#so so so sorry this took so long to get out

[navybrat817]

Hit to the Head

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't think he needs medical attention after a hit to the head, but he's glad he met you.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Meet cute (of sorts?), possible concussion, mention of HYRDA, team dynamic, humor, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: A new AU (as if I need more) inspired by this wonderful nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the assurance on the medical discussion), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay. 

It was a sweet gesture, if not a wasted one. 

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions. 

At least he wasn't until he saw your face. 

“Hi,” you smiled, pulling back the curtain to give him some privacy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes. 

Wait, why did it matter what he looked like? He wasn't there to flirt with or impress you. There was no reason for him to sit up straighter or flex his right arm. There sure as hell wasn't any reason to run his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. It was a hospital visit, not a date. 

You wore a name tag, but introduced yourself before taking a look at his chart. “I understand you took a pretty hard hit to the head, Mr. Barnes.”

His voice came out huskier than he anticipated when he said, “Call me Bucky.” Clearing his throat he added, “If you consider a slab of concrete to the head hard, then yeah, but at least my head didn't split open.”

He felt the need to assure you he was fine when concern crossed your beautiful features. “I’m very thankful your head didn't split open, Bucky.” He liked the way you said his name. “But a concrete slab to the head is no joke.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, making you giggle. Was he funny or were you only laughing for his benefit? “But seeing the other guy wouldn't matter anyway since you won't let me leave without an exam,” he guessed. Even if he didn't believe he needed one. 

It wasn't just his belief that he was fine. Most didn't know it, but every now and then hospitals made him feel like he was back at HYDRA, ready to be strapped to a chair to await his next form of torture or to be experimented on. He wouldn't say he was afraid, but there was discomfort. Enough to make it feel like the walls were slowly closing in. 

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help. 

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I just let you walk out, would I?” you gently smiled. 

He managed a smile for you because you weren't just doing your job. You also seemed kind. “I guess not.”

He could get through a simple exam. 

Bucky inhaled, detecting a hint of something sweet under the sterile surroundings as you checked his heart beat. It was so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to pick up on it if it weren't for his heightened senses. He almost leaned into you before you pulled away, and thank God for that. Would he have been able to blame it on his head if he did?

“I don't have a concussion,” he blurted out. 

“Is that right?” He swore there was amusement in your tone when you shone a light in each of his eyes. “I imagine you're somewhat familiar with them in your line of work.”

“You can say that,” he said. He had his fair share of hits to the head, and helped his teammates get through injuries. “No nausea, no stiffness or imbalance.”

He didn't mention the dizziness since he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to. 

“Any issues with your memory?” you asked. 

He smirked a little. “That's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Can you tell me what day it is and what hospital you're at?” you asked. 

He answered the questions with ease. He also spelled “world” backwards when you asked him to. “See? I’m fine,” he said. 

“Your vitals are normal. Pupils reactive. But-”

“Look, I appreciate you checking me out,” he cut you off, keeping the bite out of his voice because he refused to snap at you. “But I don't want to waste your time.”

Bucky hated that he was trying to rush out when you were only trying to help, but he could hear people in the other rooms even as he tried to block it out. They were in pain, struggling. They needed you more than he did. 

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?”

The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

In his eyes, people like you were the real heroes. You didn't just face battles, you faced pandemics and life changing events. You risked your lives, saw the best and worst of people, and how many thanked you in return? And from the little time he knew you he could sense the love and dedication to your job and patients. He respected that. 

“Thank you. And thank you for all that you do, too,” you said sincerely. The compliment had the corner of his lip tugging in a smile. “I know you want to get out of here, but I am here to help. If you're fine, great. If not, please, let me help you.”

He tried to look anywhere but at you. It unnerved him that you got under his skin with so few words and he wondered for a second if that hit to the head did more damage than he thought. “I feel a little dizzy, but that’s all,” he admitted, and he felt better by doing so. 

You put a hand over his, little currents of electricity shooting up his arm. “Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, like it was your little secret. “Since you are feeling dizzy, I would like you to stay for observation.”

Bucky sighed. “How long do I have to stay?”

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.”

The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered. 

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said. 

Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised. 

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

“I’m single,” you said quickly.

He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s…” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

He grimaced. Nice? What was wrong with him? Maybe he had a concussion after all. 

You looked at him, your smile soft and easy. He either wasn't the first patient to make a fool out of himself like that or you were being nice. “I’ll be back shortly, but buzz if you need anything.”

“I will,” he said, his finger itching to push the remote the second you left him alone.

He leaned back in the bed and tried to make himself comfortable while he slowly looked around. How was it that the room seemed darker, as if you took a bit of the light and warmth with you? He shook his head slowly and carefully. It was a ridiculous thought. 

“Observation for an hour or two. You okay sticking around so you can drive me back?” he messaged Yelena. 

Yelena messaged back almost immediately. “Everyone is staying. Even Walker.”

He scoffed, but there was a smile behind it. “Not that you need my permission, but you can punch him if he steps out of line.” Yeah, John was still an asshole, but they did work together and he was trying. Some days. 

He perked up when you came back with a cup of water and a snack. “You doing okay?” you asked. 

“Since you left a minute or two ago, yeah,” he teased. 

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back. 

“Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?”

Why was he talking so much?

“So much better,” you smiled, going to the small computer to type something in. He tried not to stare as your fingers flew across the keyboard. He could always blame it on his head if you caught him. “I’ll be back in just a bit, but-”

“Buzz if I need you. I know,” he smiled. 

“At least there isn't too much sass in your tone,” you joked before you left him alone once again. 

If he didn't know any better he would think you were flirting with him, but you were just being a friendly nurse. 

He also tried not to eavesdrop when he heard you assisting others, but your voice drew his attention and he hung on your every word. You were professional, yet personal, showing each patient expert care. You lightly scolded an older gentleman who hadn't listened to you, which brought a smile to Bucky’s face when the man apologized and didn't give you any trouble after that. It was a delicate balance to be kind and assertive and you did it well. 

“You are something,” he said to himself. 

For the next hour or so Bucky didn't say much when you checked on him, but you had his undivided attention, his eyes following you wherever you went. He wanted to find excuses to keep you there and possibly make small talk, but it felt wrong when there were other patients who needed your attention. He caught that sweet scent again whenever you were close to him. Alluring, captivating. He tried to figure out if it was a body wash or just you. 

Something he noticed and tried not to was that your heart raced faster when you were near him. Maybe there was a slight chance that you were attracted to him? Beyond being a friendly nurse, maybe the possible attraction was why you kept smiling at him. He wanted to believe so. He wanted to feel your hand on his hand again. The brief touch had him wanting more, which was crazy. 

And before Bucky knew it, it was time to leave. 

“Vitals still look good. No change in symptoms,” you confirmed after he said the dizziness had subsided and he didn't feel at all nauseous after the snack. “Do you have someone to drive you home?” you asked. 

“Yeah, I have some friends here,” he answered. Even if he wasn't dizzy there was no way they'd let him drive after that. 

“Try to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours. If there are new symptoms or if the dizziness gets worse, you should return to the hospital,” you told him. “Other than that, I think you're good to go,” you smiled, but it didn't look as bright as before. 

Were you disappointed that he had to leave? Bucky was disappointed, but what could he do? He had no excuse to stay. Ironic how he was itching to leave when he got there when he now wanted a reason to stick around. 

“Thanks.” He grabbed his jacket after slowly getting to his feet, your gaze lingering on him when he slipped it on. 

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered. 

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?”

Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

Keeping a respectful distance, but not too much of a gap as you walked together, he stole a couple of glances at you. The quiet confidence in which you carried yourself was beautiful and you turned a few heads from nearby patients. He wondered if you noticed. 

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot. 

“That group right there is my ride,” he said, not wanting you to go any closer. If they got the slightest hint that he enjoyed your company for a short time, they’d pounce. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help," you said, gazing at him. “Havd a good night. And don't forget to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours, hero.”

Hero. The nickname almost made him smile. “You have a good night, too.”

You lingered for just a moment, almost as if you expected him to say something else. When he didn't, you offered him one last smile and scanned your card to get back through the double doors. His shoulders dropped once you were out of sight. He should've said something. 

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered. 

Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it. 

Yelena exchanged a look with Ava before they both smirked. “Yes, you were. Do you like the nurse?”

Bucky’s fists curled. He was not having this conversation after a hit to the head. “Can we leave?”

“It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

A growl escaped before Bucky could stop it. Yes, you were beautiful. Did he need Alexei to point that out? And he didn't have a crush. How could he? 

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ava asked. 

Bucky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. “Does it matter?” he asked. 

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.”

Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. There was nothing for him to worry about. “I just need to take it easy for the next day or so.”

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.”

Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

John held his hands up, but still had a smirk on his face before Yelena shot him a look. “A small injury could bring you back here.”

“No one is injuring me to bring me back here,” he announced. Everyone looked disappointed except for Bob. “What, you all want me to get hurt?”

Why did he decide to join this team again?

“No, we just want you to see the nurse again,” Ava said.

“Let’s go,” he ordered. 

As the group left, Bucky snuck one last look over his shoulder. You were a good nurse, and you made his night better. A small part of him hoped he made your night a little better, too. And while he certainly didn't want more injuries, a part of him did if only to bring him back to you.

So, what injury is Bucky getting so he can see you again? sebastian stan x reader, james bucky buchanan barnesLove and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[my-castles-crumbling]

mother - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 353

“I had an interesting talk with your mother today.”

James, who had been sitting in the garden of the Potter home, minding his own business, looked around to see Regulus walking toward him.

“Whatever she said is dead wrong. Senile, that woman is,” he joked, smiling softly as Regulus joined him on the bench he was inhabiting.

“Yeah? She’s wrong to say you’ve been talking a lot about me, then?” Regulus asked, raising his eyebrows and giving James a searching look.

“Er…depends on how you feel about it,” the older boy said honestly, chuckling at the way the Slytherin rolled his eyes. 

“Potter, she said you called yourself my boyfriend.”

The statement was met with quiet, as James tried to think of a way to get out of this one. Yes, he and Regulus had never explicitly defined what they were to each other, but since they’d begun whatever this was…James had only ever thought of himself as belonging to Regulus. There was no other option. 

“I…sorry,” he murmured, avoiding the younger boy’s eyes. “I know we never said. I just…I really like you, Reg. And I was so worried about you, alone at Grimmauld, I think my feelings got all messed up in my brain, and–”

But he was cut off and a small, cold, sinfully soft hand guided his chin, and suddenly, his lips were captured in a gentle kiss. All of the oxygen left his lungs as he lost himself in the intoxicating feeling of Regulus.

“Fuck,” he mumbled when the younger boy pulled back a few seconds later.

“Next time you want to make a relationship-changing decision, let me know, yeah? Because if I find out through your Mum that we’re engaged, I’m not going to be nearly as happy about it,” Regulus said with a little smirk, already standing to go.

James’s brain short-circuited at the idea of being engaged to Regulus Black. It took him a few long seconds to realize what Regulus had meant. Eagerly, he turned around to stare unabashedly at the boy walking away. “Wait, does this mean you’re my boyfriend?”

“Ask your Mum!”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

night alarm. l Joel Miller

Summary: the danger has come

Warnings: angst, fluff, hiding pregnancy, Jackson is attacked. guns, shooting, fire, one dead,

A/N:

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The next few days passed with palpable tension. Joel had been assigned to guard one of the entrance gates, and patrols left Jackson much more often. Despite your desire, you knew that no one would let you do anything really important. No watches, no patrols, nothing that would tire you out or require much effort. You didn’t fight with Joel or anyone else.

“You’re already doing the most important work, honey,” he said one evening as he went on watch. “Stay home. I’ll feel better knowing you’re here.”

So you stayed. Sometimes you’d visit him on watch, bringing him warm coffee, but the weather was so bad that Joel never let you stay there longer than that.

When the magic date of your second trimester passed, you both breathed a sigh of relief. “We should tell Ellie. She’ll start guessing soon.” You said, looking at the calendar full of crossed-out days.

“We will. When she finally shows up at home.” Joel responded, putting on his jacket.

It was getting dark outside and snow was slowly falling. Joel finally gathered his things and, getting ready to leave, he gave you one more look. The corner of his mouth lifted. "You know... I knew we'd make it this time, but I'm still very happy."

"Me too." You gently touched your belly, which was barely visible for now, but to you it was the center of the world. "Be careful, Joel."

One last kiss and he was gone.

Something suddenly tore you from your sleep. An indescribable explosion, and then another one. You jumped out of bed and ran to the window. What you saw seemed terrifying to you - the fence visible from your window was burning in one place, the sound of the bell echoed throughout the neighborhood, and people ran out into the street. You didn't wait long.

In the darkness, you ran out into the hallway and into Ellie's room.

"Ellie!"

But when you reached the bed, when you grabbed the blanket, you understood immediately - the bed was empty. Ellie probably didn't come back for the night. You fell asleep waiting for her.

Shit.

The sound of the bell pounded in your ears, and you felt your heart doing the same in your chest. Joel had to be alert, you didn't know what was going on there. Ellie left the house, and you promised not to move from there.

"Fuck!" you hissed, throwing yourself around the room, but finally made a decision.

You ran back to the bedroom and quickly started getting dressed. After you zipped up your pants, you went to the closet and took down the box that was lying on the back of the top shelf. Joel kept his revolver there. You started loading it when you heard the front door slam.

"Ellie?!" you screamed, grabbing the extra bullets and quickly leaving the room. You ran down the stairs. "Ellie! Thank God you're here! Joel said we should stay here and..." You looked around and saw someone standing in the middle of the living room. It wasn't Ellie.

It all started so suddenly that Joel didn't immediately realize what was happening. First the sound of the doorbell tore through the darkness of the night, then he heard an explosion and saw fire. At the same time, shots rang out at the side gate. Adrenaline immediately rushed through his blood. People were running, shouting orders, passing weapons to each other.

“They hit the side wall! A few got through!” Jesse shouted.

“Tell Tommy!” Joel shouted back, and pointed to a few men standing next to him. “Come with me! We could use some backup!”

He didn’t have to say it twice. They got into the car and headed toward the burning fence. It wasn’t until they were in the car that Joel realized something that hit him so hard his heart almost stopped—your house was close to where the attackers had broken through.

The lights of another car behind them flashed in the side mirror. No one knew how many had gotten through, but there was no way to risk it. When they stopped at the fence, Joel tightened his grip on his rifle and got out.

“We need to secure this place!” Tommy shouted as he climbed out of the other car. “Move! Move!”

“Do you think there could be more of them?”

“I have no idea. We should check every house, every closet.” He watched the group of men put out the fire, but a moment later someone ran up to them. An older man who lived nearby was wearing a jacket over his pajamas and holding a baseball bat.

“Seven or ten,” he gasped. “They ran between the houses. People barricaded themselves inside, but you never know.”

Tommy looked at the graying man. “Are you sure?”

"Yeah, I saw them from the window. I have trouble sleeping, and the noise was really loud," he confirmed.

Tommy looked at Joel. "We'll have to look around the area. We need more men. It's still a few hours until dawn." Something in his brother's gaze suddenly made him uneasy. He'd seen something like that in his brother's eyes before. He wanted to say something, but then he heard Jesse.

