close, a hand slams against one of them and they ease back open. Jeno’s heaving frame is slowly revealed.

He steps on, showing Jaemin his phone. They exchange panicked looks.

“We’re passed that. They told us in 2021–” Jaemin halts when Jeno flicks his hand against his chest and looks toward you. You panic and look away, realizing you’d been staring this whole time.

That suffocating silence is back as the elevator takes three centuries to get to floor three. The walk to your unit is when they can’t seem to hold it in anymore and start whispering to each other. They’re close enough behind that you happen to hear.

“Are they really bringing curfew back?” Jaemin asks.

“No, this is clearly a warning, not a reminder.” 

“And you’re still not going?”

Jeno doesn’t answer. The tone of the unanswered question takes the tension to new heights.

“Then where are we gonna go? Most hotels will either report us to SM or Dispatch.” Despite the frantic nature of Jaemin’s voice, Jeno doesn’t answer yet again. You get to your door and thank the both of them.

“I’ll text you later.” Jaemin tries to channel his wolfish smile again, but it’s strained. It sounds like they can’t even escape being scolded by their boss at their own home.

That’s no home.

“Wait.” The word feels like it’s pulled from you. This is a bad idea. When they turn around, you know it’s too late. At the cost of revealing you were eavesdropping, you give them the option.

“If you guys have nowhere to go, I have a futon. That is, if you guys are willing to squeeze together.”

Jaemin looks touched but ready to decline, while Jeno just outright says it.

“No thanks.” His verbiage is polite, but his tone is derisive. It sounds like they don’t have many options and it’s pretty late. You would kick yourself if you saw something in the tabloids tomorrow.

“If you’re worried I have ulterior motives, I do.” You breathe a sardonic laugh at your own expense. The state of your future at SM is shaky at the moment, so your chances of being uprooted yet again are large. Especially if Mr. Myeong has anything to do with it. You need so many things from so many people, but there’s only one thing you can get from these two.

“Let’s make an exchange. I give you a less stressful place to sleep… and you tell me what Lindsay wants from me.”

Their energies switch at that moment. Jeno’s face softens and though he looks at the floor to hide it, Jaemin’s hardens.

CHAPTER FIVEˋ°•*⁀➷

You sigh wistfully as you retrieve the last two butter waffles from the box. Opening your lunchbox to one of these is the only thing you look forward to at work, but you just had to ask if they wanted a snack.

You don’t invite NingNing to yours for a reason. Your studio is a feng shui nightmare. Now you have your first guests ever sleeping parallel to you because it’s the only way the futon would fit. You’re conflicted as you deliver the snacks, it seemed like a good idea when the futon was folded up. Seeing it now, you know not to ever call yourself an interior designer.

You squeeze between the futon and the wall to sit them on your Pororo side table you got on sale.

“It's not you.” Jeno says, sipping the water you also asked if they wanted. You initially think he’s telling you not to blame yourself. Jaemin pats the space next to him with a small smile. You sigh as you sit down, preemptively taking Jeno’s advice.

“It’s not any of us. I don’t think there’s a single person on the face of the planet Lindsay cares about other than herself.” He reaches over Jaemin and sets his glass on the table. “Every little thing she does serves a bigger goal that serves an ever bigger goal.”

“What the hell is it, then? What does me working with SM have to do with her goals?” You ask incredulously.

“The question you should be asking is why they were so adamant to hire you.”

Yeah, you know that. That’s one of the questions you want answered but know they can’t—

Or can they?

“They were adamant to hire me?”

“… I’m not sure why you’re asking me like you don’t know.” Jeno creates friction again when you're simply trying to get answers. Jaemin gently takes over.

“We all know, if that’s what you’re wondering. All the idols under SM, I mean.” Jaemin laughs after explaining this, but you know that it’s at this insane situation. “I don’t know when they made the decision, but I know Lindsay and her gambling had something to do with it. You guys are one of us now.”

Jeno chuts at the situation. “How is that slave contract treating you?”

“D-did Rouge… Was he the problem? Lindsay said he couldn’t get dearALICE a song that audiences liked.”

“DJ Rouge…?” Jeno asks in disbelief. “DJ Rouge is one of the best producers in the country.”

The corner of Jaemin’s mouth twitches, his look of concern growing stronger. 

“He composed and produced Juliette.” Jeno continues.

The silence overtaking the room strengthens the fuzziness in your brain. You jump to rationalize something, anything.

“Then why was he kicked off dearALICE’s mini album? They scrapped everything he worked on.”

“I don’t know anything about dearALICE, but SM would never kick Rouge out. Not in a million years.”

You grit your teeth, failing to find any other conclusions than the one so painfully obvious.

“He left on his own…” You whisper pitifully.

“I overheard that he wanted more money and demanded they respect his worth. SM denied and now we’re here.” Jeno explains.

“Okay, so I took his place? I don’t understand why they didn’t say that. Is it because they were embarrassed?”

“You have to understand. You didn’t replace Rouge because no one could replace Rouge. You guys have schedules and salaries and staff meetings. Rouge showed up when he wanted and got a percentage of the song’s royalties on top of the up front payment.” Jeno just keeps showering you in painful discoveries with little to no sugarcoating. Jaemin steps in again.

“Don't take this the wrong way but… I was honestly surprised you didn’t live in a dorm. Well, at least starting out like we did.”

You exhale deeply and place your face into your hands.

“I get paid pretty well. It’s not like I’m getting shafted. And yeah, I don’t live in a dorm. So, what? Why are we talking about this when I asked about Lindsay.”

The somber looks on their faces tell you you're about to get exactly what you're asking for.

“When we first met Lindsay, she was super curious about idol life. It wasn’t weird because everyone was. But then she started asking questions like if we were penalized less and had more freedom, would we work as hard. I was honest because I was still in denial. I said no.” Jeno adds, sounding careful for the first time that evening.

Your mouth moves as soon as the information shocks your system.

“Okay? So they lit a fire under our asses—”

“Lindsay doesn’t really see people as people.” Jeno explains slowly as his mouth contorts into a forced smile. “You’re either a tool or a plaything.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

The glasses of water wobble dangerously as you and Jaemin jostle around on the bed. Your laughing crescendos until the sound runs out and you’re both curling over with your jaws dropped open. Jaemin’s laugh taps back in as he rockets backwards, his beer sloshing and spilling a little on Jeno. 

“Hey!” Jeno shouts, not as aggressively drunk, but turning pinkish on his cheeks and the tips of his ears anyway. Inebriation tugs at your eyelids as fatigue rolls through you. You whine in protest, but your blood alcohol content persists.

“How can she–” You curl your chin in as you hiccup before continuing. “She knew you guys since you were all teens and she still did that shit?” You present the beer to them in a vain quest to make sense of all this. 

“You weren’t listening.” The slurring of Jeno’s words is strengthening as he pushes against the bed to sit up straight. He just ends up curving back over, stretching his spine like his head is too heavy. The two men speak at the same time, probably expecting they were thinking the same thing. 

“She doesn’t view us as human.”

“She has a gambling addiction.”

They both look at each other in betrayal. Jaemin upset at Jeno’s perceived lack of context and Jeno at Jaemin’s leniency with Lindsay. Jeno musters up all the coherence he can to drive home this point. 

“Lindsay didn’t care about us long before the gambling.”

“Yeah, but before the gambling we had fun with each other.”

“She spread rumors about you before she even met you.”

“Yeah, exactly. She didn’t know me, so she had the wrong idea.”

“Did she have the wrong idea about Seulgi, too? The first person to introduce her to all the idols she used?”

Jaemin lets out a loud, fake laugh, avoiding Jeno’s questions. 

“O-or what about Victoria? Sejeong? And what’s your excuse for her posting–”

“Okay! I get it!” Jaemin’s voice booms louder than it seems he intended. He giggles to himself as you and Jeno both gawk at him, drunkenness outshined by confusion. Jaemin shakes his head before waving his free hand. 

“Put something on the TV.”

You scramble to do exactly that, eager to escape this tension. You throw on a random movie you had in your watch list. You turn off the light, full of remorse as you watch them strain their necks to the left to watch it. Jeno peers at you and you smile lazily. Your current state disables the humiliation that should come after Jeno’s confused look. 

“You forgot the subtitles.”

You gasp quietly, a drawn out ‘oh’ seeping from your lips as you hurriedly grab the remote and put on the Korean subtitles. Jaemin pats the bed again, but this time he’s patting the space that suddenly appeared between him and Jeno. That’s when you notice Jaemin is pressed firmly against the arm rest, distancing himself as much as he can.

You shake your head, ceasing the expecting looks from the both of them. Jaemin puts on exaggerated puppy eyes instead, poking out his lip as he pats the space.

“I don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable.” You peer at Jeno, the only one you actually presume will be uncomfortable. “We’re still strangers, after all.” You say as your eyes return to Jaemin. Under the minimal shifting light of the TV, Jaemin’s impish smile has a stronger effect. You hurry to your previous position, sitting at the edge of the bed closest to the wall. You make a mental note to somehow turn the futon toward the TV after they leave in the morning.

You feel someone on the bed shifting until Jaemin’s knees swing off the bed so he’s seated right next to you. You initially think this is his compromise until he hooks one arm under your knees and the other around your waist. You ground yourself, half expecting him to carry you bridal style. Instead, he pulls your legs up onto the bed. His hand sears against your leg just like in your dream. You look up at him, your drunken stupor convincing you that he can read your mind. He stares back intensely, making heat bubble behind your cheeks and in your crotch. Your eyes drop down to his costume, the collar dipping just low enough that it turns your mouth dry. His teeth nip at his bottom lip as he hoists you against the back of the futon. His eyes linger on you, expression solemn besides the intensity in his eyes. As he slips his hands from under and behind you, he takes his time, grazing your skin. His middle digit slips under your t-shirt, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Once he is fully retracted from you, his face softens, that recognizable smile warming his features. 

“See? Totally comfortable.” And just like that, Jaemin eases the (admittedly delicious) tension with random English. Your attempt to hide your laugh fails as it bursts through your tightly closed lips. Jaemin laughs as well, shoulder bumping against yours as you both keel over. You slip your legs under the blanket and that’s when reality hits you again. You’re unsure why you flinch, but in doing so, you brush against Jeno’s leg under the blanket. Your head whips to look at him, a little fear in your soul when you see he’s looking back. 

Your heart is distracting, thumping against your ribcage with reckless abandon. With sudden ruckus from the TV, you’re momentarily spared. Everything is still and quiet, Jeno and Jaemin stiff on either side of you. It would almost be peaceful if it weren’t for the loud moans and bed squeaking coming from the TV.

A few weeks ago with one hand in your pants, you looked up movies on Netflix with good sex scenes. You flooded your already bloated watch list with them and well? One of them was playing on your TV while you’re sandwiched in between two men. Two men who you habitually fantasize about. And that listicle was right. This is a damn good sex scene.

Your problem is still a problem. Nothing’s changed and you still haven’t been laid. You swallow the saliva building in your mouth as pleasure churns prominently in your abdomen. It churns and churns until it spills into your core. You bite your lip, trying to discreetly lessen the ache. As your thighs push together, you feel eyes burning into the back of your head. Your stomach drops. 

You slowly peek at Jeno who is looking straight at your crotch, just like earlier this evening. He looks at you through his lashes with something akin to disappointment in his eyes. You swear you see him slightly shake his head, but you chalk it up to the bad lighting. 

“Did you see that?” Jaemin’s hand landing on your thigh nearly sends you to the moon. He forces your eyes away from Jeno to stare at him like you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. But when you look at him, he’s watching the TV as he rewinds the movie, extending this torture. He presses play and keeps his hand pointed to it as he waits for the portion in question. You’re watching now as the actors simulate the increase in pace, the man gaining a steady rhythm. That’s when he reaches back, gliding his hand up her thigh to her knee before licking his tongue into her open mouth. You gasp in tandem with the actress, feeling like you can feel it all. You fist the blanket over your thighs.

“I saw an interview with the actress and she said that wasn’t what they practiced. Her reaction was authentic.” Jaemin sets the remote down on the table before looking at you. “They’re dating now.”

“No way.” You reply breathlessly. You were partially shocked by the information, but you’re still distracted by the seemingly never ending sex scene. “B-because of that? He just grabbed her leg.”

“You don’t think that could do it?”

“I mean, it worked for the scene, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s good–”

Jaemin tosses the blanket aside to straddle you. You try to squeeze your legs together to keep them from touching his, but it’s an impossible task. You hear Jeno groan dramatically beside you. Jaemin leans forward and rests his hands on each side of your head. In doing so, a dog tag swings out from under his jumpsuit and sways over your face. Your eyes cross as they follow it like you’re about to get hypnotized.

“Wanna see?”

You uncross your eyes and look up at him, mouth hung open dumbly. Your hips answer for you, buck up against his. He hums approvingly before lifting one knee to nudge your leg over before doing the same on the other side. His hand is already as your hip, gripping roughly before moving it up your leg. His hand snags on your pajama shorts before they snap away and his hand burns into your skin. Your mouth parts open with a silent inhale and he takes the opportunity.

“He didn’t just grab her leg.” He whispers as he dips his head until your noses are touching. His hand completes its journey, cupping your knee.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” Jeno grits to your right. You’re too entranced to react, but Jaemin peers over at him. He looks back at you before licking into your mouth. Your hips lurch forward as you taste him. Beer with a hint of mint. You want so desperately to get drunk off it. You shove forward, messily closing the distance to initiate what can barely be called a kiss. Your tongues wrestle and swirl around each other only to result in a lip-smacking smooch sometimes that makes you buck every time. He starts bucking back, too. His bulge becoming more prominent. He whimpers into your mouth, lips parting with only a thick string of saliva connecting you two. He hand moves back down to cup your ass before squeezing it like he never plans to let go. He peers over at Jeno whose jaw is clenched.

You moan pitifully, only barely getting your request in between sloppy kisses. 

“F-fuck me!” You beg emphatically, your body igniting at the possibility. He squeezes your ass again, pulling away to bite his lip and look down at you.