"Ellie?! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was at Dina's, we were watching some movies and... What the fuck happened?" she said, "Joel?"

Joel stared at her, speechless. If Ellie was here, that meant you were home alone. He turned, looking in the direction where your house stood, a few streets apart. An icy chill ran down his spine.

"We caught two of them! The third one is dead!" someone called out from the darkness.

Tommy was saying something, but he couldn't hear him anymore. The blood was rushing in his ears and his legs were moving on their own. Then he remembered running down the street where people were coming out, where there was constant traffic. But he had to know, had to know that you were safe, that his fears were unfounded. After all, your house wasn't that close to the fence, the chance that someone would reach you, that they would choose this house.

When Joel ran onto your street, he saw the house in darkness. He almost calmed down. He heard Ellie and Dina screaming, trying to catch up with him. Behind them, one of the cars was approaching him.

He took a deep breath, filling his aching lungs with air, it only took a few seconds, and then, as he took a few steps, he heard a shot. And another one, and another.

He didn't remember how he got to the porch. The door almost fell off its hinges when he hit it with his shoulder, breaking the lock. Silence. The darkness and silence were terrifying.

He shouted your name. He saw an overturned chair, some junk scattered on the floor. He heard a noise in the hallway, and went in that direction. In the light of the car headlights that came through the window, he saw you sitting against the wall, still clutching his revolver in your hand.

"Baby!"

In the blink of an eye, he was by your side, kneeling and taking your face in his hands. You were terrified, but you were alive. It took him a moment to see the body of a man lying nearby.

"I thought it was Ellie..." you said quietly, "He surprised me..."

"Did he do something to you?" Joel asked, brushing your hair away from your face, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head. "He wanted to, but... I had your gun."

"My girl."

Tears welled up in your eyes. Joel hugged you without hesitation, feeling your hands tighten around his jacket. You were safe, you were alive.

Footsteps on the porch signaled that others had arrived at the house as well. Ellie looked like she was on the verge of despair as she fell into your arms.

"You're a fucking badass!" she sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry you were alone."

You hugged her tightly. "You're safe, that's the most important thing." You kissed her on the head. Joel's gaze met yours. The question he wanted to ask you was clear in his eyes. "I'm really okay."

"You should go to the clinic. Morris will check if you and the baby..."

"Baby?!" Ellie sat up and looked at Joel as if he had gone crazy. Her gaze shifted to your face. "Are you... Again? Really?!"

"This is not how you should find out, I'm sorry." You sighed, but Ellie didn't let you finish.

"I'll take you to the clinic. Me and Dina."

Joel nodded. "You'll stay there until I come get you." Seeing your look, he quickly added, "You'll wait for me there. We have to make sure we catch them all."

You knew there was no point in arguing with Joel and you didn't even want to. So you let them take you to the clinic, and Ellie and Dina didn't leave your side for a moment. When Morris examined you and did the ultrasound, both girls were absolutely thrilled when they saw the faint shape on the screen.

"A baby..." Ellie whispered, her eyes widening, "How can someone be so fucking small?"

"You know the baby can hear you too?" Morris asked, still staring intently at the screen.

"Shit! Sorry."

“Don’t worry.” He smiled at Ellie before turning to you. “Everything seems fine. The baby’s growing. How are you feeling?”

“Good. I’m a little more sleepy, but I don’t have any nausea or other discomfort.”

“You almost threw up your stomach last time.” Ellie noticed, and Dina nudged her in the side. “What? That’s true!”

Morris turned off the equipment and handed you some tissues to wipe your stomach. “I think you’re fine. Stay here until the situation in the city clears up. Will Joel come get you?” You nodded. “Good. You’ll get a room and you can rest.”

One of the nurses led you to a room. The clinic was quiet, and the dawn was slowly breaking outside. You weren't sure how long it would take to catch everyone who attacked Jackson. But here you were safe, although your heart was still with Joel and the others.

"So, a baby, huh?" Ellie sat down on the bed.

Dina went to look for something warm to drink and eat, and for the first time you were truly alone. You turned to the girl and smiled slightly.

"What do you think, Ellie?" you asked in a quiet voice.

"That's good, right? I mean, it's like a second chance. Are you afraid?"

"So fucking much." you laughed. "But I guess there's no other way. I just hope that this time..."

"This time everything will be fine, you'll see." the girl interrupted you. You could see the concern in her eyes, but also the certainty of what she was saying: “Joel will take care of you, and I… won’t let anything happen to you or that kid.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes, and your throat tightened painfully. But she noticed, stood up, and came over to hug you.

“You’re going to be fat,” she mumbled, and you giggled. “And Joel will still be crazy about you. You’ll be great parents. You already are.”

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson @grace-928 @umadirectioner

[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!!!!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack!

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[lnfours]

okay fianlly ! i bring to you —

— "if i fall asleep, don't hang up." "i never do, love."

— noticing them blushing coincidentally after making a comment. but they can't be blushing because of what they said. they wouldn't. would they? no, of course not...right?

alr i’m excited for this one ♡

sasha!!!! i’m so sorry this took so long, but i’m back and i hope you love this as much as i do!! thank you for being so patient with me 🥹🤍

cleaning out my inbox

your phone had rung late in the evening, once you had already followed your nightly routine and climbed into bed. you had your book in hand, the tv on for background noise, ready to relax after a long day.

you let out a sigh of slight annoyance when you heard it ringing from your nightstand. it quickly disappeared when you saw his name on your screen. you smiled softly, sliding the answer button to the right before his face popped up on your screen.

“hey,” you smiled at the curly haired man on your phone.

“hey,” he said, a tired smile on his face as he adjusted his arm behind his head, “what’re you up to?”

you held your book up to the camera and he nodded, squinting at the time in the corner of his phone, “shit, it’s that late over there already?”

“quarter to twelve,” you said, “but it’s okay,”

he shook his head, “‘m sorry, i wasn’t even thinking-“

“lan,” you chuckled, “it’s okay, just.. if i fall asleep, don’t hang up.”

he smiled, “i never do, love.”

you couldn’t help the way your cheeks turned hot, your smile growing a little wider as you bit the inside of your lip.

“what’d you get up to today?” he asked, the sound of the sheets rustling echoing through the speakers being a giveaway that he was trying to get comfortable.

“the usual,” you said, “work, came home, cleaned, ate dinner, got ready for bed, and now i’m on the phone with you,” he hummed, knowing your weekday routine pretty well, “what about you? how was media day?”

he chuckled, shaking his head, “‘m reminded every time i’m in front of the press why i like my privacy. you’re my peace and i wanna protect you from… all of this.”

you two had agreed to keep whatever this was between the two of you. take your time, not rush into labeling things. feeling things out, crossing the line you two danced around for years beforehand. the fans knew who you were, they’ve known you as long as they’ve known him, but as far as your relationship, that was just between you two and a select amount of your friends who you knew you could trust.

“is it that or do you just not wanna share me with anyone else?” you smirked, jokingly. he laughed with you, the two of you smiling at each other after a while.

“miss you,” he smiled softly, “i should probably let you get some sleep.”

you hummed, glancing at the time, “probably should,”

“i love you,” you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to him saying it, “i’ll call you tomorrow when i’m done at the track.”

“can’t wait to hear all about it,” you smiled, “good luck tomorrow. i love you.”

“goodnight, baby,”

“goodnight, lan.”

[ronearoundblindly]

Scrappy

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

Summary: You transform into a human, revealing to Steve and Bucky that you are not just Alpine, the beloved cat.

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Warnings for mentions of nudity and past trauma (nothing specific), arguing, language (because everyone is in shock), and canon-level violence (toward a bad guy). Angst with a happy-ish ending, since that will be elaborated on later. Zero editing. None of it is strictly not-safe-for-minors, but remember, your media consumption is your responsibility, yours alone, and no one else's. WC 2.1k

You were never supposed to participate, yet here you are chasing a man you know only as “Duplicate” through the woods. Bucky and Steve took off in other directions after what they thought were sole (two) version of the guy, but you have an advantage they do not: you can smell the real Duplicate in a cluster of trees.

You also have a disadvantage: in cat form, you cannot yell loud enough for Bucky and Steve to hear your discovery, and the attempts at crying have spooked the man bolting toward the road. If he makes it there, you suspect he’ll get away, possibly even steal one of your boys’ bikes to do so.

The spike of adrenaline drives you further, faster, harder. You can feel the energy is temporary. You have to stop Duplicate.

Luckily, he’s not particularly fast zigzagging through the trees, so you swipe at his ankles and legs, landing several swats and a bite, but then the cover of forest opens up to a ditch below the north lane of freeway.

One final push, and you have to make it count.

You jump, breathe straining in your lungs, chest tight from fear of failure, fury steadying your claws as they dig into his shoulders, and you pull to drag him down with all your strength.

He crumples with a wail, right on top of you. Between you’re flailing and his, no one manages to get up or out of the lock. It’s a mess of arms and legs, a din of angry grunts and curses, until Steve makes it back to wrench Duplicate off of you and fling him into a waiting left hook of Bucky’s powerful vibranium fist.

Only a few blows later, he’s unconscious, and you’ve scrambled to your feet.

“Oh, OH, shit, sorry,” Steve began to look in your direction, but swiftly covers his eyes and turns away. “I’m sorry, miss. We--we’re here to—did he hurt you?”

Bucky stares openly…at eye-level.

You transitioned from a 16-in long feline with white fur to a woman with no fur.

You’re naked.

“Wha—WHAT THE HELL!”

Steve makes a tutting noise as if Bucky’s forgotten his manners, seems to attempt an apologetic smile your way, and immediately corrects his gaze to the ground again.

With wide eyes, Bucky slowly, carefully, and deliberately says your name out loud. He even repeats it before a dumbfounded “you’re Alpine?”

Steve’s whole body snaps ramrod straight. “What?”

The pressure in your chest swells too big for your ribcage. It hurts. You panic.

They grow taller and taller in your vision, Bucky pleading for you to wait, but when he steps closer, your shaking becomes four legs bolting back to the tree line.

“You know that woman? Did you KNOW ABOUT—“

The screaming continues until you tuck yourself beneath a high root not too far into the woods. You can’t see them, only hear.

“I did not—shut up,” Bucky says to Steve. “I didn’t know, but I recognize her.”

“Buck, you gotta be shitting me. Your cat?!”

“Stop yelling, dude. You’re scaring her.”

“I’m scaring HER?”

The pang bubbles over, so what would be a sob comes bursting out as a high-pitched, pathetic cry, as weak as you felt in human form.

“Yes,” Bucky grits, more vicious than anything you’ve ever heard him say. “You are.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve hisses. “Twenty seconds ago, I didn’t think I’d spent months calling a grown woman ‘babygirl.’ That’s embarrassing…and so insulting.”

“I leave the bathroom door open. How did you think I feel?!”

There’s shuffling as Steve whispers his reply of “that’s just common courtesy, jerk. Why would—“

“I DIDN’T KNOW. Now, just—can you just stay here and make sure this asshole doesn’t—“

“She could be anywhere by—“

“Just do it, Steve,” Bucky grumbles. “We can’t risk him waking up before Containment gets here, and I’m going to go find Alpine.”

“Apparently, that’s not her name,” Steve snips. Footstep crunch through leaves and grass for a moment. “Hey, why have you seen her face?”

“I think—“ Bucky specifies he’s guessing “—her father came by after she ran away. Canvased the whole neighborhood passing out her picture. Actually, he thought she was kidnapped? Maybe?”

“You didn’t kidnap a woman, did you?!”

“No! Of course not. He was convinced she’d never run—ya know what? This is wasting time. I’m—“

You don’t want to be discovered within seconds of Bucky breaching the trees, so you run, hearing, “damn it,” before the footsteps quicken in pursuit.

You race along the tree line until banking a sharp turn to throw him off. For a minute or two, it seems to work. The energy has drained from your body, and you lie down to recover. Your blood rushes past your sensitive ears. That’s all you can hear till…

“Pretty girl, I won’t harm you. I would never harm you.” Stealthy as a ghost, Bucky creeps past the nearest log of deadwood. “I just need to know you’re okay.”

He scans his surroundings before his gaze lands directly on you.

You offer a defiant meow.

“Tired, huh?” He crouches down beside you, his flesh palm landing on your heaving chest. “Your heartbeat is so fast. That’s it. Take some nice, deep breaths. There. That’s better.”

Bucky takes a seat, saying nothing more, just monitoring you, making sure you’re comfortable and safe. He doesn’t need to say anything because it’s clear he remembers your face—your real face—and your story—the version your father tells, at least. Bucky doesn’t give you any excuses. There are no platitudes of ‘everything will be fine’ or ‘all is forgiven.’ After a long time, he simply strokes down your back how he knows you like it.

“Hey, Alpine?”

You side eye him and merp softly.

“Would you like to go home?”

With one last huff and a glance forward, you get up off the ground, grateful his face is not visible from this far below and your own face isn’t readable from that far above. Soon, you notice he’s falling back several paces and turn to tilt your head questioningly.

Bucky points. “Bike’s that way, sweetheart. Is it okay if…I mean, can I just carry you?”

You follow his finger into darkness and dense wood that looks the exact same as everywhere else, realizing you’re lost. You’d be lost without Bucky now in more ways than one.

You stride to his legs and wait to be hoisted through the air, limp and settled automatically, the familiar sweet spot in arms lulling you to rest.

“Good job today,” he whispers. “Couldn’t have done it without ya.”

Out of habit more than choice, you begin to purr, and Bucky scratches between your ears.

“You’d let me know, right? If you didn’t want something? If you hated this?”

You keep purring, eyes shut because it’s too hard to look at him, to see that he knows. You still haven’t made any sort of answer by the time his boots hit pavement.

He stops.

“Alpine, I’m sorry, but you need to use your words. Are you okay?”

A crackling, sad meow escapes you.

“You wanna go back home?”

This time, your chirp is a bit stronger, and you finally open your eyes.

There’s light everywhere, red, white, and blue, flashing endlessly like waves in moonlight.

Bucky swings his leg over his motorcycle and puts you down on the seat, unzipping his jacket as he always does to let you crawl in.

“Wait,” someone calls from all the commotion, and here comes Steve. “You…you found her?”

You scurry to hide, squeezing through the tight leather and Bucky’s rigid side, your feet poking out until you make space. If you thought it was difficult to face Bucky, you weren’t prepared for the sickly surge of Steve knowing what you really are.

“She’s fine,” Buck says simply. “We’re going home.”

“I—I gotta debrief. I can’t leave.” Steve sounds so…broken.

You can’t help but wiggle to get a peek and end up popping up from Bucky’s collar, your ears flattened, looking enough like an alien with fangs that Steve actually smiles.

“Woman, you are not riding like that,” Bucky grumbles.

“Hi” is all Steve manages, but it’s as soft as ever. “I’ll…can I come by later?” His eyes are locked with yours. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. We won’t—“ you feel Bucky’s nod more than see it in unison with Steve’s “—not until you’re ready.”

“Cap! Captain, we’re heading out!”

Steve’s smile falls, and though he’s poised to reply, again he can’t find the words. He only waves and jogs off with his head down.