“Fuck yeah.” He grinds his hips down into you, his bulge pressing deliciously against your mound. Your loud moan is shameful but you are completely shameless. This is it. It’s finally happening, in the most dangerous way possible. Now this is a scandal that would turn the company upside down. It’s exciting.

“You two are fucking embarrassing.” Jeno grunts as pushes up and off the bed, climbing over the two of you to do it. He stomps into the bathroom before slamming the door. Jaemin’s attention is ripped from you as he stares toward the bathroom door. You bite his bottom lip, drawing it back in a vain attempt to get him to continue. The second you let go, he’s also pushing off the bed and going into the bathroom. 

There is muffled arguing behind the door, but all you can think about is the uncomfortable puddle in your underwear. You collapse back onto the bed, giving up on waiting for Jaemin to come back and continue. Lindsay lied about a lot, but you’re ashamed of the observation you’re making that proves her right. 

Jeno and Jaemin might just be a package deal.

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! `⎚⩊⎚´ -✧

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[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 13

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 7.1k words

Chapter Warnings: smut, Dean in rut, garage sex, pregnant sex, dirty talk, fluff, angst, language

A/N: Yeah, I had fun with this one!

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

How ironic. Exactly like that stupid song, with the crappy Canadian singer, who would’ve thought it? It certainly figured, and Dean kicked the ground beneath him like a petulant child. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he said. “Not my Baby.”

But he quickly drew that kick back in as he realised just as quickly that the jackass Casper they’d been hunting was not only in the driver’s seat of his beloved car. She’d stepped on the gas and floored it.

Fuck.

Baby’s engine roared and her tires screeched as she took off straight towards him.

Fu-u-u-u-u-ck.

There wasn’t much time to think, let alone scratch his own ass. He spun on his feet, though. Twisted his torso, almost tripping over but then bolting in his boots over the pavers of the shonky old bridge. 

It was always a bridge, always in the middle of the night. Always up high with nowhere to go but forward or down if you felt like swimming. 

Which he did not. He’d tried that once before, and he’d found river slop stuck in the crevices of his sack days later because of it. 

So, he raised his knees higher, only for his bow legs to jolt them again and again on the downward. Thump after thump after thump. Yard after yard after yard. Each breath, more and more haggard as his beloved Impala inched closer and closer with every new inch he took. 

His old bones creaked beneath his weight. The wood and steel did the same, yet still he ran and it was a wonder the whole damn thing didn’t come tumbling down under him. It would seem luck was on his side until he reached the end where the suspension turned to gravel road and the sides were no longer railings and he flung himself off a la Superman with arms stretched out.

Then he rolled. Then flailed those same arms in the air, attempting to stop the inevitable. Of course, it did jack and his face planted into the dirt with an “urgh.” Or something close to it came from his mouth as he spat out all that had entered it. 

That’s when he heard the loud thunk, the crash, and the definitive crinkle of shattering glass as your words from the Salina diner eight weeks ago repeated in his mind.

“What would you do if Baby got totalled?” you’d asked him.

Well. He’d fucking flip his lid is what he’d do, but “Please, Baby, please,” he said in the moment. His eyes, wide shut in prayer as his elbows lifted him up off the dusty grass. 

To Dean’s horror, the transmission shifted, and the car moved again. Followed by the crunch of a tree and another shift that had him leaping up just in time to run - again. 

Why did this always happen to him? Why did it have to happen to Baby? Why did you have to go and…say all that crap you had about her getting totalled?

Yeah. You. This was all…

…your fault.

Well, not really. 

How could it be when you were five hundred miles away in Kansas, awaiting his and Sam’s return? You weren’t psychic. You certainly didn’t know this would happen when you’d compared your mate’s most prized possession to your own loss. Something you regretted since the moment the initial shock his car had attacked him delved. 

Your phone pinged with another message from Sam, and you looked down to see a simple thumb emoji flash over the map you had opened on the screen. 

Thanks for the warning…

Dean may have been in a foul mood, but now, three days after the incident on the bridge, his pin had moved to right outside, signalling their arrival, and thank god. He’d assured you he was okay. You just weren’t sure you believed him. 

“Daddy’s here,” you said sweetly to your bump. What little there was of it.

At fourteen weeks, your pup was the size of a peach. Or a kiwi, an apple, or a nectarine, depending on the chart you looked at. 

You had no idea which was correct when an animal one you’d found online said they were the same size as a hedgehog, however big they were, and another mentioned a scoop of ice cream. 

Whatever the comparison, it was safe to say you’d likely eaten all of it all together at once. What with the waistband of your jeans rather tight against your skin, leaving ugly marks that continued to irritate the spaces long after you removed them.

Not that you were complaining. 

Things had gotten better with you on that front, for sure. In fact, right until you smelt the first whiffs of citrus and bitter chocolate coming from your growing stomach, you’d been freaking out every other day.

But the more they grew, and the more the weeks passed, the more you became comfortable. Still cautious, but comfortable. 

And two more visits with Doctor Cameron in between Dean’s ‘pest control clients’ had helped.

You stood up from where you’d leant against the stair railing and felt the pressure ‘round your middle subside. Baby’s distant rumble had filtered down through the darkened tunnel, and you noticed a squeak accompanying it. That did not sound good.

Sam warned you it was bad. It just hadn’t crossed your mind her engine was in trouble too when Dean could still travel close to his usual speed. 

You tried to catch glimpses of your mate behind the wheel as the Impala rolled out onto the polished cement, but the dim lighting only made the one remaining headlight brighter. it wasn’t until he pulled her up in front of you with a very obvious jerk that you got a good look at everything. 

Her hood was bent. The roof caved in the middle like someone had tried karate chopping it. Her windscreen, gone. How he hadn’t been pulled over for having marble sized clusters of glass in its place was anyone’s guess. Yet, here she was, mangled. And here he was unscathed with a pout frowning his handsome face and a single scratch framing his cheek on its side.

You scented the air, making sure nothing else was going on; finding traces of oil and regret amongst the despair and frustration lacing his underlying buttery aroma.

All that you were expecting. Well, the regret, not so much. Especially when teed with sex and that muskiness that only came when he did, leading your mind into conclusion jumping. He made it worse when he turned to Sam in the passenger seat before turning to greet you. 

‘There has to be an explanation,’ your inner omega whispered, soothing the hurt that was trying to rear its ugly head. 

And she was right. She had to be. So you put on a brave face with the warmest, cheeriest smile you could, which wasn’t hard when Dean was involved. With Baby’s current state, he needed you to be his rock for a change and you scooted back a step, waiting for him to shut the ignition off and open the door. 

It took not one, but two shoves of his elbow, and a creek that rattled your ears worse than nails on a chalkboard for him to free himself. But the second he did, you leapt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing them tight.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean chuckled into your ear.

“Welcome home.” You grinned before pressing your lips to his and sampling the remnants of coffee and powdered sugar on his tongue. 

“‘S good to be back,” he said as you pulled away. 

Unlike you, he wasn’t convincing.

There was a strain in his voice that told the opposite. He hadn’t even kissed you back, and though you tried your best to hold the tears, truly you did. It became obvious it was a losing battle when you realised he’d tensed under your touch.

You unhooked yourself, took a step backwards, and swiped at your eyes before anything could fall. 

“Woah. Hey.” He cupped your chin and gripped your elbow, stopping you from moving any further when you scowled. “What’s wrong, omega?” he asked. 

What was wrong? You should’ve asked him that, but you didn’t. No. Oh no. You jumped right off the deep end with a decimal loud enough for Sam to hear from the other side of the car, and said, “Why do you smell like sex?” 

You didn’t care that he was there. You were all adults, and part of you hoped, if anything, he’d clue you in on what was going on, especially after all those warning messages he’d sent on the way home. 

Funny that he hadn’t told you about your mate’s change in scent.

But the acoustics in that throat clear of his caused you to huff and Dean’s brows to crinkle in the centre. “I’ll, ah, catch you two later,” he said, sauntering off down the stairs with a spring in his step, into the main part of the bunker behind you. That traitor. What the hell?

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean grumbled. The regret you’d noticed in his scent, coming in tenfold, with another chuckle, only after Sam’s footsteps trailed away and he’d looked over your shoulder to make sure. 

“There’s no need to get jealous. It was my time of the season.”

Your eyes opened wide, catching the smirk that would’ve had you falling head over heels in any other circumstance.

Now though? Now you wanted to punch him as he’d shown you months ago. A good knee to his knot wouldn’t go astray either.

“You had a rut, and you didn’t tell me?” 

“No. Hey. No, no. I got my hands on some suppressants.” Said hands raised in the air to placate. 

Suppressants? “But that’s worse!” Though the implication that he went out and dealt with it with someone who wasn’t you was just as bad. 

“How? You were here. I was on the road dealing with Miss Daisy’s ghost.” He thumbed behind him to Baby’s mangled, no longer sleek on the side metal. “And I can’t risk coming home to you like that.”

His eyes flicked down to your bloated stomach, fingers tracing the waist of your pants as he took you in further, igniting tingles down your spine. They hopped, skipped and jumped through muscle and tendons to pull a familiar warmth between your legs as his mouth stretched up into those brilliant greens of his. “When did this happen?”

“Don’t change the subject.” You smacked him on the shoulder, but Dean wasn’t listening. 

He dropped to his knees, much like he’d done the day he’d pointed out your pregnancy to you. Placed both palms on your firmer, popped out belly. He couldn’t contain himself. He shucked your shirt up and his nose soon tickled your navel as he pressed a tender kiss over the obvious dip there. 

“Well, now I’m jealous.” You grinned down at him, running your hands through his travel-blown hair. If you weren’t pregnant already, your ovaries would’ve self-combusted.

“Least your mom’s no longer mad,” he whispered against your skin. 

He wished.

Alright, mad, like the word hate, was a stretch. Frustrated. That fitted. Just as he had been, and still was over Baby two days later. 

It was going to take him weeks to repair her. At least, that’s what he’d told you the last time he’d resurged from the garage. But, hey. It meant he wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon, and you’d no longer be stuck alone reading dusty old books. 

There’d be no more hours with no one to talk to other than the pup, because you had Sammy to keep you company. Or Dean, if you wanted to hang out with and watch him go through the effects of taking the suppressants he’d “found” in Wyoming. 

Yeah, nope. You were still working on that. Something needed to be done if you wanted him to live long enough for your pup to present as an alpha as he’d predicted. 

The problem was, he was worried he might harm you or them on account of his rut being abnormal. Years of suppressant taking had led to heavier ones when he’d allowed them, but he wouldn’t take into account this one had come on naturally, and therefore was different. No. He was adamant he wasn’t risking it. Even when you insisted, his instincts wouldn’t allow him to get rougher than you could handle.

He was stubborn. He knew it, you knew it, and it was unfortunate you were also above dumping them down the toilet while you emptied the contents of your stomach. 

Him hovering over you while your head hung low in the small bedroom sink wasn’t the most opportune of times, either. 

“You okay?” His fingers smoothed over your hair. 

Urgh, no, though you didn’t have the energy to say it. If anything, you were helping his stolen suppressants do their job because who’d want to touch you like this?

One hand twisted the tap on full force to wash away the mess. The other patted the cool porcelain surrounding it in search of the cloth you’d replaced that morning, only to knock it off. 

Dean swooped down beside you and picked it up, manhandling you next. He straightened your back with a gentle nudge from the front and behind. Supported you and your body with a firm grip, soaking the cotton under the bubbling water and your heart in waves of serotonin. It was the most he’d touched you since coming home.

“You heard me?” you said as he dabbed the newly damp cloth to your forehead with the gentlest of touches that didn’t match the grease coating his hands.

“Only ‘cause I had to hit the head.” His crow’s feet framed his eyes as he shrugged. “Good thing I didn’t hold it.” He moved his hand to your cheek, puffing out his own. “I thought you’d stopped throwing up?” 

You bit your lip. That little detail was just another notch on the growing list of erroneous things you’d done to make your lives easier, and your jaw clamped harder before it let go. 

“Just when I think it’s gotten better,” you said, shaking your head with a slight jiggle. “The juice I had with lunch didn’t sit right.” 

Dean frowned. He pushed those cheeks of his into a full pout. Nothing like the one he’d given you in the garage, but accepting enough until he said, “You wanna come hang out with me?” 

Did you? When you knew there was an ulterior motive to keep those crow’s feet of his on you?

Even if you hadn’t wanted to, Dean didn’t give you a choice, and you soon found yourself watching him as he worked on Baby. Which was fine. For your own motives.

From the comfort of a picnic blanket he’d placed on the hood of an old-timey car, you tapped your foot to the beat of Highway to Hell playing on the stereo. You were livin’ easy, but you weren’t lovin’ free because queasy and overly emotional pregnancy symptoms aside, your body craved your alpha. His delectable scent, his touch. More so when he stood before you, in the form-hugging t-shirt that highlighted his pectorals and worn jeans that fell from his hips. 

Yeah, the grease monkey look wasn’t helping. Neither was the way he showed just how good he was with his hands. Soon your teeth were chowing down on your lip for another reason altogether as your lower ones flooded with their own kind of lubrication.

Okay, you had it bad, but he was flaunting it all in front of you by bringing you down here. And after two days of him hiding away with Baby and his scent lingering throughout the rest of the bunker, taunting and tugging you into some weird denial loop, how could you be blamed?

You squirmed in your spot, stretched out and fanned your legs with the skirt of your dress for some much needed cooler air. Not only did the breeze work a charm, it drew Dean’s attention to you, too, and you loved that. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” He looked up from his lean over the engine. With the angle hiding his face, you relied on your nose to read him. 

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded, tantalised by the musk you’d found wafting through the gap of the cars. He was sex on a stick, and he’d kept it from you for too long.

What the hell were you doing over here, when he was right there? 

You slipped off the edge and closed the gap between you. “How’s it going?” you asked, resting your palm on his lower back where his muscles tensed again.

“Can’t do much without the new parts.” He sighed and twisted something.

Well. His arm shifted up and down. Metal scraped against more metal, and there was definitely a clunk or two as he worked with whatever tool he was using. 

So your hand moved from him to the lip of the engine cavity and Baby’s not-so-black-anymore paint. “The dent’s gone,” you commented. What else could you say? You had no idea what he was doing there, and if Baby held his attention, you’d use her as a way to his…heart.

“Yeah. First thing I did. And here.” He pointed to the underside of the hood, tracing his fingers over the middle crease with pride. You were more interested in his arms as the muscles underneath his skin rippled with the stretch. “Got rid of all the glass, too. Now it’s just a waiting game.”

He pushed himself up, dropping a featherlight kiss on the crown of your head as he stood tall. 

And…was that it?

No. 

God. 

Wait.

Really? 

You were gonna complain about that? At least he’d kissed you.

Barely…

“How long?” you said, leaning yourself back against Baby as he dug through his toolbox. You watched, more like examined, the rest of his skin that was exposed, and covered in a sheen of sweat. 

“Couple of weeks.” He chuckled, wiping his hands on an old rag. “Guess you guys are stuck with me.”

“Or you’re trapped here with us.”

He hummed at that. Lips pursing into a rueful smile as he pulled out another tool. “That won’t be a problem in a couple of days.”

“But it’s a problem now?” you said, and it was almost venomous. Almost because you were still the sweet submissive omega. The one trying not to burst yet again as your hormones took over your body in too many directions all at once.

Stuck was an insult. Sort of… Well, in that tone, it was.

He’d been so gentle. He always was. Washing your face and soothing your hair while you hacked your guts up. He’d held you close, then got you all comfortable on the other car. Made you the sandwich you’d washed down with that awful juice, but those things didn’t make up for the avoidances, the flinches and the sigh of frustration he wasn’t hiding.

“We’ve been over this.” He dropped the tool back down, spreading more grease over his brow with the other hand. 

Screw his tools. His car. The hairs on his head were getting more action than you were, and that was… this was… God, you were pathetic. But that thought didn’t stop you from tearing it up. “No. You made an important decision without me, and then holed yourself down here the second you got home.”

So he’d go into rut if he succumbed and ditched the suppressants? It was far better than endangering himself further with a prescription that wasn’t his. It was a miracle he’d knocked you up first time after years of…medicinal abuse.

Alright. Alright. You were his soulmate, and a little pissy. Okay, a lot. But you doubted his inner alpha would harm you if he took control. The pup was also his, technically, and you stood up and reached for his hands, only for him to pull them back. 

You were going to tell him you were worried about him. You would’ve begged him to stop. Would’ve. Were. Hah. Not anymore. You sure snapped instead. “You won’t even touch me?” May as well have been diseased with the way he was avoiding you, but he had no qualms about biting back. 

“I held your hair while you hurled.”

“Gee. Thanks,” you said, not caring that it sounded ungrateful and bratty. He’d only done it because he’d walked by, and the jackass blinked at your sarcasm. 

“I’m doing this to protect you!”

“And you’re hurting yourself in the process. It’s just sex, Dean.” 

“No. It’s a rut!”

“With your mate!” Again. His alpha knew you were pregnant. You knew it wouldn’t be as full on as he thought. They also taught you this in school, for fuck’s sake. Okay, maybe you were a little worried, and…no. No. He’d never hurt you.

But then he snatched at your wrist and took you by surprise. He pulled you towards him and dug his fingers into the soft, fleshy globe of your right ass cheek, and it was good. Very, very good. Especially when he pressed you into the growing bulge in his pants, and his hot breath fell into your ear.

“You think I don’t wanna bust my knot in you?” The aggression rolled off his tongue, landing smack bang in your core. “‘Course I do. I’d bend you over the hood right there and rail ya.”

“Then do it.” You reached between your bodies with what little space there was, gaze searching for any more opposing arguments. 

He jolted your arm, still in his grasp. The twang it caused rippled through the bone and into your elbow, but it didn’t stop you. Even when he warned you with “Omega,” you just purred.

Yeah, the submissive act contradicted your fingers looping round the fine metal detailing and worn leather of his belt, but he wasn’t challenging you. He never demanded you move your hand. His hips swayed with you as you tugged the end free, though, and that was a good enough sign he wanted this as much as you did. He’d told you himself. His alpha, so close to the surface. Only—

“I can’t,” he said in a pained voice. 

“You can.” He could, and you popped the button on his fly and undid the zip one - tooth - at - a - time. Testing, teasing, and, most importantly, proving him wrong, even as he twitched at the slightest touch of your palm. His cockhead straining against the denim confines had a life of its own.

“Help me down,” you said, and there was no shoving or pushing or rushing when you bent your knees. His hands just gripped yours and helped you lower with ease. Not letting go until you looked up and his fingers were brushing the strands of hair away from your face. Keeping them there against your temples, and god, he was beautiful. 

His sun kissed face from years behind the wheel and those sparkling greens would have captivated you for longer in any other moment. But in this one, your fingers brushed over him too. 

You took hold of his jeans and shimmied them off his hips. One side, then the next, loosening the belt loops and repeating the process until there was enough room to pull him free and meet him, face to…head. 

It was rare he let you do this. Blow jobs usually required catching him by surprise first. That in itself was hard to do when his senses went off at the slightest shift of the most minuscule things. Bed sheets moving. Your toes of your shoes squeaking on the floor beneath you when you shuffled your legs (that had you looking up to check).

The joys of being mated not only to an alpha, but one who thrived on acts of surprise himself. Ones you hoped to get out of him after he spilled down your throat. Maybe back in your bed, or in Baby. Didn’t matter. You just needed him to let go, and then some, for his health’s sake, and yours. 

You brought your lips to the slit, tasting the first drops of salt on your tongue. Widened them over the width of the crown. Wrapped your entire mouth around the tip, and looked up with a pucker. A certain air of innocence, even though you were far from it.

He grunted. His head fell back. You were certain his everyday conscience was no longer in the driver’s seat when his nails scraped over your scalp and clasped a sizeable chunk of hair, twisting and turning it through his fingers.

The pull urged you on. The resistance made you splutter until you relaxed your jaw and tried again. Down, down, down. Inch by hardened inch, thick and long, filling your mouth and throat with musk and more saltiness that dripped down into your stomach with a warmth like no other.

Your hand wrapped around him, warm. Your legs and between them. Fuck. Warmer still. Your cheeks and tongue that lay flat below the lip of his head. His swollen knot below your fingertips that throbbed and quickened as you attempted mimicking your walls when they clenched. It all left you tingling in need and in pride.

Your free fingers danced over his skin where they could. They scratched and embedded the tips of your nails into his freckles and battle scars. Along his spine. Up his chest and across his stomach.

That grunt was because you touched him there. That growl, thanks to that squeeze on his knot. The low rumble that reverberated in your ears as they passed below his navel and over the chiselled V directed you south to cup his balls, had you pretty pleased with yourself.

You fondled them. Rolled them in your palm, feeling the heaviness and the heat under the silky, rough texture. Another growl from above when you tugged ever so gently, stroking the sensitive skin at the base of his perineum at the same time. You needed to remember that.

“Omega.” He caressed your chin. “Need you.”

And you flattened your tongue and dragged your teeth along his underside in response. Over the vein, catching on the lip of his velvety head, releasing him with a wet pop as you caught his heated gaze. 

“You have me,” you said, but he was tugging you up, doing the same to your dress and bra once he’d pulled you to your feet.

From head to toe, he drank you in. His eyes, focused on your fuller breasts and rounded tummy on the second sweep, flushed your cheeks and had you feeling exposed.

Did he have to look at you like that?

Swallow? Clench his jaw. His hands were nowhere near you. The gap between you suddenly felt very wide. When you tried to close it up again and reached for the hem of his shirt to make things fair, he was pushing you off.

His own fingers moved to your bloat. That apple, peach, hamster and ice cream scoop beneath your skin weren’t as large as his calloused hands. Though it sure fit in them snug.

“Look at ya,” he said, but you were looking at him again. The fiery red tip of his cock twitched along with his lips as he stepped closer. “Getting all round with my pup. Shame I can’t fuck another one into you.” 

There went your already soaked panties. Your ovaries, blown.

“You can always try?” And this time when you went for his shirt, he didn’t stop you. Nor when you pounced.

Your mouth came over his free neck and shoulders first. With a strong desire to worship, you trailed nips and kisses over his jugular, Adam’s apple, and up to his ear, where you nibbled on the junction of his jaw. Everything you knew he liked, every piece of skin he found erogenous. Your mouth and hands were there, as were his. 

They kneaded your breasts with perfect pressure. Massaging and caressing the uncomfortable aches and itches out of them you’d been feeling for days. He smoothed down your sides, eliciting tingles that yanked the strings connected to your core. 

His tongue licked you there and his thumb pinched and pressed in that sensitive spot he knew with his eyes shut, working your body like he was fine-tuning an engine. 

Huh.

Ironic when you had oil on your hip from the perfect imprint of his pinky. 

He had pre-cum on his foot until he spun you around and swiped it all over your lower back, cool and wet, when he cradled his arm over your middle. 

Your heart melted and more slick pooled at your entrance, even as he pushed it back inside with two thick digits and a delicious squelch. The pad of his thumb circling your clit strained and stretched the remaining material covering your mound and ass. It accommodated him. Turned your insides to goo with the tickle, and another pinch you could definitely get used to. 

“I’m, ah, supposed to be taking care of you,” you said as he patted your juices back against your sensitive skin. 

“You will.” He chuckled, rutting his hips against you until you mewled.

How the hell did he do that? You were in control for all of five minutes, but now you were the one whimpering at his touch. Full of anticipation as he inched your thighs apart to make room for him.

It throbbed still. It warmed you again, only now from your entrance in. Your muscles clenched over him, trying to draw it in and push his fingers out, because you needed him ploughing into you. Needed that full feeling. Needed his knot.

Whether he took the hint of you adjusting to catch the tip at your entrance or he decided he was ready to thrust into you was neither here nor there. He pushed your shoulders into Baby, and your aching tits, the cool glass that wasn’t broken. 

He lined himself up, and you caught it all in the side mirror. His hips as they shoved up into your tight hole. Knot and all, in as far as your body would allow. Forehead as it thumped onto your upper back. His jaw dropping and mouth opened wide in a beautiful display of lust and relief.

That sublime stretch and sweet friction of his knot already catching on reentry each time had the skin there buzzing and fluttering under the surface.

Fuck.

You could almost come undone there. All that energy convincing him to fuck you had you fit to burst and desperate. 

So when he pulled out and forced himself back in on trembling legs that shook against your clit, you drenched him. Crying out, shaking and trembling yourself as the little shockwaves flooded your nervous system, and you were grinning like an idiot. Unable to close your mouth, unable to hold still.

“Fuck. Is all this for me, omega?” He paused and gave you a feral smirk when he caught your reflections and you raising your head to stare back at him. “Guess you like what you see?” And with his fingers resting on your ass, he leant back and watched, too. His chin, down and smirking as he pumped with languid strokes, in and out, slower and slower. 

“Alpha,” you begged ‘cause fuck, his ego could wait. You needed more. 

“All knocked up and still needing my knot, huh?” He snapped up, and you whined at the sweet, sweet fullness. Whining again when he pulled all the way out. Legs still shaking beyond belief.

“Dean?” you said the moment you could, but he was guiding you to spin around and face him with a grin you wanted to smack off of his. Before you knew it, his hand had lifted your leg by its knee, tucked your heel snug behind his ass and pressed into you, and you into Baby’s side.

“Can’t knot ya like that.”

Your back arched over her metal. 

“Gonna give Sammy a show.” Wait, what? You slid back down, still twitching. Breath staccato’d in your throat and nose. A whimper following. 

“Walk with ya still on my cock…and…”

But you didn’t hear the rest. You weren’t even sure he’d said anything after you still being on his cock because, next minute he’d pulled your tit into his mouth, and all coherent thoughts went out the window. 

Yup. Mm-hmm. That wet soothed the ache. Every bump on the topside of his tongue felt as he swirled it round and round. Suckled and sucked with expertise until your budding nipple and surrounding skin strained. 

And then his hips found their rhythm. 

Tension. Tingles. Titillating tugs and nips. You grabbed onto him for dear life as that familiar euphoria bubbled up and down the base of your spine. 

His knot swelled, yet still he pumped, grunting, growling, forcing it in and out of your tight cunt. Catching on the seam where your body ended, and he began. So good. So…so…just so. And just when you thought you were about to pop again, his teeth were on his claim and they sunk down deep as he popped himself and stilled. 

The pulse of his cum quickening out of him, pulled you from the sting and doused your inner walls with more warmth, flooding you with a high like no other. 

You’d float away if it weren’t for him, looming over you. Hearing every pant next to your ear as he licked the fresh wound. The tang of blood on your tongue when he pulled up and kissed you with such force, his lips squashed yours back. 

That’s the kind of kiss you’d expected when he’d arrived home. The fire you needed. Such passion and intensity, that had you sniffing the air and breathing all of him in. 

He was in full blown rut. 

Cum, slick, sweat. His earthy undertones and musk against butter, whisky, and the motor oil he’d been using. Your apple mixed and collided with it. But the sweetest and best of all? 

Bitter chocolate and sweet citrus still laced the air under everything else.

They were okay. Just as you knew they would be. Still safe and sound, if only feeling them kick to be certain wasn’t weeks away. 

Your hand slipped down between you and stroked the side of your bloat, though. Your gaze flicking down away from him to see the swell where your tummy and his toned muscles pressed together. 

“You happy now?” he said, cupping your chin to look into your eyes. “Got yourself all full of me?” 

“Mm-hm.” You hummed, wiggling your hips until he growled lowly. “I need more.” 

“No. You need rest,” he said, scooping up your other leg under the knee and digging his fingers into both of your ass cheeks. 

Next thing you knew, he leant back. Let you fall into his warm chest as he moved towards the stairs like he hadn’t just busted his nut in you, and something about Sammy getting an eyeful crept into your mind. 

He wouldn’t…

…but he did.

And when he next came to be in control, however many hours (or days) later, Dean remembered it all. Only unlike the beast within, he held remorse. You were both lucky you hadn’t run into Sam as he trailed both your naked asses through the bunkers’ halls and given him an eyeful. 

No doubt he’d smelt the ruckus. Or at least, no, definitely heard it. 