You slither around beneath the jacket until in your normal spot for riding.

“What’re you, a snake now?” Bucky snorts, playfully adding, “weirdo,” and revving the engine.

This journey home is different. When you first rode the bike with him, Bucky made sure to put a hand under you at every stop, a security check of sorts, and then once you were comfortable, he seemed so proud to have your head poking out that he just enjoyed watching kids and passersby get a kick from it. He doesn’t go full speed this time. The streets are more empty than usual. Bucky doesn’t make to touch you as he stops.

Instead, he motions to this store and that.

“You like donuts? That place is pretty good.”

“Don’t go there unless you want soggy pizza. Way too much sauce. Do not let Steve tell ya different. It’s awful. Man has no standards.”

“Great shepherd’s pie at that pub. We’ll go someday. Goes well with a pint if you enjoy that sorta thing.” He shrugs. “I can’t anymore. Least, not for anythin’ but the taste…”

A clothing boutique shuts off their display lights just as you two zip past.

“Shit, honey, we gotta get you some duds. Tomorrow, maybe.”

You hop down and walk beside him on the way into the apartment, making a b-line for the couch once inside. Pointedly, Bucky sighs, heading to the bathroom, shutting the door very carefully, and cursing several times…quietly.

You’d laugh if you could.

He returns after a trip to the bedroom, a stack of clothes placed in front of you neatly, and he asks if he should give you privacy.

You don’t move from your tightly curled ball.

“Can you control it?”

You just blink.

“Do you want me to stay out here?”

He takes the lift of your head as a ‘yes.’

Bucky sits in his usual corner, rubbing his hands on his thighs awkwardly until he spots the remote on the coffee table.

He shoots you a glance and raises an eyebrow. “Next episode, m’lady?”

When you get up, stretch, and saunter over to him, he swipes the remote and gets comfortable, tipping the blanket off the back of the couch to drape over you.

You watch but hardly pay attention, your head in his lap as you fall asleep.

Your dreams rehash the fight with Duplicate. In one or two reenactments, you purposefully change to human. You’re the one punching him out. You’re the one saving the day. In one or two, Steve looks at you like a goddess, full of awe and admiration. In more than two, he screams in horror, and the last of those jolts you awake.

Bucky may not sleep deeply often, but when he does, his snoring is loud. It’s the first thing you notice, even before realizing it’s your palm pushing up against him to orient yourself.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry.” Steve whispers from at your feet—holding your human feet steady in his own lap. “You’re okay. You’re home.”

The blanket which swallowed your cat form barely covers the length of you now, and you tuck it tightly against your chest, heart hammering to keep you aware. You can feel the shrinking urge, the one that pulls you into a creature of protection, a shielded beast of caution, and it must show on your face. Perhaps your eyes change color or your ears begin to point. You don’t know, but Steve now does.

He slides farther under your legs, reaching a finger beneath your chin. His skin is warm when truly touching yours. You imagined it would be, but you never knew until this moment.

“Stay with me,” he pleads. “It’s alright.”

But what you’ve known from day one—the truth in Steve Rogers’ blue gaze—is that he can’t lie. If he says it’s alright, then it is, and if he orders you to stay…

…then you will.

[Next Part: Cozy]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

A/N: I cried writing this. I was also way too excited to post it, so tahdah, you get more two days later!

[killishin]

domestic hcs with jason

oookay so domestic jason? cus why not.

heavily inspired by the prompts from this post by @novelbear (i love her prompts so much)

dividers by @cafekitsune

in the beginning of your relationship, both of you were kinda awkward, yet less so because it took both of you quite sometime to get over the cautiousness and trust issues, and during that time the awkwardness had shredded to an extent.

it was almost smooth sailing after becoming official, sure there were still a lot of areas that were left unexplored, going wrong somewhere, having long talks or none, because sometimes neither of you needed words. you just knew what the other wanted.

and so slowly both of you eased into each other's lives, like puzzle pieces truly molded and shaped for each other, not a mere gap left. at this point nothing weirded either of you out. best friends along with lovers.

as lovely and cosy this domesticity was, it had its fair share of little bickerings.

"no. no no no. no—" jason took hold of your shoulder with one of his hand while the other easily pulled the cart away, and guided you in the opposite direction from the aisle of biscuits.

you let out a small 'tut' of disappointment before looking up at him with semi puppy eyes, since there was a hint of warning in them.

he lets out a huff of disbelief before giving you a pointed look, "no."

"oh come on what's the issue here?" you ask as if you don't know and his eyes simply become more pointed, "really? really sweetheart?"

you shrug as you take on a sort of diplomatic demeanor, as if negotiating, "trying new things isn't that bad."

"it is when you choose those horrendous new oreo flavours."

"some turn out good!"

"some, sweetheart. most don't, and then you push it away like some cat and i gotta eat it all."

"i promise I'll eat it full this time." you swear with such sincerity that he almost falls for it, almost. his lips quirk up into a smirk as he pinches your jaw in between his index and middle finger, squishing your cheeks a bit.

"not falling for that again."

"jay–"

"its the normal flavour or nothing."

"babe-"

"normal or nothing."

"fine!" you hiss in irritation and he has the audacity to smile triumphantly, leaning to brush a kiss on your forehead, "atta girl."

well jokes on him, cus the moment you approach the aisle, you put the normal one in and then your eyes inevitably pause at that new flavour, gaze fixated on it.

"sweetheart no—"

you push the packet in the cart, silence engulfing you both as you both stare at the packet in the cart.

"i am not finishing that."

you share a lot in common with him, reading is one of them. when jason is off to do his nightly duties you read to occupy your time, as that is one of the things that give you peace, other than your boyfriend. now it is not always that jason gets a night off. so when he does, you'd rather you spend it cuddled by his side, having the best sleep, since having been tired by your prior activities.

and since he has a night off, he really wants to catch up on his reading. so he does, perched on the bed with a book in hand while you were cuddle beside him with your arm thrown over his lap and head beside his thigh, fast asleep. sleep is just much much better with him, but you cannot, for the love of god, sleep with any sort of noise. light sleeper, unfortunately.

you let out a small sleepy groan, nudging your face in his thigh, tapping on his arm. "can you stop that?"

he raises a brow, brushing your hair away from your forehead, an amused smile on his face. "stop what?"

you huffed before groggily opening your eyes and propping yourself up on your elbows, "you know what? no more reading before bed. you keep waking me up with your dramatic gasps every time you turn the page."

he lets out a surprised chuckle, ruffling your hair, irking you more, "well, i'm sorry that i engage and connect deeply with literature!"

"well gasp quieter!"

"its not a gasp then!"

you give him a deadpan stare while he just gives you a pointed look with a smug smirk. not to worry he acquiesced later on, getting under the covers with you while partially draping himself on you like a weighted blanket.

".... you gasp too while reading— wha– ow! alright!"

mornings are mostly quiet between you two, neither being a morning person so naturally you're both grumpy in the morning, you more than him specifically.

you're brushing your teeth in front of the sink with a dazed look in your eyes when he enters the bathroom behind you, yawning and scratching at his abs. he nudges you gently, breaking you out of your daze as if he knew you had dissociated for a while.

as you spit and wash your mouth, your eyes hone in on his brush, particularly on the amount of toothpaste he took. and maybe normally you wouldn't have cared, it isn't even an issue.

you quickly splash your face with water before leaning your arms against the sink and staring at him through the mirror, not even drying off your face yet. "thats a lot."

he pauses as his brows furrow, ever so cutely as he looks down at his brush and then back at you, "the toothpaste?"

"yeah?"

"thats the normal amount."

"sure. normal amount for a dinosaur."

he scoffs as he leans on one of his legs, resting his arm on his hip while holding the brush in his other hand , "so how much should i take? like you? that's not enough even for a mouse?"

"how do you know how much a mouse needs?!"

"well how do you know how much a dinosaur needs?!" he retorts back and you roll your eyes as you pat your face dry.

"im just saying you don't need that much— hey!" he snatches you away by hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you snug against him. he leans down with a smirk and your brows furrow in an almost glare.

"you wanna know how much i need hm? you wanna check?" he teases as he dips his head, pecking at your lips, coaxing you into a deeper kiss while you swat lightly at his lips.

"jason!" he pecks your lips, "you-" another one, "stink!"

jason is jason for you, for the world he reserves none of his smiles, none of those charms— none. its the red hood, and if in his civilian state, he is simply a big unit with a glare that can freeze sahara. his heart along with his scars are reserved for you, but his anger and disdain is all for the world to take.

the world and anyone who hogs your attention. now, jason is protective, and maybe even jealous— to an extent, but he would never cross a line that would make you feel uncomfortable. doesn't mean he appreciates people thinking they have a chance with you, or in this case, take his place beside you.

his glares aren't as subtle as he thinks, his arms crossed as he looks at the plushies on your bed. his glare drops into an exasperated groan when you bring out a new one.

"oh my god if you buy one more plush to occupy my spot on the bed i'm kicking you out to sleep on the couch." yet he sounds rather petulant than angry, and of course, hell would freeze and he still he wouldn't dare let you take the couch.

"but they're so nice and warm and fuzzy and cuddly, like you—"

"yes and apparently im not enough."

"you should at least try—"

"i have you."

you chuckle under your breath as you slip out the bed and pass him, pressing a chaste kiss on his downturned lips, "nice try but they're staying."

cleaning the dishes is something that if prolonged, it starts getting on your nerves. more so when you're nearing the end of the pile, and a new dish is added. a sharp sigh leaves your lips as your hands go lax and you turn to stare at jason, who's looking back at you like a deer caught in headlights.

"i was about to finish."

"... saw that."

as you sigh again, more so in frustration as you continue scrubbing he laughs nervously, mumbling quiet apologies as he nears you, wrapping his arms around your waist. he rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a kiss on it.

"tired? i can finish the rest, you should go and rest."

"no i–" you sigh as you hold the washed plate towards him and he takes it, immediately falling into a natural synergy. "you were way too tired from your patrol last night. and besides im done anyways."

"two dishes won't tire me out, you know."

"yeah i know but i think you work better in cuddling me so stay there."

"whatever you say."

again, jason is a protective man. he never tires from caring for you, be it outside or even in the confines of your shared home. he always has an arm around you, shielding you from potential creeps who unnecessarily push their bodies onto you, holding hands is an absolute necessary when walking, his eyes are always on you in any gathering— like a very doting bodyguard.

but thats when you're out, at your home somehow its even more intense and it shows in those small moments. he always keeps his hands on the sharp corners if you're near, maneuvers you around the walls if you're about to smack right into them, blows on the hot pipping food too much to the point it isn't even warm— he just loves you a lot.

"you going somewhere?" he asks as he straightens up on the couch, lowering the book in his hand and you could see just how desperately he wanted to go with you.

"yeah, i promised to meet my friends over dinner." you respond as you recollect your things after pulling on your shoes.

"need me to tag along?" he asked and you could just see the tail wagging, you sigh with a smile as you wave your hand dismissively, "no no. I'll come home early don't worry."

"im still coming to pick you up."

"i know." of course he will.

"that's a really thin jacket." he points out as his eyes narrow and you pause to look down, "is it?" your lips tug in amused grin.

"take an extra jacket. its cold out." he said as he relaxed back on the couch, picking up his book again.

"okay, mom."

"i heard that!"

its not that you don't have any serious arguments, you do and they are often but they don't last long. they can't, not with jason. he can't stay away from you for much longer, he silently agrees for some space after exchanging heated words but it rarely ever prolongs to more than an hour or so. guilt and worry gnaws at his heart while his arms ache for the solace in your skin.

because at the end of the day, you are what he comes home to. that after a grueling night of wear and tear, being and living as red hood takes its toll on him. so he returns, he returns and hopes to everyday, fights to return everyday— all to see that sweet smile that comes onto your face as he comes back home.

you should be long asleep, he doesn't like it when you stay up for him. but he wouldn't deny how his heart always warms up at it, how it beats faster.

as he closes the window you straighten up on the couch, your head tilting a bit as you smile while beckoning him over.

"you okay big guy?"

somedays he banters, somedays he absolutely smothers you— but somedays, when it was particularly rough, he is quiet. so he took off his helmet, picked off his gloves and discarded his jacket just as his knees hit the floor beside you. you didn't question, you just knew he needed you and the silence.

a soft sigh left his lips as he rested his forehead on your lap, arms circling your waist and your hands immediately tangled in his hair, carding through them softly. your nails lightly scratched his scalp, then you knelt down and pressed a kiss on his head, illiciting another sigh.

"missed ya."

"missed you too."

he may one day be beyond saving, maybe his scars would just run too deep, yet even then he wouldn't dare submit to death— not when you still exist in his life.

NOTE: this was supposed to be a small drabble but i got carried away....

[lily-sofii]

shadow milk x faerie reader smut.... thats all i got...

The new favorite puppet

TW(?) : female reader, reader is a virgin, reader hates shadow but then loves him, shadow doesn't care about what you think (He just seeks pleasure), SHADOW MILK HAS TWO COCKS, double penetration, anal and vaginal sex, squirting, overstimulation (on both sides), in the end you like Shadow Milk

A/N: My current proofreader is on break, so this had to be read by my classmate (sorry babe). So, please excuse any mistakes we might have missed💕🙏 NOW UPDATED AND WITH A FEW MORE FIXED MISTAKES!!

Shadow Milk Cookie hates faeries. But you? He’d rather die than see your face ever again. The second he gets out of this prison, this tree, he’ll take his revenge on you. On all the faeries. But as far as things are now, that all remains a fantasy.

“Shadow Milk, are you even listening?”

Shadow Milk lets out a growl from annoyance, his eyes snapping towards you. You’ve been visiting him for days now… or has it been months? He can’t tell, time has become more and more distorted since he was captured. What makes it even worse is, that the only thing keeping him somewhat sane is your presence, and your never-closing mouth.

But don’t think too highly of yourself, you pathetic faerie, the company of a dying animal that can make noise and can be talked to would also suffice. Maybe Shadow Milk would have even preferred that over you. A goddamn faerie cookie.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, as I was saying…”

There you go again, talking about boring nonsense he doesn’t care about. It felt like death. Death of annoyance and boredom, and all of it by your hands. Or rather, your never-closing mouth.

His thoughts get interrupted by noises and screams coming from the faerie village nearby. The village where you live. Have they finally noticed you’ve been gone? Gone for literal hours? Honestly, he was surprised it took this long. Weren’t faeries meant to be caring to each other?

Maybe his intuition was right, maybe you were different.

Noticing the noise coming from the village too, you sigh and look at Shadow Milk, a panicked expression on your face.

“I-I think I’ve been here for too long. Sorry, I have to leave, now!”

Shadow Milk nods, his face returning to the one of boredom, even though he was excited. FINALLY you were leaving. A small bit of time of piece and quiet.. until you come back at least. Which, as far as his knowledge of you goes, will be tomorrow.

You quickly stand up from your sitting position, your foot catching on a root, making you fall back to the ground. How did a root manage to wrap around your ankle? That doesn’t matter, you need to leave, and fast. No one can see you here.

You roughly yank your ankle from the root, a tearing sound coming from it. You gasp slightly as you see it disconnect from the tree, a feeling of doom coming over you. What have you done? Is the silver tree gonna be okay now?

Your head turns to the path you came here from, hearing voices coming closer and closer. It’s the other faeries searching for you.

“Uh-oh, my cookie, you need to leave. We wouldn’t want you to be found near me and this prison, would we?”

His voice takes on a cocky, almost mocking tone. But he’s right, you have to go.

Glancing at him one more time you sigh, running the opposite way from the voices. They won’t find you that way, right?

Shadow Milk stays in his place, although not from his free will, hearing leaves and branches snapping under each of your steps. But he doesn’t seem to be the only one to notice the ruckus you’re causing. The faeries that were here to search for you seem to hear it too, running after you as fast as they can.

But that makes everything oh so better for him, doesn’t it?

Shadow Milk tilts his head to the root you tore out, a faint glow emanating from it. Oh, wasn’t he the lucky one?

And you the unlucky one who’ll have to deal with the aftermath of the mistake you have accidentally done.

—---------------------------------------

You were right, the voices you heard were the other faeries that were looking for you. And a few minutes after you ran from Shadow Milk Cookie they caught up to you.

But the good thing is that they were none the wiser about your visit to Shadow Milk… or the broken root of the tree he’s in.

But hey, today is a new day, I’m sure that the room has gone back and regrew into an even stronger one!

Honestly, who are you kidding? You certainly know that you’re just looking for an excuse to go back to Shadow Milk. I mean, who wouldn’t want to return back to the only cookie that has ever listened to them?

Looking around the faerie village you reside in, you make sure no one is looking before making haste. Everyone was always so busy from sunrise to sundown that they would almost never notice you going missing in this timeframe. So why not make the best of it.

Once you finally sneak your way into the forest that surrounds your village, do you truly feel safe. Like you can let out a sigh of relief, you didn’t know you were holding in. It all felt more peaceful, and that says a lot coming from a faerie.

Finding your way back to the path you seem to always come back to, your feet begin to move a bit faster. Were you truly getting excited about seeing Shadow Milk again? Sadly, yes.

Humming softly, you finally approach the tree, stopping dead in your tracks. Where is Shadow Milk? And why does the tree look so… dead?

You feel your heart crack as you run to the tree, branches broken and creeper torn off, left on the ground to rot.

Did you cause this? Was this all your fault because you ripped the root with your foot as you ran? Did you cause the death of the Silver tree? Did you cause the escape of Shadow Milk?

“Mwe he he… Look who came back to see the disaster they caused!”

You feel a similar hold of dread grip on you, the voice of Shadow Milk feeling like it was ripping your ears right off. Why does his voice sound so different? Wait, does it? No, of course not. You only think it does because of his freedom, because of the power he now holds. Don’t be fooled, he always held this power, but when he was in the tree, he couldn’t use it.

That is not the case now.

“Oh, are you even listening?”

He’s mocking your words from yesterday.

Shadow Milk’s eyes open in the shadows near the tree, his body fully covered in the shadows. He squints his eyes as he watches your movement, seeing you slowly turn back towards the village. Oh, are you gonna tell the other faeries? Tell them that you’ve been going to Shadow Milk daily and that you freed him? Oh, he doesn’t think so.

“Are you seriously leaving already? You’re always here for hours.”

Yes you’re seriously gonna leave! You need to tell the other faeries, they’ll know what to do! They’ll surely put him back in the prison where he belongs!

“You are quiet, are you shocked that this is all your fault?”

You shake your head and take a few steps back, your eyes wide with fear. You need to go back to the village and fast.

Turning on your heel you face away from Shadow Milk’s glowing eyes in the shadows, running away… or at least attempting to. Just a few steps in your escape and you hear Shadow Milk’s footsteps thumping behind you, catching up to you fast.

You let out a sob when you feel his hand grab you, stopping you in your tracks. He fists your shirt and slams you on the ground, pinning you to it. Just now do you see him for the first time in light. Just now do you see what he truly looks like. A dark jester with the eyes of a madman. A powerful madman.

The outfit he’s wearing resembles a medieval court jester, but something is… off about it. It may be the soul jam he has on the ruffled collar, or the jester hat he has on, but it was just… not normal.

But what beast cookie is normal?

“Why the rush? Let’s take our time like we always have.”

Let's not do that!

Shadow Milk cackles and grabs onto your faerie robe, pulling it off of your shoulders.

You were absolutely disgusted. Both because of his touch, and because you knew what he was gonna do.

The virginity of a faerie was sacred, and if Shadow Milk was gonna take yours, it would be as if he took away your very life.

“You don’t seem to like this…” Was he seriously cooing at you? “Well that’s TOO BAD! How do you think I felt when you stupid faeries stuffed me into a tree prison?!” There is his normal voice… well, a slightly angry one, but it feels more normal than when he was cooing.

He lets out an annoyed groan when he cannot pull your white robes off, deciding to rip them off. You gasp out a breath when you hear the white silk robes rip under his fingers, the fine material giving up under his strength.

He discards the silk robes aside, his fingers moving down on your cotton panties. the cotton felt pure before, but now his fingers were tainting it with his. Lovely sin. Every faerie cookie alway told you to not become tainted by sin, but Shadow Milk cookie’s touch felt so right, so holy… despite his actions being anything but that.

You cannot believe how right this feels. Why aren’t you fighting back? You’re a faerie for god’s sake!

“Stopped fighting back I see… hehehe, now we can finally both have fun. Don’t worry I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself too.”

God, yes please. You aren’t sure what switched inside you as a faerie, but this felt incredible. You don’t care that this goes against your faerie teaching anymore. You need Shadow Milk cookie, and you need him now.

He hooks his fingers under your panties and pulls them off softly, stuffing them in his pocket. Was he seriously pocketing your used panties to keep them for later? Apparently so.

Shadow Milk dips two of his fingers into your, surprisingly, dripping cunt, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

“I thought that faeries like you would hate this, but look at you.”

He pulls his fingers out of your cunt with an embarrassingly loud squelch, spreading them apart in front of your face, showcasing the threads of your arousal webbing between them.

“Already this wet without me needing to do anything. But I suppose that’s good, makes it less painful for the both of us.”

His blue hands reach under his ruffled collar, a soft click of his nails against a zipper being heard through the forest. Your breathing heavies when you see him opening his dark jester costume, revealing his scrawny, pale blue body to you. Your breath catches in your throat when the zipper stops above his crotch, a huge bulge visible.

When other faeries spoke about their sexual acts with one another, you alway heard them saying that cocks were big, but this… this seemed impossibly big. Shadow Milk cackles at your stare before slipping the sleeves of the jester overall off, before moving to his waist, pulling it down to his thighs.

Your eyes widen when you see his erections rise to his stomach, being finally freed from their cloth prison. Did he always wear no underwear under the suit? Wait, erections? There’s more than one?

“Well, well, you seem surprised, my little sheep (shadow). Have you never seen anyone like me? Actually… have you ever even seen anyone under these circumstances?”

God knows you haven’t, but you are not about to say that to Shadow Milk. You’d much rather die from embarrassment. You have only heard about this act from the other faeries judging their respective partners, but from what you remember, they never mentioned a cookie having two cocks!

Not bothering to fully take off his jester costume, he keeps it pooled around his thighs, kneeling between your legs. He grabs you by the calf and puts your legs over his lean shoulders, your knee pit now snugly fitting against his collarbones.

He grabs one of his cocks and presses it to your entrance, his mouth falling open slightly when he feels heat coming off of your body. That’s enough to tell him you want this too… you need this too.

“My little lamb doesn’t even need prep, does she? You’re so wet that I’ll slip right in.”

You squeeze your eyes shut from how humiliating his words feel, not having any need to see his smug face along with his words.

“No, NO! That won’t do! You have to watch! You have to look at me!”

Shadow Milk grips your jaw between his index finger and thumb, forcing your face near his. His tongue lolls out with an erotic-sounding ‘plop’ before moving to lick your cheek.

You let out a guttural sound of disgust, the rough texture of his tongue feeling absolutely disgusting on your cheek. But… you don’t want him to stop.

One of his hands slips from your jaw to your wrists and pins them above your head, his other hand still on one of his cocks.

You feel as if the wind gets knocked out of your lungs when he presses the tip of one of his cocks to your entrance, feeling his eyes boring into your soul. Your eyes snap open and look at him, seeing his face scrunched up in pleasure.

“Finally, your eyes are back on me.”

His hips snap to meet yours, the entirety of his cock slipping inside of you in one go. You throw your head back in pleasure, feeling him stretch you to limits you didn’t know were possible.

The hand that Shadow Milk had on his cock before now reaches to your lower stomach, pressing down on it slightly. Your mouth falls open with a loud moan as Shadow Milk’s hand makes contact with your stomach, pressing down on where his cock is inside you.

He cackles slightly as he begins thrusting his cock into your cunt, deciding not to even go slow. He knew you could take it.

You continue your song of pleasure as his hips thrust against yours in a fast pace, but you can’t help but notice his other cock pressing against your butt each time his hips snap back against yours.

Shadow Milk moves his hand from your stomach to your breast, giving it a rough squeeze. His head, which was looming over you to watch your pleasured reactions, lowers to your other, unoccupied breast, his mouth opening to let his tongue lick at your hardened nipple. The cry of pleasure you let out due to his action makes him feel more excited than he is until now, his hips picking up speed, his mouth wrapping fully around your nipple to suck on it.

Your brain feels like it’s melting. This is all too much. The cock ramming into your deepest parts, feeling as if it was ramming into your womb. The hand on your breast with your other breast having his lips wrapped around it, his other cock slapping against your skin. It felt unreal.

One of your hands manages to slip from his grasp, moving down to his other, vacant, cock. Your hand can’t even manage to fully wrap around his cock, but you still jerk him off in a loose grip.

Shadow Milk’s breath hitches as you slowly move your hand over his cock, your thumb running over the tip of his cock. He moves his mouth off your breast, his eyes moving to lock with yours.

“You ngh… slutty little lamb…”

His hand swats yours off his cock, pinning it back above your head.

“Oh, you’re seriously this needy? Well, who am I to decline?”

He grabs his cock and lines it up to your ass, but narrows his eyes upon doing so. You’re a virgin, aren’t you? You’re a faerie, of course, you haven’t done anything. Especially not in your ass.

Shadow Milk lets go of one of his cock and presses his fingers to your lips, smiling menacingly.

“Suck them or I won’t bother to prep you.”

Not exactly being keen on Shadow Milk shoving his cock into your ass without prep, you listen. Opening your mouth, he shoves three fingers in, making you gag as he pushes them all the way in, the tips reaching into your throat.

He laughs and snaps his hips, delivering an especially harsh thrust to your cunt. You moan around his fingers, flexing your arms to try and get out of his grip. You need to hold him.

When he’s satisfied with how saliva-coated his fingers are he pulls them out of your mouth, lowering them back to your ass.

He looks at you and slows his thrusts slightly, looking at your facial expression to note if he sees any discomfort or fear. But he sees none.

Taking it as a good sign, he presses one of his fingers to your entrance, pushing it in. You gasp and throw your head back, the cock in your cunt making you feel a bit better.

The finger in you didn’t feel painful as you thought it would, it just felt odd… uncomfortable. Logically so, it was an intrusion that your body was not made to take.

Shadow Milk presses his finger in deeper, the second knuckle of his middle finger now touching your rim. You groan and arch your back, your hips twitching to close around the cookie between them. He lets out an annoyed groan and lets go of your wrists, moving the hand that held you down to your clit, rubbing lazy circles on it.

You moan and move your now unrestrained arms up towards him, wrapping them around his torso. You need to feel closeness, to feel him.

“Ngh.. you’re doing so good, so good for me. Let’s do a bit more, yeah?”

He adds another finger into you, making you squeal out in pleasure. It no longer feels odd, it feels as if it was made for you. As if you were made for him.

Growing impatient he pulls his finger out of you, grabs his cock and presses it against your ass. You shudder and open your shaking thighs to allow him easier access, sighing softly when his tip presses against your entrance.

“It’s fine, my lamb… You better get used to this, we’ll be doing this together a lot more…”

He lets out a spine-tingling cackle, pushing the tip of his cock into you. He stops thrusting his other cock that is deep in your cunt in order to sheat his cock into your ass, his finger still rubbing your clit in an attempt to loosen you up more.

You moan and cling to him, pulling him close to you. One of your hands moves to the wrist of the hand that is rubbing on your clit, attempting to push him away weakly. It all felt like too much, but you needed more.

Shadow Milk snaps his hips forward and pushes his cock halfway into your ass, making you sob out in pleasure. He laughs and lowers his head, kissing your jaw and neck before biting down on it roughly, breaking your skin. You whine and squeeze your arms around him tighter, his rough-textured tongue lapping up the blood that runs from the bite he has created.

“Just a little bit more, then the real show will begin.”

He moans quietly as he drinks up your blood, making a hickey around the bloody bite mark. With your pleasure-filled brain you barely notice him sucking on your neck, or the fact that he’s inching his cock into your ass.

When he bottoms out, he lets go of your neck, his hips still, to let you adjust to your new fullness. One of his hands stays near your cunt, his fingers rubbing your clit, his other hand moving to your breast to squeeze it gently, twisting your nipple between his fingers.

After about a minute of adjusting you still feel slight discomfort from one of his cocks being in your ass, but you can’t take it anymore. You need him to move. You need him.

Shadow Milk raises his eyebrow and smirks when he feels you grinding back against his cocks, moving his hips to pull his cocks out slightly before snapping his hips back. Your mouth falls open in pleasure, letting all of the moans he causes to be let out.

Noticing that you’re in no pain or discomfort, he begins to thrust harder, his hips picking up speed too. His hand that’s on your clit begins to add pressure, and the hand that was on your breast moves up to your neck, squeezing it.

It isn’t enough to make you choke, but it’s enough to slightly restrict your airflow. It’s enough to stimulate you further, to excite you.

Shadow Milk shudders and pulls you closer to him with each thrust, feeling like he needs more. His thumb presses into your jugular notch, making his grip firmer so that he can move your body against his.

You loved this.

Gasping your eyes widen and you shake your head, your walls squeezing around his cocks. You were so close, just a little bit more to send you over the edge!

Understanding that you’re close, Shadow Milk gets rougher with his movement, moving down to capture your mouth in a hungry and desperate kiss. His lips part a bit, letting his tongue lull out to lick at your lips, his tongue moving into your mouth to explore it.

Your tongues dance against each other in a desperate, heated fashion, your bodies entangled in a passionate entanglement.

Rubbing on your clit faster, Shadow Milk breaks the kiss, his hips shuddering.

You let out an earsplitting moan, feeling the cock that is in your cunt cum inside of you, making you squirt around him. He shudders when he feels your walls squeeze around his cocks, still thrusting despite your overstimulation. You let out a sob from how overwhelmed your body feels, your hands move to push against his chest in a need to push him away.

“I know it’s too much, my lamb, but I just need a bit more… Just hold on a bit longer.”

Didn’t he also cum already? Why does he need to keep going? Is he purposefully trying to make you cry from overstimulation? It sure feels like it!

His hips keep moving, granted at a slower rate than before, but it still feels like it’s too fast for your oversensitive body.