The garage had great acoustics, and the halls echoed every damn footstep, boots or no. Even here in your bedroom, noises carried because of the stupid grate in the door. 

Sammy would’ve heard everything. The grunts. The snarls. The slap of his sack swinging against your clit when he took you from behind, here on the old bed. His alpha, railing you in the shower after you’d insisted you needed a bathroom break, telling you to “take it,” against the bathroom tiles. 

He hadn’t even had the decency to get you into a stall first. Although, come to think of it, what had transpired was safer. No chance of complications, including slippage from leftover water by the drain.

Besides, Sam was the first to tell him he was a fool to take the suppressants before you’d even figured it out. Sam being so smart would’ve known to stay clear. Probably put you up to all this.

Not that you’d had any complaints regarding the four knots he’d given you.

No. You purred in content now. Snuggling next to him on the memory foam. Your head further into the fluffed pillow and his arm, not so fluffed under that.

Yes, you were pressed into his chest, warm and snug in his embrace as was his pup in your belly. His cockhead, still catching on the natural dip your walls made as they relaxed, spilled inside of you on each twitch and pull.

He sniffed the air and his claim. Nuzzled into it, giving another lick to soothe the inflamed skin there. His hand caressed the tiny bump below it, as he looked over your shoulder and surveyed your face for any distress.

Of course, you were still recovering from all the sex, but a piece of him still held concern for you. What if he’d been too rough? What if he’d hurt you or…him?

Hmm. Him. 

Those lips of his curled and his torso swelled on the inhale as he breathed it all in again. Apple, orange, chocolate, and traces of motor oil, still on his hands.

Spendings.

Home.

His family.  

Even though he missed you warming his bed and the shower pressure of the bunker. Going out into the world to deal with witches and dead grandmas was all worth it, knowing he was coming home with less of them out there to harm you both. 

Even if Baby suffered.

“What d’ya say to a bath once we’re free?” he said. Hopefully, you’d add some of that perfumed salt crap you liked that got all up in his cracks and tingled him delightfully.

“Probably a good idea, seeing we didn’t get that far last time.” Your fingers stroked his topmost arm. 

“You had to take a leak.” 

“Yeah.” Your hands moved into pinching the hairs on his arms. “And I had you hovering over me.”

Technically, that was his alpha, but he was at attention, too, making sure you stayed upright on account of the jello legs from all the fucking. “Well, you poked the bear.” He chuckled, but… shit. Screw bears Your scent flared, and he was about to deal with one released kraken.

“I had to.” Your body tensed in his arms.

“And I didn’t wanna hurt the pup,” he said, knowing any mention of him would calm you right down.

You may have hid it. Even convinced yourself you weren’t still worried about losing him though you were in the ‘safe zone,’ but he saw the constant checking. The way you scented for him every morning before you got up and every hour after. Through each knot and subsequent refractory period. You did it again now, as he just had.

But this business over his rut was getting old, and he sighed, more in content than anger. “We had some good sex.” You couldn’t deny that.

“Yeah,” you said again, but the quiet in your tone had him wary. You’d better believe what he said next was to keep the conversation light and not piss you off any further.

“Should make the most of it before we’re dealing in diapers and zero sleep.” He hummed.

You looked up. Turned your head so he could see your pout and eyes boring right back into the other side of his skull. “Does that mean no more suppressants?”

“Well, no more stealing them.” His tongue peaked through his lips.

You smacked his hand, and his body jolted in reflex. He felt his knot pull. But it didn’t hurt, and you didn’t have any grievances. Not for this, at least. 

There was no gasp of pain. No flinching or jolting yourself. So he looked down to your join, leaned more into it and tugged, just a little, able to slip out with another. 

The added spillage of cum and slick oozing out onto your leg had him raising his eyebrows at the sight and he smirked. He fisted himself and, with his still sensitive tip, pushed it back in before rolling you over and pinning you down in one swift movement. His weight, on his elbows. Knees and ankles caught in the fray of sheets.

“You want me to knock you up first heat after this one? You got it.” He grinned. and took your breath away before you could say anything against it. Mouth locked on yours and tongue dipping in for the kill with his signature move. He soon had you keening again.

It’d be one kid at a time, for sure. Contrary to what he’d just said. He needed to survive you through the rest of this first, only slightly worried about his hand and the future of his sack. He’d be at your head end during the birth if he could help it.

All jokes aside, he pulled back and gazed over at you, licking his lips. The swell of your stomach. The glow. Your scent. This suited you. Your fuller rack suited him, too.

But he could do without the frown. Those lines between your brows only looked good when he hit your g-spot.

Your hands came up, splaying over his chest, stroking over his skin and tattoo with delicate slides and eliciting tingles. “That’s not what I meant,”

Well, obviously. “I know. But the job… it’s dangerous. It’ll probably kill me first.” His tone was lighter on purpose, even though it was a harsh truth, no matter how many times he’d tell you. 

“That’s…not helping.” 

“You want me around ���til I’m old and grey? Missing teeth and driving you to hurting innocent cars?” He didn’t want to end up like Seymour. You wouldn’t end up like his mate Alice if he could help it. Crazy. Most likely from him. Dean would have to make sure Baby passed to Sammy or the pup instead of you, just in case. 

“I want you around.”

“Well, you have me for at least a month. Maybe even here for the next scan.” He smirked. Then stole another kiss.

He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t imagine leaving you and him alone and early. But what could he do? He was a grunt, remember? He’d go stir crazy like old Alice. Driven to despair, and attempt murder that wasn’t provoked.

No. He was good. He loved his life, for the most part. He loved you. He just had to find a way to not get ganked too early, and stick around.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Gah. Friday snuck up on me and I was frantically getting this one ready to post here. Oops.

Coming soon- Dean in a baby store. See a little tid bit below 👇❤️

Chapter 14: Announcement - 22/05

Where to start? The music with its whiny drone and high-pitched piano? The mish-mash of colour, dominated by rainbows and construction truck yellow? The smell of snotty noses, diapers and Cheez Doodles? Had every kid pooped in here or was there something wrong with the plumbing?

Alright, a salvage yard would’ve had none of these things (might’ve stank a little), but the pup store had the upper hand for worst, simply on the fact you were there, amongst people he didn’t know.

He’d slung his arm over your shoulders and directed you around the other shoppers with the widest of gaps possible between you and them, following the signs to the wall of strollers on the left. You passed the conveniently located nesting section right by the cash registers on the way, of course. Full of all things fluff, including stuffed animals.

Dean may have glared at another alpha who got too close when you stopped. He may have sympathised with another who also found himself stuck while you and his omega eyed one fugly looking cushion, but he said nothing. Neither did the other guy. Though there was an eye roll when your scent peaked in full delight as you ran your fingers through the fur that could’ve passed for a muppet.

Oh god. His world was going to be full of Elmo and Cookie Monster, wasn’t it? Or that blue thing with the Australian accent he kept seeing as you walked by older pups sitting in the main part of their parents’ carts with eyes glued to their screens.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

@redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles @kimxwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @impala67rollingthroughtown

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[skepticalarrie]

why did you criticise louis? He has always had it way tougher. He turned down many opportunities because he wanted to stay true to himself. And he went through a lot personally. Meanwhile, harry had access to every resource imaginable. Everything was basically handed to him. It just doesn’t seem fair to criticize louis for how he’s handling his career, especially when you praise harry’s career and say he has worked hard, when you know he took the easy route.

Anon, I’m going to hold your hand as I say this—because I honestly think you and others in your little bubble truly believe that’s reality—but you sound insane. Like, genuinely. You can’t handle someone criticising your favourite artist? Really? Don’t you ever criticise the people you love the most? Your friends? Your family? Or is that off-limits just because they’ve been through hard things? If so, you must be a pretty terrible friend.

Louis has absolutely been through a lot, and it’s incredibly admirable that he’s still here being so loyal to his fans, to his music, and making his own choices. I talk about that all the time (not that you would know that because clearly you didn't realise what my blog is about). That’s why so many of us have such a soft spot for him and want to protect him. But that doesn’t mean I have to agree with every single thing he does. Sometimes I disagree with his choices, the same way I disagree with any other artist eventually—and I’m going to talk about that, because this is a discourse blog. And even then, I’ve only ever criticised certain decisions he sometimes makes with his career or public image. That’s it. I don’t even critique his music, because I love it. And I love him. I have no idea where you got the idea that he’s out there actively turning down opportunities to “stay true to himself,” because listen, love… he’s part of the system—just like any other artist who came out of a massive, highly manufactured boyband (which, by the way, he didn’t even want to leave).

And dragging Harry into this just makes you sound even more unhinged and insecure. This wasn’t even about Harry lol. And you know what? Your fave is literally fucking big bad commercial sucessfull Harry Styles as we speak. Isn't that ironic.

[asthecrowtries]

Because I've seen a lot of negativity about the Malevolent patron blocking drama and not enough support for Harlan or clear explanation of what happened:

A patron named Riot shared exclusive patreon content in a private server to multiple non patrons. Someone in that server notified Harlan with proof so riot was banned and blocked on patreon and the invictus server and named directly in a post explaining the situation with their ban.

Malevolent is offered entirely free with the patreon bonus content not needed at all to enjoy the show. Patreon and those exclusive rewards are the main way Harlan makes money off his show so he was entirely in his right to ban riot to stop the stealing of his content.

Riot also gifted many other people patreon subscriptions which was very generous but does not entitle them to then give away exclusive content to even more people.   I'm only bringing up this part because I saw a comment on another post that Harlan should have addressed it with riot and just emphasized boundaries of patron vs nonpatron content - riot had been causing issues in the main server for months, they pushed back against mods or even Harlan and Jo themselves every time they were asked to correct their language if it turned too political or NSFW or to tone down on the spam when they got their 'riotspawn' in a frenzy by gifting more subs. And those were just examples I saw personally. I doubt just talking to them about the issue would have gotten anything resolved. They had gotten plenty of warnings about their behavior on the main server and had been a patron long enough to understand patreon sharing etiquette. This wasn't a simple mistake by a brand new patron but by someone that thought because they threw enough money around the rules didn't apply to them. Unfortunately when riot was blocked on patreon, many who were gift recipients were blocked as well. This is entirely not Harlan's fault but a dumb issue of Patreon, he is working to get it resolved and has made an announcement that this was not intended - he holds no ill will to those that were just gifted subs by riot. Those blocked should submit a ticket on the invictus server or email him directly at theinvictusstream@gmail.com For those blocked that Harlan is aware of, he's made sure they still have access to the invictus server patron channels and has sent them the latest chapter release directly via google drive so they are not missing patreon content while this mess is being settled. Patreon won't even let him see all those who are blocked so he can't unblock them or issue refunds directly. He has to work through Patreon support. Harlan is not trying to steal off of riot and others for their patreon subscriptions.  Another user was also named and blocked, with Harlan saying they were involved with the content sharing while they say they weren't. I only have the two's words against each other and don't know the user myself to comment on that part of the drama. I don't agree with their name being called out or the banning if they were just a member of the server and not one of the content thieves as they say but I also don't know the full story and what all they may have said or done. I'm not sharing their name in this post at least.  Harlan is not calling for a witch hunt. Naming the two let others know in that private server, or similar ones sharing patron exclusives, that content stealing like that isn't cool and has consequences of being banned and blocked. And with riot their name would have to be called out directly with the whole gift sub issue. Harlan is entirely justified in asking his paywalled material, which is how he makes his living and supports his family, to not be given out for free and if anyone sees this happening to let him know.

[little-one-eyed-monsters]

Not even as a BL fan. I say this as a Film Nerd. As someone who works in this industry. As an Assistant Director myself (I'm trying to make myself sound better than I actually am, I'm sorry. I only work for a local channel that produces small scale shows. This is a small opinion at best). STILL, as a critic:

True to its title, Top Form should be the standard of the BL genre.

Directing, cinematography, the script's pacing-- topnotch. Director P'Boss studied his craft well and it shows. He wasn't insistent on his own technique; he pulled inspiration from other cinematic greats and took which elements he thought would work best for the project. He depicted the script from its core message instead of at face value. But best of all, P'Boss did not pander to popular trends and what he thought would sell well to the BL audience. He would show this larger-than-life premise in the most human way possible, however imperfect and difficult that might be.

But what made this series a true standout? TRULY BREATHTAKING ACTING.

Never have I seen two BL actors CONSISTENTLY complement each other's style, technique, and energy until Smart and Boom graced our screens, and this doesn't even factor in the artfully-executed love scenes. I've seen a lot of talented BL actors who fall flat once they act in pairs, but Smart and Boom matched each other perfectly in each step, that it felt like a beautifully-executed dance. Their chemistry was just so NATURAL since the first episode, but it's not the usual chemistry that demands irresistible desire or attraction. Instead, it's electric-- something that hangs in the air and makes you constantly anticipate what comes after, whether good or bad. They're so good, they made the clunkier parts of the script still flow smoothly with the rest of the plot.

Smart and Boom are the only two BL actors in the industry who have proven to me that they know their characters better than ANYONE, better even than their scriptwriters and director. Their portrayals felt so REALISTIC, so relateable, so believable, that I had to pause during one episode to just-- realign myself to the fact that Jin and Akin do not exist. That these stakes are non-existent. That their love isn't something I can help fight for because it's fiction.

And all this from two actors with very minimal credits to their name, who've never met before, who share dissimilar traits and personalities, and aged a decade apart from each other. No workshop could ever achieve this. This was just God-given acting talent at its finest hour.

If Top Form doesn't win any awards this year or the next, then it sadly means that it was ahead of its time. The show was a masterclass in cinema, but I doubt a lot of people will be able to realize that. Fans will remain for the candy, not the arthouse after all.

But I feel it in my heart that it will win something, anything. It will boomerang wonderful careers for the whole Top Form team. It will be a sensation talked about for years to come-- as it should be.

[odoraful]

𝑰𝑰: 𝑳-𝑶-𝑽-𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑵𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀

xiao follows through with baizhu's advice and realises a lot more about his own feelings for you

⟡ part I: doctor, doctor!