His hips and movement begin to become more and more inconsistent, along with his speech becoming more and more blurted. What was before ‘Please, just a bit more’ and ‘You’re doing so good for me’ has now turned into incomprehensible babbles of begging and borderline sobbing.

Looking down at his expression, you can see he’s also overstimulated, the corners of his closed eyes having small tears forming in them.

Shadow Milk delivers a few more thrusts before lowering his head to your chest, biting down onto your breast in an attempt to hide his moan as he cums from his other cock, filling you up to amounts you didn’ know were possible. You flinch as you feel his cum flow into your ass, the sensation of his teeth on your breast sending you over the edge one more time. You sob and wrap your ankles around his waist as your overstimulated body delivers another orgasm from you, your hands pushing on his head to pull him off your breast.

Shadow Milk complies with your demand and lets go of your breast, grabbing onto your ankles to make you unwrap them from him.

“Don’t get too comfortable, this doesn’t mean I like you, my dear lamb.”

You gasp when your legs unhook from around his waist, falling down to the ground. He roughly pulls away from you, his cocks slipping from your holes.

Shadow Milk walks over to where his discarded clothes lay, putting them back on.

“I do hope you and I meet again, despite you being a faerie.”

And with that, the deceitful beast cookie disappears into the Shadows, not to be seen by you again.

You need to get back to the village and tell the other faeries about his escape, but it would be for the best if you left out the part about having sex with the escapee.

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter 4

previous | chapter 4 | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (no use of y/n)

꩜ CW: swearing, mentions of smoking, tension, yearning (lmk if i missed any)

꩜ WC: 9.7K (UMMMMM)

꩜ A/N: this is a LONG ASS chapter, and holy fuck it is some chapter, i’m edging yall atp. (if u caught the jackieshauna reference i love u)

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

Since the shopping trip with Ellie—and all the unspoken tension that came with it—Friday flew by. The diner was as packed as ever, but with Maria’s guidance, you held things down. Before you even realized it, you’d survived your first week as assistant manager. You gave yourself a well-deserved mental pat on the back.

Back at your apartment, Sally was nowhere to be seen. You figured she was probably out with her boyfriend, which meant you had the place to yourself. Heaven. You took your time unwinding—long shower, softest pajamas, candles lit, and the warm flicker of the TV glow filling the room.

You curled up on the couch with dinner and a dumb sitcom playing in the background, halfway through your meal when it hit you: you hadn’t texted Ellie all day. That was... rare. But understandable, with the week you’d both had—her prepping for the gala, you juggling work.

You reached for your phone and opened her contact.

“Hey there, how’s everything going?”

Her reply came seconds later:

“helloo, sorry I've been arranging all my shit for tomorrow, hbu?”

“Just chilling, long day. Glad it’s finally the weekend.”

There was a short pause before the next message came.

“Can I be honest for a sec? I’m kinda terrified about tomorrow.”

That one made your chest ache a little. Ellie always had a hard time accepting good things—like she didn’t deserve them, or worse, like she might mess them up before they could even begin.

You didn’t waste time replying:

“I get it, Els. But you’ll do amazing as always—and you’ll look hot while doing it, so there’s really no need to worry.”

Ellie stared at the message a little too long. Her stomach twisted—but this time, not from nerves.

It was almost midnight. You yawned, stretching out.

“You should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. We don’t want you walking around like a zombie out there.”

She smiled, already feeling lighter.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sleep deprivation is getting to me. I’ll pick u up tomorrow at 6pm sharp.”

“Yes ma’am. Goodnight, Ellie ;)”

“Night :)”

She tossed her phone onto the bed and groaned, flopping backwards like gravity was suddenly ten times heavy. “What am I doing?” she muttered to no one. Eventually—after flipping around and staring at the ceiling like it held answers—she finally drifted off, all her worries vanishing away. Tomorrow would be a whirlwind.

Late morning sunlight cut through her curtains, hitting her square in the face. Ellie groaned, eyes scrunching shut before she blinked awake, freckles bathed in warm light. She sat on the edge of the bed, hair sticking up in every direction, she rubbed the sleep off her eyes, staring at the neatly folded clothes on the armchair—laid out with unusual care the night before.

White button-up. Black slacks. Blazer. Loafers, cleaned and polished. She made her way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, blinking at herself in the mirror. Wide-eyed. Awake now. After that she headed to her small kitchen, grabbing some milk and cereal for breakfast. Could never go wrong with it.

Her camera bag was sprawled on the small dining table, along with all the equipment she had already double checked, but would probably check it again later. She’d charged all her batteries, packed backup lenses, made sure she had her extra SD cards— She could do this in her sleep. Still, her leg bounced as she sat, stomach tightening.

This wasn’t just another gig. It was the gig. The one that could open doors, land her work in bigger publications, finally get her name out there in the way she always said she didn’t care about. But now that it was here, she did care. A lot.

And then there was you.

Her chest tightened at the thought of seeing you in that dress. Standing beside her. Laughing. Maybe letting your arm brush hers like you always did, like you didn’t even notice it anymore—though she always did. You were going to be there. Looking…well. However you were going to look, it would be stunning. You always looked good no matter what.

But tonight? In a dress? At her side? Ellie felt like she needed to lay down. Again.

She needed to stop these thoughts, you probably weren’t even thinking about her like that. Shit maybe, you didn’t even notice it. But the truth is, you noticed. Every little detail. The way her eyes glistened when she saw you, or her nose scrunched just a bit when she laughed. It made her feel like an idiot, but she couldn’t bring herself to face… whatever this was.

She ran her hand through her hair and stood up, forcing herself to move. Shower. That would help. Hot water and routine. Maybe call Joel too.. She peeled off her hoodie, grabbed a towel, and headed into the bathroom. But the second the water turned on, her thoughts spiraled again.

What if you looked too good? What if people thought you were her date? Worse—what if they didn’t?

What if you felt out of place? What if you regretted coming?

“Get it together, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, scrubbing her hair like it personally offended her. “It’s just a job.”

But even as she said it, she could already picture the way your eyes would light up when you saw the venue. Or how you’d lean in to whisper something, your shoulders brushing hers.

Her stomach flipped.

She got out of the shower and dried off quickly, throwing on a clean shirt and boxers before stepping back into her room. Her phone buzzed with a text. It was you.

“Morning sunshine. Ready for the big day?

Ellie smiled, thumbs hovering.

"I’ve been triple checking all my equipment since last night, I think I'm getting there."

You smirked at the message, still laying in bed, too warm to get up.

“Well, if it makes you feel better I already looked up pictures of the venue and the fundraising and everything”

“lol, you’re a weirdo”

“u love it”

You tossed your phone to the side, finally getting out of bed, saturdays were always for slow mornings, you didn’t care about waking up early. The apartment was quiet as usual, just the sounds of the outside world, and the soft hum of the tv in the living room.

Sally sat curled on the couch, coffee in hand. “Morning. There’s still some in the pot.”

“You are an angel.” you replied, heading to the kitchen counter and pulling your favorite mug out of the small cabinet, the mug felt warm in your hands, steam blowing out of the dark liquid. You joined Sally at the other end of the couch. Both of you falling into the usual chatter, tv playing in the background with some news channel. You really enjoyed Sally’s presence, even if both of you were extremely different, you got along well.

You made some actual breakfast (which was more of a brunch considering the time) and ate it on the table, gossiping every now and then or just doom-scrolling on your phones. You checked the time and it was almost 3p.m., time to start getting ready. Standing up you excused yourself off the table and dropped both plates on the sink, heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth and do your skincare routine.

Sally hung in your room for a bit, helping you get your hair done, tossing it into rollers that made you look ridiculous—but she swore the blowout would be worth it. You trusted her.

Barely.

Still, your brain kept drifting. Would Ellie think you looked good? Was it too much? Too little?

Your overthinking wasn’t helping at all. You reached for your makeup bag and started applying your foundation with a soft brush, blending it carefully all over your face, while a playlist hummed from Sally’s phone, you continued applying more products while she did your hair, it was almost therapeutic.

Meanwhile, Ellie stared at her open closet like it was some kind of puzzle she couldn’t solve.

The button-up was already laid out—crisp white, freshly ironed. Beside it, black slacks and the blazer she wasn’t sure looked cool or like she was going to a job interview. She adjusted the sleeves again for the fifth time, then stepped back like that would somehow make the outfit look better.

This was stupid. It was fine. It was neutral and professional and not trying too hard. Except… her brain wouldn’t stop poking at the same thought over and over again: What if you looked at her and didn’t feel anything at all?

She huffed and ran a hand through her hair, combing it with her fingers.

There was nothing else to tweak about her camera bag. She’d gone over every lens, every battery, every backup memory card like a maniac. Her whole gear kit was triple-checked, zipped up, and ready to go by noon. Which meant the rest of the day was just… waiting. And spiraling.

She sat on the edge of her bed, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve, before grabbing her phone. She dialed Joel’s number.

“Hey kiddo, everything alright?” His voice was warm, grounding.

“Hey Joel... yeah. I guess. Just a little nervous about this gig I’ve got later. It’s kinda a big one.” She tugged at her shirt hem as she talked.

“You mean that fancy fundraiser thing? Where you gotta play nice with the rich folks?” He chuckled.

“Yup. That’s the one.”

“Thought you said you weren’t worried about that?”

“I wasn’t. Now I am.”

Joel was quiet for a beat. “This about the gig... or the girl?”

Ellie groaned. “Don’t start.”

“Can’t help it. You’ve only mentioned her about two dozen times.”

“She’s coming as my plus one,” Ellie muttered. “Not—like—not a date. Just… kind of.”

Another chuckle. “Ellie, I’ve seen you more relaxed on a rooftop during a thunderstorm. You sure you’re just nervous about the photos?”

She went quiet.

“Look,” Joel said, his voice softer. “You’ve done way harder things than dress up and take pictures. You’ve worked your ass off. You deserve this. And from what I’ve seen, that girl’s lucky to be standin’ next to you tonight.”

Ellie rubbed her forehead. “I just… don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You won’t. You’re gonna knock it outta the park. Just be yourself. Take the shots. Let yourself enjoy it. And maybe—if the moment’s right—don’t be afraid to tell her how you feel.”

But that’s the thing. Ellie didn’t know how she felt. And it was killing her inside.

Ellie gave a breathy laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.”

“Maybe. But sometimes you need a little push. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

She smiled, a quiet warmth settling in her chest. “Thanks, man.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

She hung up, feeling just a little calmer.

She laid back down, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, it was still early to pick you up, so she decided to have a smoke, maybe that would relax her a bit. She leaned against the window, cigarette burned between her fingers, smoke curling lazily toward the sky.

She took a drag, exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dance in front of her.

You were probably finishing your makeup, or fixing your hair. Maybe pacing. Maybe not even nervous at all. That made her stomach twist worse.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered to herself, flicking ash onto the pavement. “It’s not even a date. Just work, a big one.”

Except it wasn’t just work. And it did feel like a date. Because you’d said yes. Because you were getting dressed up—for her. And that meant something.

She finished the cigarette, stomping the butt on the ashtray by her bedside. Then she glanced at the time.

5:30 PM.

“Shit.” she grabbed her camera bag, along with the case that contained her tripod and stepped out the door.

You smoothed your palms over your dress for the fifth time.

Sally was standing behind you in the mirror, carefully removing the last roller from your hair like she was defusing a bomb. “Okay,” she said, voice hushed with reverence. “Turn around.”

You did. Slowly.

And when she beamed—hands clutched dramatically to her chest—you knew she wasn’t faking it.

“Oh my god. Babe. You look hot. Like... ruin-a-man’s-life hot.”

You laughed, nervously adjusting the straps. “It’s not too much?”

“It’s perfect,” she said, tugging your hands away from your waist. “Stop fidgeting. Ellie’s jaw is gonna hit the floor.”

You tried to play it off with a shrug, but your heart was pounding. You’d never gone all out like this—not for a date, not for anyone. But tonight? You didn’t want to just look nice. You wanted to look like someone Ellie couldn't look away from.

Back in your room, you added the final touches. Lipstick. Perfume. Earrings that caught the light. You stood in front of the mirror, hands on your hips, trying to steady your breathing.

“You’ve got this,” you whispered to your reflection. “It’s not a date. It’s just... a gala. With Ellie. Who is your best friend. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. You were spiraling.

What if you were overdressed—or worse, underdressed? What if she looked at you and saw right through you? Saw all the messy, fluttery feelings you kept trying to shove into the background?

The knock on the door snapped you out of it.

Sally opened the door, greeting Ellie politely, like she had done before.

“She’s just adding the final touches—” Sally said as she let Ellie in the apartment “she’ll be out in a second, have fun at the gala” and with that she disappeared into her room. Ellie sat on the couch, hands clammy, hair tied in a half up, half down bun. Suddenly she heard your voice down the hall.

“Sorry, I was battling with these earrings but I’m all done—” Your gaze hadn’t met hers yet, but when it did, the world narrowed to one thing: her.

Ellie stood there, hands stuffed into her pockets, blazer sharp, button-up crisp. But that wasn’t what stopped you cold.

It was the look on her face.

Like she’d just forgotten how to speak.

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “…Wow.”

You laughed under your breath. “Good wow or bad wow?”

She blinked hard, eyes dragging down the length of you and back up like she was trying to memorize every detail. “Good wow,” she said, finally. “Like… insanely good. Holy shit.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

She scratched the back of her neck, looking helpless. “You, uh… you clean up nice.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased. “Very professional.”

“Good,” she muttered. “’Cause I’m gonna be winging the hell out of this.”

You both laughed, the tension breaking slightly—but the air between you still buzzed with something you refused to address.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then Ellie glanced sideways at you, her voice softer. “Seriously… you look incredible.”

And you—despite your best efforts—blushed. “Thanks, El.” you said, eyes falling into the poorly tied tie around her neck. It made you giggle.

“Ellie,” you breathed out a laugh, stepping closer. “What the hell is this?”

“I know, I know,” she groaned, hands raised in surrender. “I watched three YouTube videos and still managed to screw it up. It’s cursed.”

“Come here,” you said, tugging gently at the fabric.

She swallowed hard as you stood close—close enough to smell your perfume, to see the tiny shimmer of highlighter on your cheekbones.

Your fingers worked quickly, but your eyes kept flicking up to hers. “You really didn’t have anyone growing up to teach you how to do this?”

“Joel wears bolo ties,” she muttered. “The man’s useless in the formalwear department.”

You giggled and kept tying.

Ellie couldn’t focus on anything. Not your hands, not your lips, not how soft your voice got when you whispered, “There we go. All fixed.”

She looked down at you. You looked up at her.

And for a second, everything stilled. The hallway faded. The air crackled with electricity.

Neither of you moved.

Then you gave her tie one last tug, playful but firm. “Okay, now you look like you know what you’re doing.”

She cleared her throat, stepping back. “Cool. Cool, yeah. You, uh. Ready to go?”

You nodded, clutching your purse, heart pounding in your chest.

Sally popped her head out from her bedroom. “Don’t you two look fancy. Have fun and don’t let the rich people steal your souls.”

“Noted,” Ellie said with a salute. You waved goodbye and stepped out into the doorway beside her.

Your fingers brushed as you walked side by side. Neither of you pulled away.

The drive started quiet. Ellie’s truck hummed steadily down the road, golden hour casting everything in that honey glow. You sat with your hands folded in your lap, legs crossed at the ankles, feeling the nervous heat spread through your skin like your body couldn’t decide if it was freezing or burning up. Maybe both.

Soft music played from the speakers—something chill and vaguely indie, the kind of playlist Ellie always had on in the background but never skipped a single song from.

You fidgeted nervously with the zipper of your purse, pulling it up and down, up and down, the faint zip sound filling the silence in between the songs. Meanwhile, Ellie’s fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel, pinky twitching, ring finger drumming.

You caught her stealing a glance.

Quick. Like she hadn’t meant to.

But she did. And you did too.

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting hers for half a second before she snapped them back to the road. The corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Then Ellie cleared her throat. “So uh… the venue’s downtown, just off Main. It’s at this weird, bougie museum-turned-ballroom thing. Pretentious, honestly.”

You laughed gently. “Sounds perfect for you.”

“Oh, 100%,” she nodded, finally letting out a real smile. “Nothing says Ellie Williams like white wine and too many people pretending they’ve read The New Yorker.”

You grinned, relaxing into your seat a little more.

The car turned onto a wider avenue. The sun had started to dip behind the skyline now, streaking the sky in lavender and rose. You could still feel her sneaking glances—watching you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. Your hands. Your legs. The way your lips moved when you smiled at something on the radio.

Her knee bounced.

Your heart did too.

You turned slightly, voice softer now. “You okay?”

Ellie nodded quickly, eyes on the road. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just…” She exhaled through her nose, then gave you a sideways glance. “A little nervous.”

You smiled shyly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re going to do amazing Ellie, there’s no need to worry.”

The tension softened—but it didn’t go away. It just shifted. Only if you knew that the thing making her nervous was you in that dress…

The closer you got to the venue, the more your stomach fluttered. Ellie turned onto a side street, passing a long line of fancy cars parked in front of the tall glass-and-marble building up ahead.

People in gowns and suits walked across the entrance plaza under strings of lights, the early evening glow making everything look like a scene out of a movie.

Ellie pulled into a parking spot a few blocks away, engine cutting out. Neither of you moved for a second.

She looked over at you again, this time slower. A little longer. “Ready?”

You nodded, voice quiet. “Yeah.”

You both stepped out of the truck, feet clicking softly on the pavement.

Ellie walked a half-step ahead of you as you made your way toward the venue, but she kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure you were close behind. Your dress swayed with every step, catching the soft breeze, and Ellie—despite the nervous buzzing in her chest—managed to hold the door open for you like it was second nature.

The moment you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

“Holy fuck,” you murmured.

The lobby alone looked like something out of a dream—gleaming marble floors, tall arching ceilings wrapped in soft, golden light, modern art installations scattered between sculpted pillars. A string quartet played somewhere deeper inside, the music echoing through the open space like silk in the air.

Ellie let out a low whistle next to you. “Jesus. This place is… yeah.”

You both stood there for a second, completely still, like tourists in a museum too fancy to touch anything. And for a moment, it didn’t matter that Ellie was here to work, or that this was technically a fundraiser gala. It just felt like the two of you had stumbled into someone else’s glamorous night.

She turned to you, lips parted to say something, but stopped herself. Her eyes flicked down your figure and back up again—slow, deliberate, a little dazed.

You blinked at her. “What?”

She shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Nothing. Just—hope you’re ready to be the hottest person in the room.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. “Please. I’ve never seen anyone look better in a suit.”

Ellie laughed, tugging at said blazer like she’d just remembered she was wearing it. “Alright, alright. Let’s find the event coordinator so I can check in. Then we’ll scope out the best free food.”

You gave her a mock salute. “On it, boss.”

Ellie led the way deeper into the venue, camera bag slung confidently across her shoulder now, while her other hand gripped the tripod case firmly, shoulders squared like she was finally slipping into her zone. But every few steps, her hand would twitch like she wanted to reach for you. Every time someone walked by and glanced at you both, she’d glance back—just a second too long. Protective.

You couldn’t stop glancing either.

She looked like someone out of a magazine—tie straight now, eyes focused, jaw clenched just enough to make your heart jump. The same Ellie you knew, but sharper, more composed, like she didn’t realize the effect she had on you.

The ballroom was even more breathtaking up close. Tall arched windows framed the setting sun, casting soft golden light across linen-covered tables topped with elaborate floral arrangements and flickering candles. Staff moved like clockwork, setting wine glasses, placing silverware, adjusting napkins folded like origami swans. It reminded you somehow of the diner, but way less fancy.

Ellie scanned the room quickly, eyes sharp behind her lashes. “There she is.”

You followed her gaze to a woman in a sleek pantsuit, clipboard in hand, giving instructions to a cluster of servers. Ellie straightened her posture and motioned for you to follow before approaching with practiced ease.

“Hi, Eva is that right?” Ellie said, offering a small but confident smile. “Ellie Williams, photographer.”

Eva turned to her with a brisk nod and a once-over glance at her equipment bag. “Perfect. Glad you’re here on time. We’re expecting guests to start arriving within the hour. You’re cleared to shoot during the cocktail hour, dinner, and key speeches. Avoid flash during performances or when people are eating.”

“Got it,” Ellie said, already mentally running through the list. “Any VIPs I should keep an eye out for?”

“The keynote speaker—Dr. Rosalind Carter. She’ll arrive closer to seven. And the foundation’s director, Mr. Bennett, and of course Dr. Anderson, he will want a group photo with the board around dessert. I’ll flag you when it’s time.”

“Cool. Mind if I set up now?”

Eva nodded and gestured toward the far end of the room, near the stage. “There’s a designated corner for your gear and charging station. If you need anything, I’ll be by the entrance.”

With that, she disappeared into the controlled chaos.

Ellie exhaled through her nose. “Alright. Showtime.”

You trailed behind as she headed to the gear table, helping her unpack her bag and started working in focused silence. Out came two camera bodies—one with a wider lens, one with a longer zoom—followed by her trusty light meter, extra batteries, a pouch of memory cards, and a tripod she tucked discreetly behind a curtain near the back.

You watched her slip seamlessly into her element, eyes sharp, fingers steady. She checked her white balance, adjusted her strap, wiped a smudge from her lens, and held one camera up to her eye, framing a test shot of you.

“Hey!” you muttered under your breath.

She glanced over, smirking slightly. “What?”

“Focus on the real celebrities here”

Ellie blinked at you, she knew what she was doing. A little pink crept up her neck, but she tried to play it cool, swapping cameras like it was no big deal. “Yeah, well. I needed to test the lens.”

You laughed and leaned against the nearest table, still watching her move—focused, grounded, magnetic.

The ballroom started to fill slowly as the first guests arrived—well-dressed couples stepping through the main doors, the soft hum of classical music weaving through their chatter. Ellie slipped her camera over her shoulder and gave you a quick look.

“I’ll be around. Try not to fall in love with any rich assholes while I’m gone, alright?”

“How could I?” You rolled your eyes, but she was smiling as she turned and walked into the crowd, lens raised, already disappearing behind a group of socialites in tailored suits.

You wandered toward the refreshment table, a glass of something bubbly in hand—not quite champagne, not quite soda—trying not to look out of place as the room filled with soft laughter and swishing fabric. The guests were glamorous in that effortless kind of way. It was clear who belonged here… and who felt like they were just tagging along.

Still, you held your head high and smiled politely at anyone who made eye contact. Fake it till you make it, right?

“First gala? Never seen you before” a voice said beside you—smooth, warm, a little amused.

You turned, nearly spilling your drink when you caught sight of the broad-shouldered woman in a tailored black tux with her blonde hair pulled back in a braid. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine ad for expensive cologne and probably lifted weights for fun.

“Uh—yeah, kind of obvious, huh?”

She smiled, teeth sharp. “Nah, you’re pulling it off. Most people don’t know how to stand near the wine table without looking like they want to run away.”

You laughed, grateful for the ease in her tone. “I’m doing my best. You a regular at these things?”

“More than I’d like,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “My dad hosts these every year. Fundraising, networking, all that jazz.”

Wait.

“Wait—your dad is…?”

“Dr. Anderson,” she said with a small, self-aware bow. “Abby.”

You blinked. “Oh. Wow. Nice to meet you, Abby.”

She smirked. “You too. And you are…?”

Before you could answer, a voice cut in—tight and familiar.

“Dude this place is huge—”

You turned slightly to find Ellie standing a few feet away, camera strap across her chest, expression carefully neutral but her eyes—her eyes were screaming "What the fuck?"

Abby raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “You’re with the photographer?”

“Yeah I invited her” Ellie said quickly, too quickly. “I’m her… friend.”

She was absolutely spiraling.

Abby chuckled. “Right. Got it. Guess I’ll behave, then.”

She turned to Ellie, a little too pleased. “Anyway, I think you’re supposed to get a shot of me and my dad before he heads to the stage.”

Ellie cleared her throat, clearly trying to refocus. “Yeah. Right.”

You watched as Abby waved over Dr. Anderson, who approached with the kind of air only people who owned entire institutions carried. He smiled warmly at Ellie.

“Ms. Williams, pleasure to have you here tonight. Eva tells me you come highly recommended.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ellie said, lifting her camera. “Just over here by the floral arrangement, if that’s okay?”

Dr. Anderson nodded, and Ellie snapped a few quick photos—Abby standing beside her father, one hand in her pocket, posture relaxed. When they were done, he gave Ellie a respectful nod and turned toward the stage.

The lights dimmed slightly as the event coordinator stepped up to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats. We’re about to begin.”

You and Ellie locked eyes briefly as everyone started moving toward the rows of tables. She walked backward, camera raised, already snapping shots of the crowd settling in, the soft lighting glowing over their shoulders.

Dr. Anderson took the stage, greeted by polite applause. Ellie raised her camera again, eyes in the viewfinder, already focused.

“Thank you all for joining us tonight,” he began. “This fundraiser is not only about financial support—but about vision. About believing in the stories we still have to tell…”

You found your seat near the edge of the room, heart still racing a little—half from Abby’s easy charm, half from the look on Ellie’s face when she saw it.

Ellie stayed standing, moving like a shadow along the edge of the room, capturing the moment in quiet bursts of the shutter. But every now and then, her eyes flicked back to you.

And your eyes flicked right back. Magnetic.

Dr. Anderson’s voice flowed through the speakers—confident, practiced, charismatic. He spoke about stories that shaped communities, about the importance of funding creative programs, about the photographers, writers, and artists who hadn’t yet been discovered.

You sat quietly, watching him, trying to absorb the atmosphere—the clinking of glassware, the hushed murmurs of the crowd, the way the light reflected off the hanging chandeliers like golden dust in the air.

Ellie had moved closer to the stage now, snapping photos from different angles—Dr. Anderson behind the podium, the crowd’s reactions, the attentive expressions, the elegant chaos of the evening frozen in delicate frames. She moved like she belonged there. Like she was in control of the moment.

But even through the lens, her focus kept drifting.

She found you in the crowd, the soft slope of your shoulders relaxed, your eyes fixed on the stage with that thoughtful look she’d seen a hundred times before—at the diner, across a booth, behind a coffee mug.

She adjusted the lens.

Click.

You turned slightly, just enough for the soft lighting to kiss the side of your face.

Click.

You didn’t even notice her. You were too focused. Too beautiful.

Her heart beat faster.

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. But—

Click.

One more. Just for her eyes to see.

After the speech, soft music filled the room again and waiters began to circulate with trays of fancy entrees and drinks. Dr. Anderson stepped down from the stage to applause, mingling quickly with key donors and guests. The fundraiser had officially shifted into cocktail hour.

You stood from your seat, smoothing your dress and heading toward the refreshment table again—half for something to sip on, half to keep your hands busy. You felt lost without Ellie, but she suddenly reappeared beside you, camera now resting against her chest.

“Hey.”

You turned toward her, smiling. “Hey. You killed it up there.”

“I just pointed and clicked,” she said, brushing a hand through her hair.

You gave her a look. “You also climbed on a chair at one point.”

Ellie shrugged, smirking. “Gotta get the shot.”

A pause settled between you both. Soft, warm. Your shoulders nearly touched. The hum of music and voices blurred into the background.

“You looked like you belonged up there,” you said quietly.

Ellie’s eyes searched yours for a beat. “You’re bluffing.”

You blinked. “You know I would never”

She shifted her weight awkwardly. “Are you enjoying it? Or you’re too bored without me?”

It came out in that teasing tone of hers.

“Well I was having fun with Mrs. muscles until someone cockblocked me” you gave her a slight shrug.

“Oh yeah right, this is your way of getting at me for Cat”

You smiled “Why you jealous?”

“Why would I? I’m prettier” she scoffed, but the red on her cheeks was giving her up.

A waiter passed and you grabbed a small plate of hors d'oeuvres, offering it to her. Ellie shook her head—probably too nervous to eat—but she lingered close.

Your eyes flicked toward her camera. “Did you get good shots?”

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Some good crowd reactions. Got Abby and her dad. Anderson’s speech.”

You tilted your head. “Can I see?”

Ellie stared at her drink. Remembering the candids she had taken of you. Fuck. “It’s boring really”

You gave her a look. “Ellie come on.”

“Fine…” You practically snatched the camera off her hands, flicking through the pictures until you came across some photos that definitely weren’t Dr. Anderson. Your stomach fluttered at the sight.

You blinked. “These are boring too?”

She rubbed the back of her neck. Slapping herself mentally. “The lighting was good. I just… I wanted to remember it. That’s stupid. Forget I said that.”

Your chest ached, but in the good way. The fuck, say it again way.

You touched her arm lightly. “I love them Ellie.”

She looked up. Your eyes met again, that same magnetic, breathless tension pulsing between you like a second heartbeat.

And then someone called Ellie’s name—one of the event staff—and the spell broke.

She cleared her throat, stepping back. “I, uh—I’ll be right back. Save me some fries.”

You nodded, watching her disappear into the crowd. Her camera bouncing gently against her hip, her tie still just slightly crooked from earlier.

You touched your lips without realizing it. Had she taken those voluntarily? She thought you looked good. And of course the Abby thing made her jealous. She was a bad liar. But then again, it was funny seeing her get all red and jealous of that. After all, it is kind of a payback for Cat.

The fundraiser buzzed with renewed energy now that the formalities were done. Music had shifted to a softer jazz track, blending with the ambient clinks of glasses and low conversations. You wandered through the crowd with a fresh drink in hand, soaking it all in—the clothes, the artwork on display, the glittering city skyline beyond the ballroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

That’s when you spotted Abby again.

She leaned casually against a pillar near the hors d'oeuvre table, nursing a glass of something that looked expensive. Her suit jacket was off now, sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing toned forearms that didn’t seem fair on someone also so confident.

She caught your eye and smiled. “Hey, it’s the mystery date.”

You laughed, half-glancing behind you. “You know my name.”

Abby grinned. “Yeah, but this way I get to keep asking.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Is that your go-to line?”

“Only when it works.”