⟡ content — xiao x gn!reader ; first love/confession ; perhaps a tad bit sad at the start but it gets better i swear!! ; zhongli and hu tao appearance ; xiao was oblivious in the first part, but he definitely isn't in this one hehe ; both of you are yearners for each other ; 4.3k words

⟡ a/n — finally finished!! i posted doctor, doctor in february and it's now may... omg i'm so sorry my lovelies for the wait 💔 i was a little sleepy when editing but anyway i really hope it's a good continuation :')

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In the past, Xiao would have never thought being bad at talking to be a disadvantage. He was once taught that it was a slower way of resolving things compared to the pointy end of his spear. Now, he silently wished he could speak with ease. Like the honeyed tales Zhongli could weave, or the precise lectures of Cloud Retainer. Xiao’s words were always blunt and rather clunky. And it didn’t help his speech if you were in his presence too.

Speak to Y/N about how they’ve been feeling, Baizhu had recommended. He had agreed so quickly in the moment because it sounded easy. Of course he could ask you, he had spoken to you dozens of times before. This time was no different, in fact, this was right in his repertoire: making sure you were in good health. Yet, with you standing beside him by the balcony at Wangshu Inn, his tongue became all tied up. Maybe it was the way the breeze toyed with your hair, your eyes glittered, or skin glowed in the morning light. The sight of you made all his words fizzle out.  

Archons, what has come over me? he wondered.

You turned to face him. He quickly tore his gaze away.

“What did you want to talk about, Xiao?”

Your question was to be expected. He was the one who had mentioned he needed to speak to you about something (which was the exact reason the two of you were standing out here). Yet, it still left him somewhat flustered.  

He kept his gaze on the vast landscape of Liyue—a brilliant canvas of yellows and greens.  “I wanted to tell you that you needn’t hide secrets from me,” he said.

You cocked your head to the side. “Secrets?” he was met with the sound of your light chuckle. “Do you think I’m living a double life or something?”

Xiao glanced to his side at you. It was enough to see you wiggling your fingers at him as you continued to tease, “Maybe I’ve secretly been a Fatui agent this whole time.”

He shook his head. “What I mean to say is… you can speak to me about anything. I know well that emotions can be confusing, but I will always try to understand them.”

Though Xiao seldom followed along with your joking remarks, he always replied to them in his own dry manner that you enjoyed. However, this time there was a seriousness to his words that caught your attention. Emotions? Confusing? Your chest grew tight as you straightened your back.

“Xiao, I wouldn’t hide anything from you,” you answered, genuinely.

Sensing your own concern, he faced you fully. “I know, but something has been different recently.”

Shouldn’t such trust and closeness between people mean being able to talk to them about anything? Both the good and the bad? Xiao was prepared to shoulder any of that weight for you. He reached for your hand that wrapped the railing of the balcony, encasing your fingers beneath his.

“Tell me what has been troubling you, please.”

It came out as a plea. Small and anguished. You had never heard Xiao sound like this before. And it was because of you.

There was only one thing you had been keeping from him. Something (or someone) that had been on your mind for a longer time that you cared to admit.

“Nothing’s been wrong,” you still denied, ignoring the open warmth that radiated from his hand into yours. A silent invitation from him to you. 

“I won’t accept that,” he responded gruffly. “It is bad to keep your emotions… bottled up.”

Xiao echoed the metaphor Baizhu used when they met. The mortal expression had sounded unusual when he first heard it, but now he understood—corking up emotions for too long can lead to spoiling.

“When you’re with me, you appear tense. If I am the one causing your trouble—”

“No!” you exclaimed, leaning in towards him. “W-well, yes, maybe. I-it’s complicated.”

What am I doing!? you thought. His touch was too hot. You pulled your hand back, fidgeting with your fingers, not knowing what else to do in your embarrassment. If Xiao had been offended, there was no hint of it on his face, only worry as he let his empty hand fall to his side.  

“Complicated? If there is a reason why, I will listen.”

You tilted your head upwards, staring off into the endless blue above, as if calling upon the Heavenly Principles themselves to give you strength and confidence.

You exhaled a breath.

This was it. The time to confess and be done with it.

“Xiao, I like you.”

The words you spoke felt foreign on your tongue. To be fair, you never thought they would ever come to light.

Every miniscule sound became too loud in the silence between you two. Your thrumming heart in your ears. The chatter of people echoing from below. The wind rustling through the golden leaves above.

Anticipating a greater reaction, you were surprised to see Xiao’s face remained neutral. Only a slight frow in his brows.

“I like you as well...” he said, carefully though obviously confused.

“No, no,” you shook your head, sighing deeply, “for me, it’s in a different way. I like you as more than just friends.”  

At your clarification of the distinction, Xiao’s eyes widened.

He had spent enough time observing people to know of romantic affiliations. Though, he never realised it could be directed at himself. Strangely, something within him stirred hearing you. A tether. A want. However, it seemed locked away in an unfamiliar space of his heart, collecting dust. Whether he intentionally cast such desires aside himself long ago, he could not say. Reciprocate, whatever inside him seemed to call out. But his old habits stifled such new feelings, knowing the hardship of entwining yourself too closely with others. His own karmic debt tainting all those who came near.

You saw the change in his reaction—knowing that he understood what you meant now—and hurried before he could say anything else.

“I can’t pinpoint when it started, but I know I’ve liked you for a long time, and that’s the reason I’ve been so jittery lately.”

You recalled his strong grip when he caught you from falling and his words of concern in your home accompanied by his gentle touch. You decided not to divulge too much of the private thoughts you had in those moments.

For all your previous hesitations, the words now seemed to uncork and flow freely out of you. “And I know people may see you as abrasive or unfriendly, but you have shown me just how caring you are so, so many times and every time I can’t help but like you more and more.”

Xiao remained motionless, processing everything. He was locked with parted lips and wide eyes staring into your avoidant gaze. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to reply to you. He just didn’t know how. The tether in his heart begged him to speak, but his lips might as well have been glued together.

“Please don’t answer me yet,” you spluttered. “I know what you’re going to respond with…”

There was a sad finality in your tone that struck him. You knew Xiao did not like you in the same way. He had expressed before his affections towards you as only friends. All the little gestures he did, no matter how fluttering, could not be interpreted as anything else, you believed.

You looked at him properly for the first time since your confession. “I want some time to prepare myself before I hear from you. Is that okay?”

Xiao nodded, finding the strength to move his body when his mouth failed him. “I-I would like some time to think, as well,” was all he could reply, his voice ragged.

He also needed to sort through his own tangled mess of thoughts. Figure out whatever in Celestia he was feeling inside. Emotions truly were confusing.

You gave a small smile. Meant to be a sign of reassurance for him that you were not so troubled anymore, but the wobbled corners of your lips perhaps betrayed that. “Alright, we’ll speak soon.”

You turned away from the balcony’s edge. Xiao watched as your figure disappeared down the steps and out of his sight.

One question had been answered, but it had left many, many more for him to understand.

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The consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour had experienced much of life (and had an eclectic set of memories to show for it). He did not shy away from unknowns as they would eventually become facts to him through reading a scroll passed down through a family’s generations, listening to the slightly drunken tales of a wizened sailor, or any other method of storytelling that he had the honour of encountering. And because of his wealth of knowledge, Xiao decided to meet with him.

Zhongli was inside Funeral Parlour. Not at the front desk, which the Ferrylady was currently standing behind, sorting through a ledger, but to the side in a waiting area. There were shelves filled with all manner of books and oddities, and comfortable seats for clients who generally needed to seek relief. Zhongli was drawing a finger against the spines of each book, wondering whether the collection needed updating, when the door to the Parlour creaked opened.

“Xiao! It’s lovely to see you,” Zhongli welcomed, surprise filling his face.

Xiao closed the door behind him gently, his eyes landing on Zhongli by the shelves. Recognising who the adeptus was, the Ferrylady simply nodded in acknowledgement, leaving the pair to catch up.

“Had I expected you, I would have provided more fitting refreshments,” Zhongli commented. “Here. Have some tea, if you wish.”

Xiao nodded in thanks as he was poured a cup of jasmine tea. He waited for Zhongli to be seated down first before he followed.

It had never been difficult for Zhongli to read Xiao. The distracted gaze, shoulders somewhat bowed, hands clasped in his lap. It was like Xiao was just another book on the Funeral Parlour’s shelves. Zhongli raised the cup of tea to his mouth, peering at the young adeptus from the rim before taking a sip.

“You seem... troubled. Is something the matter?”

Xiao watched the steam rise lazily from his teacup. Of course, Zhongli could easily pinpoint what was happening with him. Lingering emotions from the conversation Xiao had with you three days before bubbled up. It still felt surreal to him that it all happened.

“Yes, there has been something troublesome,” he admitted. “Y/N... told me that they liked me.”

Zhongli stilled his movements. You were no stranger to him. Naturally, he knew of many residents in Liyue, and he had also assisted you with his expertise in the past for commissions with the Guild. Now, he would never go so far as to say spying, but he also wouldn’t deny that he kept a special eye on you. Your close relationship with the young adeptus was something he was pleased to see blossom. Which was why it was confusing to see Xiao so unsettled in telling him the news of your confession.

Zhongli gave a comforting smile, placing his cup back on the table. “Y/N has confessed to you? I scarcely believe that that would be troublesome, but rather exciting.”

Xiao could only give a grunt in response.

Detecting this internal conflict, Zhongli lowered his voice, “Well, how do you feel about them?”

“I-I don’t know, which is the root of my problem.” A frustrated sigh escaped the yaksha. His mind was in all manner of disarray. “How do you know if your feelings for someone are different?”

Your words echoed in his head—as more than just friends.

“By different, are you perhaps referring to love?”

Zhongli’s pointed emphasis on the final word made Xiao redden. Again, he was not unfamiliar with the idea of romance. He had seen it in the streets of Liyue Harbour, from the young, sheepish sweethearts to the old, contented couples. Xiao had believed himself unworthy of it. But now, hearing the word spoken aloud, that wanting tether within him pulled again.

At Xiao’s sudden shyness at love being brought up, Zhongli had to stifle a chuckle. Still so new to the world, he thought.

“You know I cannot speak for your feelings, Xiao, but judging from how you came to me, it does seem there is more to your affections than what you first believed,” he observed.

Xiao ruffled his hair with his gloved hand. Zhongli was right. There was something more with you. There always had been.

“At rest, I have always sensed my karmic debt,” Xiao said. “But, since meeting them, the pain has lessened. I feel peaceful.”

The endurer of eons knowing peace. It felt foolish for Xiao to say, but it was the truth. He had never known safety and warmth to be with another person until you. His past had locked away these comforts from him, but the dust collected from forgotten emotions now seemed to blow away.

“Is this truly...” the word choked up in his throat. Zhongli had said it so easily before (even with the tiniest hint of amusement), but the word had not yet found its rightful place in his vocabulary yet.

“Why must this be so difficult...” Xiao instead groaned.

Zhongli gazed fondly at the young adeptus. “It is your first time. Do not be so harsh on yourself.”

He began to muse aloud. Xiao watched on, letting the sentences Zhongli weaved take hold. “Love enters each of our lives in many ways. Someone’s presence can come swinging like a sledgehammer, unexpectedly knocking us off our feet.”

With a knowing smile, Zhongli continued, “Or... it can be more subtle, like a pebble dropped into a still pool of water, rippling the surface from the centre outward.”

Xiao looked down at his filled cup of tea. Ripples. That was exactly it. Unassuming how you entered his life, and how impactful your stay had been. Finally, he took a sip of his tea, finding it less bitter than he would usually taste.

“Thank you for your guidance, as always.”

Zhongli laughed, “You needn’t be so formal, Xiao. I’m pleased you sought me out. Though, I do hope you come visit me again with some good news.”

Xiao nodded, albeit bashfully.

The old companions continued with the conversation. Largely, Zhongli tried to get Xiao to speak more about you. He knew full well that chance to be young and hopeless in love had been robbed from Xiao for centuries. So, with each short response Xiao gave about you between stutters, the redness never leaving his face, Zhongli was left more than satisfied.

After a short while, Xiao said goodbye, going back out to fulfil his duties with a newfound lightness. As he closed the door behind him, a shrill voice exclaimed from the stairs leading to the second floor of the Funeral Parlor.

“Was that the Conqueror of Demons?!”

Hu Tao had her hands on her hips, looking expectantly at her consultant.

“It was. You’ve just missed him, unfortunately,” Zhongli replied, leaning back in his chair.

The funeral director hurried down the steps, standing directly in front of his seat. “Oh, come on, you could have totally interrupted my meeting to have me say a quick hello!”

Zhongli gave a disagreeing hum. “We both know that you don’t enjoy funeral business being interrupted.”

Hu Tao puckered her lips and blew air out, creating a trill sound. Of course, Mr Zhongli was correct in saying that, but she was just making a joke! She slipped in the chair Xiao was just in, crossing her legs.

“So, why did Xiao swing by anyway?” she then gasped, “Is there new clientele?”

Zhongli shook his head, a smile playing at his lips.

“I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you.”

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You had always left the invitation open for Xiao to visit your home if he wished for a change of scenery. Though Wangshu Inn was gorgeous (and you would do anything to wake up to a view like that every day) there was still some charm to the quaint housing on the outskirts of the Harbour that you knew he would enjoy. All you asked for is that he did not teleport directly into your house unless you were in some peril, which he would know when his named was called. For every other time, however, he would have to knock before he could come in.

There was no peril here, but you did need to see him. Desperately. It had been three days, and your insides had stopped roiling since confessing. You were only left with preparedness now at hearing his answer. No matter how hard you tried to suppress it, there was a small part of you that hoped. Hoped Xiao might have a sudden change in his affections and realise he saw you as more than his friend.

You closed your eyes and steadied yourself.

You opened your mouth, beginning to say his name—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sudden noise pulled your focus away.

You weren’t expecting anyone at this time. Perhaps it was your elderly neighbour passing over some food she made, or a salesman looking to find customers for his wares. Frowning in the direction of your front door, you walked over and opened it ajar, just enough so you could see who was standing there.

You hadn’t even said his name, yet he knew he needed to come.

Familiar dark-greenish hair framing the amber eyes of a once harsh gaze, now softened since the day he met you. His chest puffed up and down, as if he had just run from somewhere. He looked at you like your parting had been years and not just a handful of days.

Your hand slipped from the handle, letting the door swing open fully.

“Xiao?” his name fell from your lips.

This was a very rare occasion where Xiao hadn’t thought things out fully before executing a plan. All he knew was that he needed to see you as soon as his meeting with Zhongli concluded.

“Hello,” he swallowed, composing himself. “I would have come sooner, but you instructed that I do not use my powers—”

“I know, unless I’m in grave danger,” you finished. “Thank you for knocking.”  

His politeness despite everything brought a small laugh from you as you spoke. It was a moment of your liveliness that Xiao took to like a moth to a flame, fluttering with desire.

You stood aside, allowing him to enter. The last time he was here he was convinced that you were ill and, quite innocently, wanted to nurse you to good health. Now, he knew the true reason for those symptoms and had come to an understanding of his own.

His boots tapped against the wooden floorboards of your home, and he came to a stop in front of you. Neither of you wanted to sit down, too filled with mirrored jumble of anxiety and hope.

“I have my answer,” he said.

He had never known his nerves to be this weak until now. His palms were sweaty beneath the fabric of his gloves, and his breath constricted. He can’t have imagined the amount of courage it took for you to have done the same thing.  

“Alright,” you folded your arms across your chest to bury your sinking heart. Even in matters like this, Xiao still got straight to the point. “I’m ready to hear it.”

Xiao flexed his hands at his side, trying to ground himself.

Although he could never paint flowery words with his speech, there was one thing he could always rely on—his bluntness.

“I-I love you.”

...

Oh.

This certainly had to be a dream.

A dream where the man you like just said that he loves you.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice raw and gravelly.

Did he say it in a strange way? Xiao silently cursed himself looking at how motionless you were, hands falling to your side. He knew he should have practiced it aloud beforehand.

“Was that... wrong of me to say?”

Your head spun. Delirious laughter almost spilled from you.

What he had just said was the furthest from wrong. Any small hope that remained in you unfurled and bloomed brilliantly.

"This... isn’t a dream, right?” you whispered.

Xiao moved closer.

“No, it isn’t.”

This had to be real, otherwise, why did his hand feel so warm as it brushed against yours? His fingers gently took your hand. It was the only proof he could offer that this wasn’t a dream. That he was here, and his words were true.

“You love me? Really?” you had to confirm again.

“I do.” He did not waver in his answer, “I do love you. I should have realised it sooner.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The urge to cry became more tempting each time Xiao repeated that he was in love with you.

“I-I was sure you weren’t going to feel the same way,” you sniffed.

His chest seized up hearing your voice shake.

He recalled a fleeting memory. Resting beneath a shaded tree, dappled light cast across his face as conversation drifted through the air. The commotion from four others whose voices he could never forget for as long as he lived. They were speaking about falling in love once the war was over, how it would feel like when love found them. Peace in these lands must be achieved first, one had said. To which one commented what a buzzkill that was, which was followed by laughter from the others. Perhaps Xiao should have listened more closely to learn something then, rather than closing his eyes, letting the sound lull him.

“I... have little experience or knowledge of these things. These distinctions are quite new to me.” Xiao held your hand tighter. His pale cheeks dusted with pink. “Speaking with someone else helped me understand what my feelings for you meant.”

He was so close once again. Yet, you didn’t freeze up like before, afraid of revealing your hidden affections. Instead, you melted into his touch, adjusting your grip to feel more of him. There was nothing to hide between the two of you anymore.

“I’m sorry for making you uneasy for so long,” he quietly added.

“You don’t have to apologise, I’m not angry at all.”

Relief washed over him. There was even a smile on your face. Bright and warm and enveloping him like the morning sun. Playfully, you swung his arms back and forth.

“In fact, I’m really, really happy right now,” a chuckle accompanied your words.

Xiao’s lips curved into a smile too seeing you in higher spirits. “I am glad. To be honest, I feel much... lighter.”

Weightless, even. The taut desire he felt three days ago when you confessed had eased. He had gotten the courage to tug and pull on that tether until he was standing here with you in his arms.

“I think I have loved you for a long time but never believed myself to be worthy of it. You are too good natured and kind, and if something happened to you because of me,” he closed his eyes, unable to even stand the very idea, “I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

You had never once thought Xiao could hurt you. Even in the beginning when you met, though he was coarse as gravel, he always remained attentive. There was much of his past that left painful memories and only fed him sorrow and doubt. Despite it all, however, he still had a soft heart.

You reached out a hand, grazing your fingertips against his cheek.

“Xiao…”

His eyes fluttered open hearing his name being called so sweetly under your hushed breath.

“Can I hug you?” you asked. “Usually this is the part where people would hug each other.”

He nodded, burning to hold you as well. You encircled your arms around his chest, entwining your fingers behind his back. He wrapped his own hands at your waist and pulled you in, your body flush with his, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Your breath tickled Xiao’s ear as you tucked your chin by his shoulder. Both of your heartbeats drummed with ineffable tenderness. It almost dazed him how much content swelled inside. He knew now why so many couples liked to hug.

Xiao was the first to lean back to look at you again. You were struck by this intensity of his eyes, seemingly lost with desire. Before you could think of anything else, your chin was tilted upwards.

Then, his lips were on yours.

You didn’t think Xiao could surprise you twice in such a short time.

The kiss was soft, like a falling petal brushing against skin. How much time had passed? Seconds, minutes, hours? You couldn’t tell. All you could focus on was the warmth from his lips and the shiver that it caused up your spine. This time, you were the first to pull away. Your cheeks were hotter than probably any of the springs in Natlan.

“How did you—” you stuttered.

Xiao cleared his throat. The spell he was just under seeming to disappear as he blinked away from your gaze, his blush intensifying. “I’ve seen many couples in the city do it. I-It just felt right to do.”

Shyly, he added, “Was that alright?”

He had a habit of second guessing himself when it came to his affections. Luckily, you were someone who was more than happy to give reassurance.

“It was more than okay,” you beamed. “It was perfect.”

You both stayed like this a moment longer, your hands around his back and his on your waist. Xiao spoke of meeting with Baizhu and Zhongli, which displayed a commitment to you that was far too endearing for your heart to handle.

There would be good news indeed when the time came to tell your companions what happened.

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⟡ taglist (hello lovelies!! thank you again for your patience 🥹🫶 i've never tagged people before so i hope this works) — @sizzles-z-4002 @redninjakitty14rp @butterescapism @fuyustuffs @unstablemiss @evilenbypotato

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 the way i loved you : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

but i miss screaming and fighting, and kissing in the rain.

warnings: use of y/n (one time), no cabin mentioned for reader.

She keeps telling herself: this is just the way life goes, this is how it was supposed to be, it is the right thing to do. Because loving someone should never feel difficult, it should never feel like a task.

Right?

At least she and Percy had agreed on that. After so many fights and numerous cries, they had finally let each other go. Because it is the right thing to do, because they were not right for each other. Right?

They couldn't be, Percy was always so busy with everything going on in his life that he slowly forgot how to make time for her, and she couldn't blame him. Really, she couldn't. He was always getting roped into something new. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel neglected, forgotten.

He had tried to mend it the first time they talked about it. Of course he did, Percy would never break her heart intentionally. But something always got in the way.

And the fights started, the crying started. They couldn't find a way to understand each other and so, they finally decided the best way was to simply let each other go.

But if that was the right thing to do, why does it feel so... wrong?

If it was the right thing, why does it break her heart every time they cross paths around camp, every time she sees his smile and knows it isn't directed to her anymore? why does it hurt every time she hears his voice nearby? why is it so hard to let go when it had been so difficult to hold on in the first place?

She's glad when summer ends and it's time for her to go home, maybe that's what she needs. A fresh break. Away from camp. Away from his charming smile and shining sea-green eyes.

Back home, back to school, she can pretend she's just another girl. No broken heart. No demigod duties. Just her trying to understand her classes and have her homework ready on time. She doesn't even bother trying to make friends, that never ends good well demigods.

That is, of course, until he comes into her life.

She had been struggling with math, her adhd definitely didn’t make it any easier. So after a failed test and many homework assignments graded poorly, she gets assigned a tutor.

And she goes along with it, even if she thinks it's going be a lost cause, because no way someone can help her understand all those numbers and letters.

But Ben is sweet and willing even from the first time they met.

She arrived like two minutes later and was ready to mutter apologies, but he only smiles at her and gestures to the empty chair beside him. "You must be... y/n? sorry, I'm not good with names, but I'm good at math and that's what i'm here to help you with. So, not all hope is lost."

That makes her smile, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing up as she takes a seat beside him.

"Oh, i'm Ben, by the way."

And from then on, the sessions become part of her routine. Tuesdays and Thursdays after school, she automatically makes her way to the library to meet Ben, who's always waiting for her with a smile. Slowly, she stops dreading math and understanding it.

Or at least she tries to.

"I just don't understand, if there’s already x why do I need a y too?" She raises her eyebrow at the homework as if the piece of paper has offended her in some way.

Ben, as always, remains patient and smiles. He's always so patient, so gentle and sweet. "You just have to stop overthinking it" he says before launching into full explanation.

And she understands, which is mind-blowing the first few times because she had never once understood the explanations the teachers gave her. But with Ben it's easy, he goes over everything with patience, he points things out in a way that make sense in her brain.

And he trusts her, so she figures that maybe she should trust herself too. For the next test, she can only repeat his words to herself: just stop overthinking.

The next thursday, when she gets the test back, she can barely wait until the end of the school day to go running to the library, holding the paper to his face so he can see the score.

"You passed!" He beams, taking the paper from her hands. "I knew you could do it."

He holds his hand up for a high-five, and the gesture makes her pause for a second, her thoughts circling back to Percy. She can remember how he was always the first one cheering whenever she got something right in training, and he would always come running to her, holding his hand for a high-five— except every time she tried to reach it, he would instead swoop her in his arms.

His arms. Sometimes, she misses his arms. The comfort and security of being held by him.

"Barely." She replies, trying to shake her thoughts away. "But I did! I could hang that in my room, pass it down to generations so they see I passed a math test."

"I knew you were a secret genius." Ben teases, playfully tugging on her braid when she sits down beside him.

"Oh, you're such a flatterer" She rolls her eyes playfully. "So, what are we learning today, tut?"

And they easily go back to their math lessons, joking and discussing their days in between equations. Easy. So easy, she can almost pretend to forget about Percy as the hours pass in that small spot in the library.

It comes a few days after that, it's simply a tuesday afternoon and everything is going as smoothly as always, when he suddenly put his pencil down to turn towards her.

"Sooo... did you hear about this new superhero movie?" He asks, and it's such a sudden change of topic that she needs a second to realize what he's doing.

She doesn't like superhero movies too much, but she hums. "Yep, heard about it." from Percy, who had been super excited to see it.

"I'm going to see it this weekend, maybe you'd like to tag along?" He asks, and she finally notices how nervous he looks.

Ben is asking her out. And she should say yes. She should. He's easy to be with, kind, sweet. Yet— "Oh I just don't like superhero movies that much" she mumbles, shrugging softly.

But that's not the truth. She knows it's not. If Percy was asking, she wouldn't mind watching it with him. She would enjoy it, even. But doing it with someone else— it somehow feels like cheating, which is ridiculous since they've been broken up for at least three months now.

Ben looks disappointed when she finally looks at him, and she feels the weird need to fix it. "But if there’s any other movie you're interested in seeing, I'm available." And he smiles. And it's so easy. So easy.

Why does it feel wrong?

"How about we go and see which other movies they have?" He offers and when she nods, his smile only widens. "consider it a date then— unless that's weird. In which case, no, consider it a uh, platonic equation. Totally normal stuff."

And she laughs again. Easy.

"It's a date."

So they go on a date, they end up agreeing on a comedy movie. And they laugh, share popcorn and snacks. After that, he gets ice cream for her and they go for a walk. Simple. He's nice. He's sweet. Easy.

So why is she still thinking about Percy?

It gets worse as the days tick closer to her return to camp, because as much as she enjoys the math lessons and the nice dates, why is she still thinking about sea-green eyes and sarcastic grins?

"What are your plans for summer?" Ben asks one day, they're going over everything they need for the last math test.

"Summer camp." She replies, and her heart almost jumps out of her chest. Almost as if the traitor knew that the word camp was associated with Percy.

He nods, seeming almost... disappointed? No, it can't be, because he quickly smiles at her. "That sounds fun, will you be gone all summer?"

"Yeah." She replies, scribbling a silly sea lion in the margins of her notes. "There’s no phone signal either. Kinda... isolated. But mostly fun." and home.

"Sounds mysterious, should I be worried?" He teases with a chuckle. "Are you a spy?"

She laughs, but she's just glad he drops the topic after a few more questions because she runs out of ways to hide what camp really is, what it really means to her.

And she doesn't know if it's because she's dreading it or because she's secretly excited, but the next weeks pass by flying and the start of summer comes quickly.

She manages to pass all her tests. Packs her bag. Puts on her jacket. Says her goodbyes to her family. Everything ready.

Saying goodbye to Ben should feel difficult. It should be harder. After all the dates, the tutoring sessions, the laughs and the quiet understandings— saying goodbye should feel like something.

But her heart doesn’t break, instead it's almost jumping with excitement at the opportunity to go back. And she knows it has nothing to do with camp itself.

That's why, when Ben comes to see her just before she has to leave, she already knows.

He stands awkwardly at her porch, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a to-go coffee cup with her name misspelled. "I thought you might need one for the way."

He's so sweet. So painfully sweet. That it's hard for her to even smile as she takes the cup from him. "Thanks."

There’s a pause. Silence hangs between them as she finally decides it's time to finally give him the truth— or at least, part of it. He deserves that.

"I- you know, I've been thinking about this." she awkwardly gestures between them. "us." and he nods as she takes a deep breath. "You're great, Ben. I like being with you. But I don't think I could see you as more than a friend. I just can't—" be with someone else.

When she falls silent, he nods, in such an understanding way that she hates herself for hurting him, for not being able to give him what he wants.

Why can't she? why can't she simply be with him? if it feels so easy. Why?