She was charming. There was no denying that. And there was a spark of playfulness in her tone that made it hard not to lean into it just a little. So you did—trading jokes and playful banter while your drink slowly disappeared.

Across the room, Ellie watched with her jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked her molars.

She was adjusting her camera settings, trying to get better lighting near one of the centerpieces, but her gaze kept sliding over to you and Abby—laughing, leaning in a little closer, your lips parting around something you said that made Abby smile like that.

Ellie didn’t hear what you said.

Didn’t matter.

She looked away. Back to the camera. Check the aperture, adjust the white balance, focus, click. Her finger tapped against the shutter button harder than necessary.

She wasn’t jealous. Of course not. Why would she be?

You weren’t hers.

She didn’t have a claim. Couldn’t even bring herself to say half the things she wanted to. God she couldn’t even acknowledge all these feelings she’s been pushing down. Could barely meet your eyes when you fixed her tie earlier without burning alive on the spot. So what right did she have?

Still, when she glanced back and saw Abby tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a teasing smile—Ellie nearly dropped the camera.

“Fuck” she muttered under her breath, turning sharply away.

Her expression tightened, mouth set in a hard line as she walked toward the other side of the room to "get some crowd shots," even though the lighting was worse over here and she’d already covered it twice.

She needed to do something.

Anything but stand there and watch you smile like that for someone who wasn’t her.

The conversation with Abby flowed easily. She was charming and smooth with her words, making you laugh a few times. But still, your eyes kept drifting to the crowd, scanning for a familiar auburn head of hair.

Eventually, you made your way back from the refreshment table, balancing a small plate of appetizers in one hand and french fries in the other. Your eyes moved carefully across the room until you spotted Ellie off to the side, fiddling with her camera strap. Her jaw was tight, shoulders stiff—like she was holding herself together by threads..

You approached her with a soft smile. “Hey, thought you might be hungry. I grabbed you something.”

She glanced at you—barely—and then looked back down at her camera. “Thanks,” she muttered bitterness in her tone, but didn’t take the plate.

Your smile faltered. “I—I mean, it’s fine if you’re not. I just figured…”

Ellie let out a breath through her nose. Not quite a sigh, but close enough.

“I’ve gotta go take some shots of Mr. Anderson with a few of the donors,” she said quickly. “He just gave me a list.”

“Oh. Right.” Your throat tightened.

She still wouldn’t look at you. And you had no idea why. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But Ellie’s head was a mess tonight, jealousy clawing at her chest, and she couldn’t trust herself to say anything without it spilling out sideways.

You tried to keep it casual. “Okay. No worries. I’ll just… wait here for you.”

Ellie finally looked up, just for a second. Her eyes softened like she wanted to say something. Needed to—but swallowed it instead. “I’ll be right back,” she said quietly.

She felt like the worst person in the world. That look on your face—she’d put it there. And it made her heart ache. But she needed space. Just for a minute. Not from you, but from her feelings.

You nodded, stepping back, the plate still in your hands. “Yeah. Of course.”

And then she was gone—already walking across the ballroom, camera raised, posture sharp like she had something to prove.

You stood still, the noise of the crowd growing distant. The laughter, the clink of glasses, the low hum of chatter—it all blurred. Like you were underwater. You didn’t know why her sudden coldness cut so deep. Or what had even triggered it.

Maybe she was just stressed. Maybe she couldn’t get the right shot?. Maybe you were overthinking it.

Still, the ache didn’t go away.

You sat back down in silence, surrounded by strangers, the plate of fries growing cold in front of you. The one person who brought you here felt miles away.

Thirty minutes passed, and no sign of Ellie. Your stomach twisted with irritation, your appetite long gone. You set the plate aside and rose to your feet, deciding to take a walk around the exhibits. Maybe clear your head. Maybe have a smoke.

You checked Ellie’s camera bag—she’d left it on her seat—and found the Altoids tin tucked inside like you knew it would be. You slipped it into your purse and started wandering through the venue’s wide halls, taking your time with each display, forcing yourself to admire the artwork even as your thoughts drifted.

Eventually, you found a side exit and stepped out into the cold evening air. Marble stairs led down into a quiet courtyard. You sat on the top step, reaching for the tin, taking a cigarette between your lips.

“Fuck,” you muttered. No lighter.

Of course. Ellie had it. She’d used it earlier before leaving her apartment. She always kept it in her pocket.

You sat there defeated, arms wrapped around yourself, cigarette untouched. The cold settled in, seeping into your bare shoulders.

A few long quiet minutes passed.

Then, without a word, something warm draped over your back. You turned quickly.

It was Ellie—her blazer resting across your shoulders. She didn’t say anything at first, just pulled the lighter from her pocket and flicked it on, igniting the cigarette still tucked between your lips.

Your eyes met hers.

Both static.

The flame hovered for a second longer than necessary, and then she let it go out, the soft click of the lighter closing cutting through the silence like a spark.

There was this look in her eye, a spark of regret glistening in her gaze, Ellie sat down beside you without a word, elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely between them. The silence lingered for a few moments, just the soft sound of you exhaling smoke and the distant thump of music echoing from inside the building.

“I thought you had ditched me for a second” she said finally, her voice low.

You glanced at her, brows lifting slightly.

“I was a dick,” she continued. “And I’m… I’m sorry.” Almost like she hated saying it out loud.

You didn’t answer at first, just took another drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke sit in your lungs a second longer before exhaling. “Yeah,” you said softly. “You kinda were.”

Ellie winced a little but nodded. She deserved that.

“I don’t know why I acted like that,” Ellie said, thumb running over a scratch on her knuckle. But deep down, she knew exactly why. “Actually—I do. I just don’t wanna say it because it sounds pathetic.”

You looked at her again, eyes softening just a little. “Try me.”

Ellie let out a bitter huff of a laugh. “I just—it’s stupid but, seeing you with Abby, laughing and flirting with her… It made me feel so—I don't know—replaceable? Like maybe you don’t need me at all. And it sucks because I think I might always need you.” Her voice caught at the end, a knot forming in her throat.

You blinked, caught somewhere between shock and the tiniest flicker of hope.

“It’s stupid because you can talk to whoever the hell you want. I just—” she paused, jaw tightening. “I hated how much I hated it.”

You were quiet again, the smoke curling lazily from the end of your cigarette.

“Ellie,” you said softly.

Her eyes met yours. Both of you were facing the other now, close enough that your knees almost brushed. The space between you felt like it was narrowing by the second.

“I could never in a million years replace you. There’s no one quite like you. Abby didn’t mean anything at all. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You know that, right?”

But oh, how you wished it could be more than just that.

“Yeah, I know,” Ellie murmured, but her chest ached. Was that all she’d ever be to you?

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

You gave her a soft smile. “You didn’t ruin anything, Els. The night’s not over yet, you know?”

Ellie snorted gently. “Yeah. I’m still supposed to be working though.”

You both sat there in a silence that felt lighter now, as if something had finally been unclenched between you.

Ellie glanced over, her voice quieter now, sincere. “You look beautiful tonight,” she said. “Meant to say that earlier. Didn’t.”

You looked at her. Really looked at her. Hair a little messy, shirt slightly wrinkled, the tie now hanging loosely around her neck like she’d forgotten it was there. And those eyes—open, unsure, and a little scared.

You nudged her shoulder. “You look pretty good too. Even when you’re being a jealous asshole.”

Ellie smiled—real and warm.

“Still mad at me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Your faces were so close now, just inches apart.

You took one last drag from your cigarette, and without thinking, Ellie reached out and gently plucked it from your lips, slipping it between hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Maybe,” you said, your breath fanning her cheek.

“How much?” she asked, her eyes flickering from your mouth to your eyes again—lingering this time.

Your heart was pounding. Her fingers were still brushing yours from the cigarette exchange. You could feel her breath now, warm and shallow, and your lips were so, so close.

Ellie leaned in—just a few centimeters more and—

“Miss Williams!”

The voice shattered the moment like glass.

You both startled slightly, turning toward the source. It was the event coordinator, heels clicking against the marble as she approached in a hurry, clipboard in hand.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need you immediately. Dr. Anderson’s about to do the donor photo and you’re the only photographer he’ll work with.”

Ellie blinked, her jaw clenched like she wanted to scream. “Right. Yeah. Coming.”

The woman was already walking off, clearly expecting her to follow.

Ellie looked back at you, guilt flashing behind her eyes. “I—shit. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Go.”

She hesitated for a second longer, then stood up, fixing her tie absently as she followed the coordinator inside.

You sat there alone on the steps, your skin still buzzing from the almost.

And all you could think about was how close she’d been. How close you had leaned in. And how— it had almost happened.

You stayed outside for a minute longer, letting the night air calm the fire still burning under your skin. The almost-kiss sat heavy on your lips, like a phantom touch. You couldn’t stop thinking about it—how close she’d been, the way her breath had hitched, how she’d looked at you like you were something sacred.

Eventually, you rose from the marble steps, brushing off the back of your dress and adjusting Ellie’s blazer on your shoulders, as you made your way back through the halls, heart still thudding.

The ballroom was less crowded now, the lighting slightly dimmed to a golden hue. The gentle hum of music played under the laughter and clinking glasses. You kept your head high as you re-entered, trying to blend back in like nothing had happened. Like you weren’t seconds away from kissing your best friend out on the stairs.

You spotted Ellie immediately. Of course you did. She was near the podium now, snapping shots of Dr. Anderson with his donors. Her camera was up, but her eyes kept shifting. Scanning. Searching.

For you.

She found you in an instant, her breath catching when your eyes met. And for a moment, everything stilled.

You gave her the softest smile, the one you knew only she got to see. She blinked, like you’d just knocked the air out of her lungs. Then her camera moved again—too quickly. She almost fumbled it, forced herself to look away and pretend like she wasn’t absolutely spiraling.

Ellie tried to focus on the shot—adjusting the aperture, lining up the angle—but every frame looked wrong. The lighting was too harsh, the smiles too forced. Her mind was still outside on the steps, with you. The curve of your mouth. The softness in your voice when you said “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Friend.

She cursed under her breath and took another picture, jaw clenched.

Neither of you could pretend it didn’t happen. And neither of you could figure out what the hell came next.

Her hands were steady. At least, that’s what she was trying to do.

Focus. Aperture. Composition. Lighting.

She adjusted the zoom with mechanical precision, the lens shifting slightly as she snapped another picture of Dr. Anderson with one of the donors. The camera’s shutter clicked, a sound she usually found soothing, grounding. But right now, it just felt like static.

Because all she could fucking think about was you.

You, sitting on the stairs in that dress that made her heart stop. You, leaning into her like maybe—maybe—you were about to kiss her. And then the goddamn coordinator’s voice cutting through the moment like a knife.

She hated how fast she stood up, like she’d been caught. Hated that you pulled away so quickly, face flushing as if maybe you regretted it.

She didn’t even get to say anything. Didn’t get to ask if you’d mean to.

Now, you were somewhere in the crowd—probably trying to act normal—and she was up here trying to be a professional while her chest was in knots and her brain was looping the moment on repeat like a broken record.

Ellie lifted her camera again. The lens focused on Dr. Anderson shaking hands with a man in a green suit. Her fingers pressed the shutter. One click. Two.

She barely registered the images. Her throat was dry, and she realized she hadn’t spoken in a while.

“Can we get one more, just by the stage?” the coordinator asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” Her voice cracked slightly. She cleared her throat.

She repositioned herself, stepping back and lifting the camera again. But her eyes flicked sideways, automatically. Searching for you. Needing to know where you were.

And there you were—leaning quietly against the far wall, Ellie’s blazer still draped over your shoulders, looking so painfully soft it made her knees weak.

You gave her a small smile when your eyes met, and it wrecked her. Gentle. Reassuring. A little sad, maybe.

She should’ve said something out there. Should’ve kissed you.

But now she was here. She forced herself to look away again. Let the camera be her shield.

Because if she didn’t, she was going to walk across that ballroom, wrap her arms around you, and kiss you in front of every single donor in the room.

And she wasn’t sure she’d survive what would come after.

She was on her way back to you—eyes already scanning the crowd for the familiar shape of your shoulders, the soft curve of your profile. The blazer still hung loosely around you and Ellie swore she’d never wanted to be a fucking jacket more in her life.

She’d barely taken two steps when someone called her name.

“Miss Williams?”

She turned, a tight smile forming automatically. A tall man in a tailored suit—gray streaks at his temples, glass of champagne in one hand, walked toward her. He looked vaguely familiar. Probably one of the board members Dr. Anderson had introduced her to earlier.

“Yes?” she said, polite.

“I just wanted to say—your work is phenomenal,” he said, “The way you capture people—it’s got heart. That’s rare.”

Ellie nodded, eyes flicking again toward you. You were sitting at a table near the far end, fiddling with a fork, head tilted slightly like you were deep in thought. You looked tired. Beautiful. Miles away.

She forced herself to smile at the guy. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

He kept talking. Asked about her process. About gear. Lighting. “Do you do exhibits? Ever consider a book?”

All she could think about was the way your lips had parted earlier. The way your eyes dropped to hers. The way her heartbeat had been deafening in her ears.

She gave him a few more distracted answers, promised to email a portfolio link, and then finally, finally, the man was called away by Dr. Anderson himself.

Ellie made her way back across the room in a daze, her footsteps slower now. Nervous. Her fingers still tingled from where they’d grazed your hand earlier.

You didn’t say anything when she sat down beside you, but you did nudge a plate toward her. Fries, a little cold now. Chicken skewers. A tiny cupcake. A napkin folded under the fork with her name scribbled on the corner. Her chest ached.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, eyes down.

You just nodded.

Ellie started eating—not because she was hungry, but because her mouth needed something to do other than say something stupid. Like: Were we about to kiss? Or: Did you want me to?

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, just… careful. Like neither of you wanted to say it first. Neither wanted to break the spell if it turned out it had all been in your heads.

So you both sat there, shoulders brushing, not talking about it at all.

The music dimmed. The lights shifted.

People began leaving in pairs or clusters. Thank-you speeches echoed distantly. Ellie chewed on the edge of a fry, eyes still on you.

And still, not a single word about what almost happened. Because it’s easier to pretend it didn’t. Even when both of you are sure it did.

The gala wound down slowly, the last of the champagne glasses emptied and the string quartet packing their instruments in velvet-lined cases. People exchanged cards and polite goodbyes.

You helped Ellie gather her gear, carefully placing her backup lenses in padded compartments, holding her camera bag open while she zipped everything up with methodical precision. Her fingers moved quickly, like muscle memory, but her eyes kept darting to you. Like maybe you’d disappear if she looked away for too long.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, slinging her camera strap over one shoulder. “Gonna give these to Dr. Anderson and the coordinator.”

You nodded. “I’ll wait by the truck.”

She watched you go, the hem of your dress swishing softly with each step. A part of her wanted to call after you. To say something real. Something brave.

Instead, she turned and approached the crowd of remaining staff, handed out the cards, exchanged quick thank-yous and nods. Dr. Anderson complimented her again, and asked her about future projects. She smiled, but her mind was already in the parking lot.

By the time she got back to her truck, you were leaning against the passenger door, arms folded gently across your chest, face lit by the soft amber of the lot lights.

“All done?” you asked.