"It's okay." he replies softly. "I kinda figured."

She's distracted by her own thoughts, trying to make sense of them. But her gaze immediately snaps towards him. "You did?"

"When you talked about camp, you tried to make it sound like it meant nothing, but you smiled when you talked about it. And it didn’t look like you were smiling for a place... But rather for a person."

Her gaze drifts down to her shoes, frustrated. Why does she still smile when she thinks of Percy? they were difficult, they agreed they didn’t work.

Ben offers her a smile when she looks up again. "I think you should stop being scared of your feelings. If there’s a chance that person wants to be with you... you should take it."

"Why are you telling me this? shouldn't you be mad at me? for hurting you?" She tilts her head, confused. And she knows she's just trying to change the topic, because she doesn't want to think about her real feelings, she'd rather focus on him.

Ben seems to notice what she's doing, his smile softens. "That time we spent together wasn't a waste of time for me, I made a new friend, didn’t I? and as your friend, I think you deserve to love someone that makes you feel everything. Not just someone who's easy to be with."

When they finally say their goodbyes, she realizes that maybe she does feel sad about it. It isn't heartbreak, not even close. But it's the kind of sadness that tugs on her chest, the kind that comes from parting ways with someone who you consider a friend, someone who made a hard moment a little gentler.

"Don't be a stranger." He hugs her, and for the first time she allows herself to feel. Grateful. Happy that she got to know him.

"I won't." She says, and she means it.

Because he mattered. Maybe not in the way they both wanted it to matter, but he did.

The ride to camp is quiet, as peaceful as it can be with her head filled with thoughts, with her feelings screaming and begging to be heard. She listens to music, stares out the window and tries to ignore the ache in her chest.

It's suprising to arrive and find that it's raining at camp. But she ignores it, probably Zeus throwing a tantrum. She tightens her grip on her backpack and pulls her hoodie over her head as she walks.

There’s demigods scattering towards their cabins, running to greet each other when they arrive. She feels empty as her eyes scan the crowd to try and find him. But Percy's nowhere to be seen, he's probably arriving later. And it shouldn't mean anything to her.

She forces herself to stop looking for him and instead walk towards her cabin when the rain starts getting harder, soaking through her hoodie.

But her feet stop just before she can reach her cabin.

Because standing there, just in front of her cabin, also completely soaked, is Percy.

The rain keeps falling. The wind picks up. And they look at each other, both frozen in their spots. And when their gazes find their way together, time stops.

He's takes the first step towards her, then a second one, hesitant, as if waiting for her to say or do something. And she can't. She doesn't know how to. Until she does. It's simply a step towards him, then a second one. As if they're dancing together, towards each other.

And suddenly, they're in each other's arms and he's kissing her. His lips melt oh so perfectly against hers. And it's like coming home all at once.

He pulls away first— well, he barely pulls away. His lips still brush hers as he rests his forehead against hers, their breaths mixing in the small space between them.

"I tried. I swear I tried." Percy whispers, raindrops falling down his hair. "I tried to walk away and pretend it was the right thing to do, but I can't do it anymore. Nothing feels the same without you."

His hands cup her face, his nose brushes hers, and he exhales shakily before continuing. "I got so caught up in everything, in all those quests and responsibilities, trying to help everyone. And I forgot that the most important part of it all, the one that always deserved my time, was you."

Her hands tighten softly against the fabric of his drenched shirt, grounding herself in him.

"And I won't let that happen again, I swear I won't ever let that happen again." his sea-green eyes find hers, and Gods, how much has she missed those eyes. "And I'll work through it every day. And maybe it'll be difficult. But I swear that I won't ever again risk losing you. I just can't. I won't."

And that's when she understands. She had been so hell bent into walking away because loving someone should never feel difficult, she had tried to convince herself that it was the right thing to do. And now, now she sees it shouldn't be that way.

Because maybe love isn't supposed to be about how easy or how difficult it is. Maybe love it's about choosing each other over and over, maybe it's about working hard through the difficulties instead of giving up.

"I want that too." She whispers against his lips. "Even if it's difficult, we'll work through it."

And when he kisses her again, it feels like a vow, the promises lingering in between them. They'll get through anything, even if it's hard. Especially if it's hard.

[diodellet]

chicken soup for the transmigrated soul

ft. ruggie bucchi, trey clover, rook hunt, jade leech, ortho shroud, lilia vanrouge, jamil viper

summary: So you worked yourself into a slight fever, no biggie. Take a painkiller for the headache, drink some extra water, do not make any sudden movements to keep from triggering the dizziness, and of course, whenever you could, catch a few z's in between work. You've done this before, you had a system. Even at your friends' protests—bless their concern, you'd always be grateful for that—it was only Tuesday. You could handle this until Friday and cash in a "long weekend" to rest. (Spoiler: You couldn't even make it to the end of classes.) content warnings: -gn!reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect (++tendency to overthink, gets lonely easily) -references to vomiting (due to emetic in Jade's part, as in his food deliberately makes you puke), food aversion (in Trey's and Ruggie's parts), and nonsexual partial nudity (in Lilia's part). nothing too graphic -swearing and general banter/ribbing as you would expect in a setting like NRC -all of these are platonic, but can be read (except for Ortho's) as romantic (i guess that makes it idia x reader if you squint??) ++mild hurt/comfort, there's shenanigans alongside the fluff in the midst of a twisted wonderland cold hitting like a truck word count: 4.8k words (~680 words per part)

Ortho Shroud is the first to notice your symptoms.

Scratch that, he's pre-empting the onset of your fever symptoms. And what baffles him most is that even with scientifically-backed data, you are still intent on continuing your work!

"You can't keep going to classes until Friday!"

It doesn't help that Idia('s tablet) will chime in and commend you on your commitment to the hustle grindset. Peas in a pod, the two of you😤

While Ortho doesn't need to worry about the same physiological needs that a regular human does, at least he takes care of himself! But all right, fine. There's the 0.000001 percent chance that you're not sick. You know yourself best.

(He's absolutely reminding you that he told you so every time he visits you in Ramshackle.)

On the bright side, there's zero worry about catching whatever you've got when he flits back and forth between your place and Ignihyde. He's found another good use of his built-in UV disinfection lamp! (Aside from curing Idia's resin projects and character-inspired acrylic art.)

When you're confined to bedrest, he brings over games, manga, movies—anything laid-back to keep you occupied.

Sometimes Idia joins in, remotely, of course. Can't risk catching what you have, he says. To which you retort by saying you'll sneeze on his tablet.

"Don't threaten my big brother, his immune system isn't as strong as yours!"

(His calculated objectivity really made you forget that he was a little brother at heart, that is to say, an Absolute Menace to you and Idia.)

It comes as a surprise when he asks if he can use your kitchen. You're about to pull yourself out of bed and follow him when he suddenly backtracks. "Wait! You need to keep resting! Any further elevation in your heart rate could…" Was that a buffering sound? "—could lead to a 67% chance of a mild onset of orthostatic hypotension!"

Was he was going to test some experimental drug on you—well, that was more of Pomefiore's area of expertise, but you couldn't rule that out. He and Idia weren't quite that discreet when talking about how inconvenient your symptoms were.

("Wow, breathe louder through the protagonist's monologue, why don't you, prefect?" and "If you get so much as a droplet of moisture on that first edition manga, I'm never talking to you again."

Oh, if only Ortho wasn't watching you…If only that high-powered technomantic beam wasn't a threat…)

Your thinking is interrupted by a coughing fit that almost leaves you light-headed. Fine, the persistence of a little sibling wins out this time. "Grim, go and help." Though the direbeast complains, he trots after Ortho.

While waiting, you doze off. It's not a very peaceful rest, what with snot dripping down the back of your throat and the ache in your temple.

But it's better than sleeping at night. Oh, your midnight thoughts were not very kind.

Ortho wakes you up, and he's handing you a warm bowl of soup. Well, it seemed to be more vegetables than actual broth. Great if you liked vegetables, not so great if you were tentative of surprise textures in your soup.

At your questioning look, he explains, "it's lentil soup. It's a staple back home, and my brother's go-to when he's sick. Try some!"

You can barely smell the dish with your clogged sinuses, but with the generous amount of toppings, it's more filling than your previous meals of plain broth and noodles. And Ortho makes for good company, the same way Idia is. It's a hearty meal that leaves you feeling cared for, in spite of the Shroud siblings' penchant for mischief.

(Really, being their friend meant being on the receiving end of So Much Sass. You were barely given any mercy even when your immune system was compromised 😤)

"I have to get back to Ignihyde, please get well soon! You promised my brother that you would run a co-op dungeon with him!"

Jamil Viper is a worrywart through and through.

As much as he channels disappointment through his words and expression.

"You can't attend afternoon classes in that state."

"It's just History and a free study period, I can handle that much!"

Sure, you didn't look very convincing with a snot-filled handkerchief held to your nose. But at least you were standing upright on your two feet, a feat that most sick people wouldn't be able to manage!

Before you can breeze past him, Jamil grabs the back of your blazer, spins you around to press a hand against your forehead. He tsks. "You're burning up. I thought so."

Go ahead, dig your heels in and make a scene, it won't stop him from dragging you to the infirmary. Jamil's making sure that you're getting sent back to rest at your dorm. ("You won't get penalized for your absences if you let them give you the damn doctor's note!")

But while your friends were on their way, he supposes he has no choice but to keep you company (and make sure you don't sneak back to class. Seriously, what kind of school did you come from that made you think it was okay to ignore the fact that you were sick?)

So here you are, resting in one of the infirmary's free beds with Jamil watching you like a hawk.

Awkward is an understatement. He looks like he's seething. He looks like he's cursing you for adding your sickness onto his juggling act of obligations.

"I was telling you I could walk—"

"Sure, and then you'd push yourself into an even worse fever. I'm not moving." Psh, it's not even a full-blown one yet. Look at the exciting back-and-forth you were sharing. Wait, now that he mentions it, your throat was feeling weirdly dry.

"…Not even if I need a glass of water?"

Jamil watches you down half the glass. "Your lack of self-care is appalling."

(Why does it feel that part of that remark is directed at himself? Maybe you could squeeze out some embarrassing anecdotes from Kalim once you've recovered.)

When the conversation lulls, that you can't do anything else but give in to your fatigue. Even though you feel extra sweaty and gross in your uniform, you doze off mid-sentence. You feel the press of his palm against your forehead a second time, could almost hear Jamil muttering to himself, something about your fever rising.

For a moment, he's gone. And then nice, cool relief atop your forehead. "…did I fall asleep? What was I talking about—"

"Calm down, I won't leave you alone." His fingers brush the stray strands of hair from your face. "Keep resting. I'll wake you up when your friends get here."

(Kinda mortifying that he could sense that you really didn't want be alone in such a state. Or, maybe it was comforting that he immediately understood that sentiment?)

"Could you talk about something—anything? At least until I fall asleep again?"

Jamil gives you a look, it's not quite admonishing, but whatever iota of fondness you see disappears as he sighs, "all right."

He barely makes it through his first anecdote—something about his roommate accidentally enchanting the school's plants, which then attempted to migrate from the botanical gardens—when you slip back into a comfy nap.

Your fever lowers to a slightly more manageable temperature when Grim and co. arrive at the infirmary. By then, your group parts ways.

With his own whirlwind of a daily schedule, Jamil doesn't visit you that much at Ramshackle. (And that's probably for the best, so he won't catch what you have.)

But you do receive a container of chicken soup and a pack of over-the-counter meds to help manage your symptoms. (And it's not much of a note, but he does send you a text about not overexerting yourself. That hypocrite.)

Maybe it's the mix of spices warming you up with each spoonful, or you could dare to hope that it was made with love a certain vice housewarden's wishes for your speedy recovery.

Trey Clover is the most experienced at playing caretaker.

But did you really want to rope in the busiest person at Heartslabyul?

Just kidding, he's the vice housewarden. He can easily get an extra set of hands to take the burden off. (See: The rest of Heartslabyul)

Ace and Deuce get the brunt of the extra work, of course, being your classmates. Your missed homework, copies of lecture notes, and a smidge of the current classroom drama. (Guess what Ace contributed 👀)

If you think for even a second that Trey is here to provide a brief heavenly respite amidst your sickness, you would be sorely mistaken.

When you felt you've had enough of the same bland sickfood, you once asked Cater to smuggle your favorite sugary drink from the school vending machine during their next care package delivery.

Instead you get a passive aggressive sermon about not impeding your body's healing, and of course, salt in the wound (read: Trey asking if you really wanted to endanger your dental health too.)

Whatever happened to Cater, you didn't know. You could only hope that whatever consequences* he received, that they were fair to the poor guy.

*He'll be fine, especially since he's got Split Card.

Trey is ruthless. Nothing will get him to bend the rules of your recovery regimen. (And maybe the fact that he's diligent about wearing a mask makes him look more intimidating than usual.)

He's had to take care of his little siblings when they were sick. He's basically immune to any and all complaints and tactics (especially puppy eyes).

You're partway through a bowl of savory porridge (not the best texture when you're dealing with post-nasal drip, but the toppings were yummy) when you set the spoon down. It clinks defeatedly against the rim of the ceramic, drawing Trey's attention.

"What's wrong? You've only got half of the serving left."

"…'m not hungry anymore." It's tiring, being confined to your bed and bathroom for the past few days. And when you think that you're well enough to return to work, your symptoms return with a vengeance.

"Don't—Don't get out of bed, what do you need?"

"I need to catch up on homework or do something instead of wasting time—"

"You and Riddle are surprisingly similar." He probably wanted to use a different word. Trey sighs, equal parts fond and exasperated. "Let me try something first."

He casts Doodle Suit and you look at him questioningly. "Just try a spoonful," he says.

"But what if it doesn't work?" For a moment, you wonder if you can really make it to complete recovery.

"Then we'll figure something out. But you need to eat something alongside taking the medicine."

Wow, very comforting bedside manner 🙄 Without the support of his baked confections, Trey is so matter-of-fact that it's like talking to a brick wall.

Begrudgingly, you taste a scoop of the prestidigitated porridge and—

"It tastes weird. What did you change it into?" A laugh bubbles up from you.

"What? I could've sworn I made it taste like…" Of course he'd try to change it into your current sweet craving.

You try another spoonful, which is challenging not because of your lack of appetite, but rather in trying not to spit it out from laughter.

"It's so weird." Still, you manage to finish the entire bowl. "Man, I can't wait to go back to sampling your Unbirthday tarts."

At your change in demeanor, Trey barely slumps with relief. "Well, focus on getting better first."

He isn't the best with comforting words, but the next time he visits, you're treated to some tea with a generous amount of honey. With the caveat that you can only have one (1) cup per day.

And of course, he's persistent in reminding you to brush your teeth afterwards.

Ruggie Bucchi, opportunist that he is, becomes a frequent visitor.

"Y'didn't give Grim enough for your meds."

"Oh shit, how much do I owe you?"

"Just by five thaumarks, buuut I can let it slide if—"

Of course you knew that any extra help wouldn't come for free.

Whatever comfort meal he can throw together, he's leaving Ramshackle with two Tupperwares for himself.

He'll inflate expenses by a thaumark or two, just to pocket for himself.

Speaking of Grim, you've become very familiar with his complaints about following Ruggie around.

"My paws are numb from zipping back and forth around campus…"

"Henchman, he's doing all this extra work for pocket change. Pocket change!"

"He refuses to even waste gas for the stove! I can't be confined to the kitchen forever, henchman! You gotta get better!"

And you were trying! But this was the sort of sickness that could only get better with rest. Which is to say, something that couldn't be rushed.

Not that Ruggie's trying to hurry you along your healing. He seems perfectly happy with this current setup.

"Hm? Worried about me catching what you have? I'm tougher than some common cold, Prefect." It's either he wears a mask or you're getting the ghosts to throw him out.

Sure, he punctuates every similar remark with his trademark hissing laugh, but it was impossible to catch a light nap with how often he came into your room.

(It was as if he was making absolutely sure that your sickness wouldn't take a turn for the worse.)

You've taken to shrugging off your blanket every few minutes just to savor the feeling of getting tucked back in. A fitting exchange, since he freely toted Grim around campus.

"Prefe~ct, are you ever gonna use this pack of egg drop soup?" Ruggie shakes the packet, as if that would further entice your lack of an appetite.

The thought of being spoonfed crosses your mind briefly. "Why not? Better it gets used up instead of waiting until its expiration date."

"See, I told you that you've gotta stop hoarding your food." He grins. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Ten minutes later, Ruggie's got half of the pot's contents stashed away in a Tupperware cooling on your dining room table, while your own bowl was going cold atop your bedside nightstand.

"Don't you have Spelldrive training? Or some…part-time shift?"

"Nope, not really." Well, he deflected that really quickly. "I'm not that much of a workaholic."

Negotiating with Crowley was basically pulling teeth. "Must be nice, being able to shirk your work."

"Even I know not to push myself past my limits," Ruggie tsks at you. "And stop stalling, you're wasting your soup."

He even added some vegetables alongside the broth, making it more filling than if you were to cook it by yourself.

"Did you have to look after the neighborhood kids when they got sick?"

"Sometimes, yeah. 'Sides, it earns me free food and extra favors." The smile on his face is more devious than of genuine fondness.

"What a role model you are, teaching the children some quid pro quo."

"Well, you can't be picky with your opportunities." Ruggie shrugs. "Speaking of which, you should stop picking at your food. That's only two scoops."

"Two? I bet you could unhinge your jaw and finish the entire pot in two gulps."

His expression turns serious for a second. "I might just do it if you let your soup freeze over."

What was supposed to be an amused huff turned into you scrambling for a tissue to wipe away the glob of mucus that escaped your nose.

That gets Ruggie to break character, dissolving into wheezing laughter.

(You're not sure if Ruggie saw in you some resemblance to the kids back in his hometown, but you don't mind the ribbing. If it meant not having to see him get all worried pensive over you.)

Rook Hunt is more enamored than dependable. He's capable, but at the cost of…well…

You'd have to forgive him for being so enthralled with the progression of your recovery.

Now that you're well enough to catch up on some light chores and studying. Boy, are you glad to be out of bed.

"Bonjour, mon Trickster!"

"GAH!"

He scales the outer wall of your dorm once, and he decides to use that route for each subsequent visit. Of course.

"Rook, can you please use the front door next time?"

"Désolés, I was in a hurry," he says, with a smile too bright to be considered apologetic. "You are looking healthier today."

"You say that every time you visit."

Thankfully, he seems too busy shaking out the extra foliage and dirt from his hat out your window to notice your frown.

"This is from us at Pomefiore, Vil and Epel wanted you to have something hearty." And he somehow produces a steaming container from…his sleeve?

Did the Pomefiore dorm uniform have pockets? Or was he using some kind of spatial magic?

"Oh, sure, we can have breakfast before I get to work."

What you don't expect is him pressing the back of his ungloved hand against your forehead, then the side of your neck.

"Your hardworking spirit is very admirable, Trickster, but you should take care to not exert yourself too much."

"My work is piling up. If you're so worried about me getting sick again, then help me out for a bit."

At least he's willing to help with the chores. Admittedly, your strength wasn't completely back to a 100% but having Rook's assistance made the busywork go by more smoothly.

(Of course, you have to treat him to some cheap coffee after cleaning half of the Ramshackle lounge.)

The next morning, you're feeling…off—not quite unwell to be considered sick, more of a general sense of discomfort. The kind that precedes a full blown fever.

"Are you still intent on working today? Perhaps it would be better for you to rest today," Rook suggests after checking your temperature again.

And go back to twiddling your thumbs idly? Stuck with staring at the peeling wallpaper of your bedroom? Hell no.

"I need the lounge to be clean or I'll go mad if I spend the day in bed again."

This time you get winded even more quickly, that you have to entrust the last of the heavy work to Rook.

"Thanks for that, I'll get started on dinner."

"Just a moment, Trickster. You are shaking like a newborn fawn." His palm rests on your shoulder. "You can hold onto my arm."

"Thanks, but no thanks." You brush off his hand. Big mistake, the moment you cross the lounge, your vision goes sideways.

Once your head clears up, you realize you're leaning heavily against Rook's side. "Huh."

His expression is creased with frustration as he surveys your condition. Whatever he mutters under his breath is too quiet to hear, but you're sure he's blaming himself.

(You're also feeling a twinge of regret.)

"…could you at least help me to bed? And heat up some of that leftover stew you brought?"

Come the next day, one of the Ramshackle ghosts brings in a basket. You easily surmise this was from Pomefiore.

Reading the note—it reads more like a novella than a 'get well soon' card, especially with contrite flourishes that were obviously in Rook's handwriting—it turns out that the vice housewarden was banned from visiting you in Ramshackle, as consequence for inadvertently sending you back into a fever.

There's another container of that stew, some fruit (probably from Epel), and a different brand of fever medication, probably the better ones that would've eaten a hole through your meager savings.

(You set the note, the backs of your hands and the cardstock slightly dampened in several places. And you pop one pill of the gifted medicine.)

For all of his suspicious motives, Jade Leech is suprisingly capable.

Was this a good thing during the worst of your relapse? Who knows.

He's omnipresent, but he isn't overbearing. He keeps things nicely professional and doesn't seem to be rummaging through your things. (Good, because you gave Grim the go-ahead to blast singe him if he did.)

Is it eerie how well he can preempt when you need water or a new box of tissues? Maybe. But on the bright side, you won't have to worry about burning through your clean laundry.

(Surely Octavinelle would collect their debt after you've made a full recovery, right? Right?? NO—)

It's another day of feeling miserable in bed. Food sounds the furthest appealing thing at the moment, you want to sleep the day away but your miserable hour of sleep is making you buzz with stale energy.

Enter Jade Leech with an unassuming food container. But, it looks appetizing enough that you can tolerate one more meal in bed.

"Is this chicken noodle soup?"

"Pastina is similar, though food from the Coral Sea doesn't tend to be served piping hot. Please, eat to your heart's content."

Your suspicion melts away at that first spoonful. "It's actually pretty good…!"

"You wound me with your doubt, prefect." So he says with a wide smile hidden behind his facemask.

In between bites of your food, Jade is more than happy to tell you about his recent hikes for the Mountain Lovers Club. (<-This was a moment of weakness, obviously. You're so cooped up you'll take his anecdotes to inspire imagining being out and about.)

Until halfway through finishing the soup, your stomach gurgles. Very uncomfortably.

"…Is something wrong?" His eyes are still crinkled into crescents.

Before you can speak, you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep your meal from spilling onto your bed.

That spurs the vice housewarden to help you to the bathroom.

So Jade basically gave you an emetic. You're cussing him out in between retches, and the bastard has the audacity to chuckle demurely while holding your hair back.

"What the fuck did you give me?" Not a question, a threat. "What is it really?"

"It is a simple home remedy made with local ingredients. I promise you that I did not make any adjustments to the recipe." Another wave of that "soup" splatters into the toilet bowl, and you're glaring at him through the burn of tears in your eyes. "Though I suppose you might be intolerant to one of the components, as you are someone who lives on land," he muses.

(If you listened closely, there might've been a note of something akin to sadistic scientific thrill.)

Strangely enough, it seems to have flushed out the worst of the bug in your system. You can stomach real food now.

(This is where Jade reveals his actual gift from Octavinelle, your usual order at the Mostro Lounge. You're glad to be able to have something that wasn't some stew or soup.)

"Hm, the color has returned to your features," he notes, his face a smidge too close for comfort. "Hopefully with another night of rest, your sickness will clear up for good."

"It better or I'm marching over to Octavinelle and turning you into sashimi." The splatter of vomit on the side of your cheek makes you look more pitiful than threatening. "And you better not include that takeout on my tab."

"Oh dear." At least Jade indulges you with his best approximation of a fearful response. (Which was more akin to an ingenuine smile inviting you to do your worst.)

But he does keep the teasing to a minimum when he helps you back to bed, though. Not that you're willing to forgive him that quickly.

The next time Jade visits, he's under heavy surveillance by Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts.

I lied, Lilia Vanrouge is actually the most experienced caretaker among the vice housewardens.

Unlike Rook who camps outside your dorm, Lilia freely teleports in and out of Ramshackle. All you have as a warning are the little green sparks of light—not that dissimilar to Malleus' own teleportation magic—and the pop! that accompanies Lilia's appearing in your room.

"Good evening, prefect. I hope I'm not disturbing your rest."

"Eh, this sickness has been disturbing me for about a week now." You punctuate that by blowing your nose into a well-loved hanky.

(Well-loved, in that it hasn't left your hand since the past week.)

You're especially not used to being alone and idle. With each day you remain sick means burdening your friends again.

Lilia tsks to himself. "First things first, let's get you changed out of those clothes." Your cabinet opens and a newly-laundered set floats over to your bed. He starts pulling your sweaty shirt off.

"Wait, just let me go to the bathroom—"

Despite his appearance, Lilia's stronger than he appears. You're only able to resist his grip since he was being careful of accidentally tearing the fabric.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, prefect. I've changed Malleus' and Silver's clothes. Oh and Sebek's, as well." As if he was merely talking about the weather.

"At least let me turn around…!"

Lilia swats at your shoulder. "Enough of that now." The gesture was more surprising than painful, eventually you give in to your fate.

He wipes your back dry before helping you slip on a new sweater atop your new clothes.

"And why don't we air out your room? The night isn't too cold." As he says that, you hear the windows of the second floor all swing open.

A cool breeze flows through your bedroom, and combined with the fresh change of clothes, your general feeling of shittiness dissipates.

Thanks to Sebek and Silver's intervention, you're spared from Lilia's rendition of ginseng chicken soup. Not that you can smell or taste much of it, but free food is free food. And Lilia's company is…sorely welcome alright.

"—and then, right as we were about to have that picnic, what do you know? It's suddenly raining! Malleus wasn't too pleased with that, and some spring rain turned into a little thunderstorm. Of course, Sebek and Silver—loyal friends that they are—insisted on pushing through. You can guess what happened the next day."

"…they got sick?"

"All three of them!" Lilia hoots with laughter. "Snot dripping onto the floor, fevers hot enough to hardboil an egg, oh, and you shouldn't underestimate the young heir's magic even he's ill. You couldn't tell if he would spew fire or ice until—"

(It's enviable that he has so many stories. Was he getting tired of talking to fill the silence?)

You readjust your resting position. From this angle against the glow of your lamp, he looks wearier than cherubic.

"Another cup of tea?" he asks.

"I'm fine. Shouldn't you be back at Diasomnia by now? It's past curfew."

"The dorm is in capable hands, even with my absence. Though I noticed that your other student is nowhere in the vicinity."

Of course you asked your friends if Grim could sleep over somewhere else instead. You didn't want him to become sick like you.

Flick! Lilia's fingers connect with the side of your ear. "Haven't I told you, enough of that?"

You rub at the sting. "It's practical…!"

"…really, you young'uns like to make things more difficult for yourselves." He shakes his head.

He reaches over to cover you more properly with your blanket. "There is no shame in wanting company as you recover. Nor is it a debt for us to visit and assist you."

"Okay." You blame your tears and sniffles on the soup and your sickness.

(The next day Grim comes back, accompanied with the rest of Diasomnia. Your lonely feverish thoughts were no longer your sole company.)

a/n: this was for ME the sick binch (like after not getting sick during the pandemic, these past times i've gotten sick were the Absolute Worst) and being sick when i'm supposed to be productive? goodbye🗿 this was also written for me as someone who's allergic to being doted on. hopefully this'll rewire my brain or smth who knows (kinda ironic that the people doing the doting are the more overworked peeps in the twst cast). not super confident about how i characterized everyone aside from jamil, this being my first time writing them but it's whatever! this is preparation for in case i wanna take a break from writing jamimi flex my writing muscles🤧 big thanks to @jessamine-rose for sharing ur fresh eyes and keeping my impostor syndrome at bay💕

the jamil writing taglist: @viperwhispered @bibi-cha @scint1llat3 @sillystr1ngs @pzlqpibz

@warriorpacifist @chloemari-e @mama-m1na

(lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies!)