“Yeah.” she said unlocking the door.

The ride was quiet at first, the city bleeding past in blurred streaks of gold and blue. Then Ellie started talking, voice low and a little raspy from the long night.

“Some of the donors came up to me,” she said. “Said nice shit about my work. One of them asked if I ever thought about putting together a gallery, which is… ridiculous, but whatever.”

Your head dipped against the seat, lids heavier with each word.

“It would be amazing honestly,” you said softly. “All your best pieces of work gathered together, I think you could do it”

Ellie glanced over. “Someday maybe”

You were dozing. Lips slightly parted. Hands curled in your lap.

She smiled, soft and aching.

“I don’t really care what they say, though,” she whispered. “Not really. Not if you’re not the one saying it.”

You stirred faintly, but didn’t wake.

The rest of the drive was filled with low music and even lower thoughts.

When she finally pulled up to your place, she cut the engine, letting the silence settle between you before reaching over gently.

“Hey,” she murmured, brushing your arm.

You blinked awake, groggy. “We’re here?”

“Yeah.”

You yawned, stretching, eyes half-lidded as you turned to her. “Thanks, Els. For taking me. I really enjoyed tonight….”

Ellie chuckled quietly. “Yeah. Me too.”

She walked you to your door, hands in her pockets.

You turned to her, suddenly unsure if you should say something else. But instead, you just leaned in—arms wrapping around her shoulders, her face pressed briefly into your neck.

The hug lasted a second too long.

Neither of you moved to let go right away.

And when you finally did, Ellie gave you a small smile.

You took off the blazer from where it previously laid. Warm on your shoulders, handing it back to Ellie, fingers brushing at the exchange.

“Goodnight Ellie” you said, going up to your doorstep.

“Goodnight” she whispered, backing down.

You watched her go, heart thudding loud against your ribs.

And then she was gone—taillights glowing dimly as her truck rolled out into the quiet street, taking your almost-kiss and every unsaid word with it.

You stepped into the apartment, the door clicking softly shut behind you. With a sigh, you kicked off your heels, letting them fall where they may, and pulled your phone from your purse, fingers trembling.

The weight in your chest had been building all night—tightening with every glance, every unsaid word, every almost. You couldn’t hold it anymore.

You found Dina’s contact and hit “Call,” bringing the phone to your ear as it rang once… twice…

“Hello—”

“I think I’m in love with Ellie.”

You said it before she could even finish her greeting, the words pouring out in a single breath, rushed and delicate—but honest. So honest. And the second they left your lips, something unknotted inside your chest. A confession, quiet but earth-shaking.

Simultaneously, Ellie sat in her truck, hands gripping the steering wheel long after the engine had gone quiet. The hum of the night outside her window did little to quiet the storm inside her chest.

She stared out through the windshield, heart thudding like a drum in her throat. Her tie was still loose around her neck, the scent of your perfume lingering faintly on her blazer. That almost-kiss haunted every corner of her mind.

She pulled out her phone, thumb hesitating for a second before tapping Jesse’s name. It rang twice before his voice came through, hoarse and confused.

“Dude, it’s midnight. What the fuck—”

“I think I’m in love with her.”

The words came out low, like if she said them too loud, they’d become too real.

There was a pause on the other end. “With… her her?”

Ellie slumped back in her seat, covering her eyes with her hand. “Yeah. Her her.”

It was real. It was undeniable. She was in love with her best friend, like some fucking cliche—and the weight of it settled over her chest like a secret too big to hold. It pulsed through her veins, raw and terrifying, because loving you wasn’t something she could undo, and the thought of it never being returned made her feel like she might break open right there in the quiet of her truck. It was everything, and it was too much. And still, she wouldn’t take it back.

.

taglist <3

@liasxeatt @80saturn @eleanorsghost @youusunshineyoutemptress @jazzyxox @lesoulew @fangirlinc @hitmehardmommy @liztreez @chwekriz00 @vahnilla @elliespotion @haithone @stwolfhardimaginez @thxtmarvelchick @purinukie @lavenderseedling @elliesfavwife @mikellie @iadorefineshyt @thebadwritersposts @gayandsuffering26 @flynnph0bias @adoreasellie

lmk if anyone else wants to be added !

[im-sleepdeprived]

can you do one where peter gets hurt a little bit and gets all whiny and crap and the reader is trying so hard to stay focused. LOVE YOUR STORIES BRO!!!!!

I LOVE THIS IDEA !!! it’s definitely such a peter thing to do. here’s a short, cutesy little thing, i hope you like it and im sorry it took me so long to get back to you💞✨ !! warnings are just peter being a big whiny baby whose desperate for affection, small mentions of injuries, 1,3k wc <333

“Ow!”

“Peter, be quiet! Stop whining, I’m almost done.”

“I’m in pain, baby,” he whined. 

It hadn’t been a surprise to be disturbed by a knock on your window, Peter usually stopped by after patrol which was why you’d started leaving it open for him. But when he hadn’t slid the window open after those few soft taps, you’d gotten a little worried. 

So you’d gotten out of bed to open for him, only to find your boyfriend perched before you, mask off, pouting heavily at you. 

Of course, you’d helped him in and gotten him laying across your bed so you could start to clean him up. You’d started keeping a first-aid-kit at hand since you’d found out he was Spider-Man. It had been of great use. 

But it hadn’t taken you long to realize that his wounds, as far as his usual patrol wounds went, weren’t bad. Not at all. In fact, you were positive that he could’ve gone home, slept the rest of the night, and woken up good as new as if nothing had happened in the first place. Maybe your boyfriend had forgotten that he had super-healing abilities. 

Or maybe he just liked the way you babied him.

“Oh, are you now?” You asked, glancing up at him with a raised brow. There was really nothing for you to do other than wipe the few cuts and scratches with antiseptic and place small bandaids over them. He just enjoyed pestering you.

“Yes,” he said so seriously, you almost laughed. This Peter was a stark contrast to actually-injured-Peter, who would do everything he could to assure you he was fine when he was literally bleeding out before your eyes. You didn’t like that. At least this was funny. 

“Petey, baby,” you laughed softly, adjusting a small bandaid on the high of his cheekbone where he’d had a small scrape. “You’re actually pretty put together tonight. Must’ve been a pretty quiet night, hm?”

“No,” he sighed dramatically, grabbing the wrist by his face gently, keeping you close to him. “No, it was horrible sweetheart, I’m gonna need extra care tonight. You know, to help the trauma.”

Shaking with laughter, you leaned in and pecked his cheek, right beside the cut you’d just bandaged. “The ‘trauma’, Petey? Really?”

A large, dopey grin broke over his face as you pecked his cheek and he squeezed you wrist a little. “There. That’s perfect, such a big help sweetheart, you have no idea what you do for me. You make the pain bearable, pretty girl.” 

You rolled your eyes affectionately, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “There, all better?” You asked him as you pulled away where you were met with a scowl.

“Y/N, honey, I’m suffering! I’m knocking on death’s door, angel! Give me something!”

You absolutely lost it at that, falling back onto the bed in a fit of giggles. “I can’t help you when all you do is whine!” When you opened your eyes, Peter was hovering over you, trying to keep his little facade of being upset and in pain, which was fruitless with the large smile blooming on his lips.

“You’re so mean, you know that?”

“Oh really? I’m the mean one?”

“Yes! You just found out your boyfriend, the love of your life, your future husband, the father of your future children—”

“What?!”

“—is dying, and what do you do? You laugh!!”

Another laugh escaped you, this time the sound infecting Peter as well. “I-if you’re dying, doesn’t that mean you won’t be my husband or the ‘father of my future children?” You manage out between laughs.

Peter gasped offendedly. “I…I…” he tried to defend himself to no avail. You’d caught him. 

You laughed even harder. “It’s okay, Petey. I’ll tell my future children all about you.”

He didn’t seem to like that very much. In one swift motion, his hands were on your hips, picking you up as he laid back on the bed again, his back pressed against the headboard before he plopped you down onto his lap.

“Oh hi,” you grinned at him, loosely looping your arms over his shoulders, his own hands coming to rest on your waist.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, his eyes soft and loving as he looked up at you.

Leaning down, you pressed your forehead against his. Peter’s hands tightened on your waist, tugging you closer till your chest was pressed against his. 

“I have another wound you haven’t patched up for me yet.” He spoke softly. 

“Yeah?” You asked, fully expecting him to be playing a bit, the smile already starting to tug at the corners of your lips. “Where, sweetie?”

He smiled right back at you, sticking his hand between where your chests were pressed together and pressing on the spider emblem on the center of his suit, making the fabric deflate with a soft breath and flood around him.

Pushing the suit away for him, you noticed a scratch on his chest you hadn’t realized was there before, making you frown. It wasn’t deep and it wasn’t bleeding, but it was long and a harsh shade of red, the skin around it tinged pink with irritation, and it definitely could’ve used a cleaning. 

“Petey, baby, why didn’t you show me this before?” You asked softly, shifting in his lap as you leaned over to grab the kit again. 

Peter sighed, biting back a smile. This was exactly what he’d needed, that soft, gentle voice of yours you used on him whenever he stopped by bruised and banged up. “Why, you think it’s bad sweetheart?”

“No, no, thank god…” you muttered as you got to work on the scratch. “But I bet it burns. Does it hurt, honey?”

“Yeah,” he answered, letting out a soft groan for show as he leaned further back against your headboard. One of his hands left your waist and found it’s way to your hair, playing with the strands and giving one a gentle tug every now and them. 

“Peter,” you grumble, refusing to look up at him.

“Your hair is so soft.” He murmured in awe, as if he’d never seen anything like it before. 

“Genetics.” You deadpanned. “Now stop distracting me, I’m trying to help you!”

“You are helping me, pretty girl. Just watching that gorgeous face while you bandage me up is doing half the healing already.” Another tug to your hair. 

You swatted his hand away before poking his side with a soft smile. “No bandages for this one, sorry Pete. I’m just gonna have to heal you with kisses.”

“That sounds great,” he beamed widely. “Your kisses make me heal way faster than bandages, trust me, I speak from experience.”

Ignoring him, you leaned down and peppered a few soft kisses along his chest, staying beside the cut but never kissing the wound itself. You could feel his breathing stutter, the rhythmic movements of his chest turning irregular beneath your lips. 

Peter hands on your waist tightened, his grip pushing you down on his lap. “Baby…” his voice was a soft, desperate thing, a deepness in his tone that made your stomach flip. Well that wasn’t right. 

You sat back up, picking up a leg to swing over and slide off his lap but his hands on your waist slid down to your thighs quickly, stopping you.

“What’re you doing, pretty girl?” The utter betrayal on his face almost had you second-guessing what you’d done for something way worse. “Why’d you stop?”

“You’re hurt, Petey,” you answered simply, “we’re not doing anything tonight.”

“W-what? I’m not hurt, no, I’m fine! I’m perfect!”

“Really? I thought you were at death’s door.”

“Oh that…Yeah, no, he sent me away. Said it wasn’t my time.”

“Right, of course,” you murmured, nodding your head with all seriousness.

“Your kisses were working,” he stated sincerely, “you have to keep going!”

“Whatever you say, handsome.” You smiled, leaning in to press your lips to his. 

[sknyuz]

hi :)) i LOOOOOOVE your writing, you do all the boys so much justice. i was reading the intimacy one and saw you wanted requests for gotak 👀👀

this ideas been festering in my head so walk with me (or don't, that's also fine.)

new student!reader who comes to class and has a small run in with juntae (similar to how he bumped into sieun) and thinks he's adorable so they kinda just naturally becomes really close friends with him. gotak heard news about the new student and also started to hear juntae talk about them so he lowkey tries to swindle juntae into introducing all of them. juntae being the cutie (but also not naive!) he is decided to introduce them and gotak is taken back by how close they are and gets mildly jealous (for what reason 🤔😏).

sorry for the ramble and also that went no where but it's been in my head for sooooo long 😭😭😭

pairing — go hyuntak (gotak) x gn!reader (ft. bff!juntae) genre — fluff, comedy, f2l warnings — mild language, injury (minor sprain), sieun being an instigator, baku being a headass word count — ~2.1k

note: omg this took soooo long to post because of my break !! i finished this actually a week ago lol i just had lots of prior requests to get to so i never got around to posting it. alas, let us all welcome gotak’s debut on my blog !! the people have been waitinggggg and asking for this one !! and finally... !!

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

to put it simply, if you hadn’t turned the corner right at that moment, you don’t know how the rest of this school year would've turned out.

new school, new people, new everything. you had a map in your hand and maybe two brain cells left when someone rounded the hallway a little too fast and bumped straight into you. papers went flying. both of you froze.

“oh no—wait, i’m sorry, that was me,” he said, already crouched down to gather the mess like it was his life that had been scattered across the floor.

you blinked, surprised. he had soft eyes and glasses sliding halfway down his nose and this slightly panicked look like he thought you might cry.

“it’s okay,” you told him. “honestly, you might’ve saved my life. i was about to walk straight into a locked door.”

he smiled, awkward and kind. “my name is juntae. seo juntae. you’re new, right?”

you nodded. and just like that, he offered to walk you to class—it was the easiest decision you’d made all day.

juntae was the type of person who made space for you without ever making you feel like a burden. he brought you snacks during lunch and showed you where to hide out when the hallways got too loud. he also talked a lot about his friends, and one afternoon—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he said, “oh, you should meet sieun. you’d like him.”

you did. he was quiet and careful with his words, but funny in a dry way that caught you off guard. he’d glance at juntae like you really brought them here? but still offered you a spot at the table. he even let you steal a fry. so you counted that as a win.

after that came baku—loud, sunny, fast-talking. he practically tackled you into a high five and said, “juntae’s new bestie? you’re in good hands,” before dragging you into some debate about what counts as a sandwich.

somehow, you ended up kind of... just around. like a ghost that turned real. people knew your name before you introduced yourself. baku waved whenever he saw you. sieun always made room for you on the bench. and juntae, sweet as he was, forgot to formally introduce you to one person.

“yo,” gotak called, wiping sweat from his neck as he tossed the basketball to baku. “who’s that?”

baku looked up from tying his shoelace. “huh?”

“over there,” gotak nodded toward the sidelines, where you were doubled over laughing next to sieun and juntae. “they’ve been hanging around a lot.”

baku blinked, “that’s y/n.” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

gotak simply stared, as baku tilted his head. “you know them. don’t you?”

gotak looked back at you. you were teasing juntae about something, eyes crinkled, whole face lit up. juntae said something back that made you shove his arm, half-laughing, half-gasping.

gotak frowned, “i’ve never met them.”

baku paused. “wait. what? i thought juntae introduced you already—he told everyone else. dude. even sieun knows her.”

gotak narrowed his eyes. “so why didn’t he tell me?”

“damn,” baku grinned. “someone’s feeling left out.” as he threw the ball to his chest, a little too roughly to snap his friend out of it.

“shitty pass,” gotak muttered under his breath, passing the ball back to him.

baku snorted. “you sure you’re mad about the ball and not the fact that your bestie got a new bestie?”

gotak didn’t answer. but later that day, when he caught you waiting for juntae outside the gym, he slowed down.

you waved, and he waved back. maybe a little delayed, a little thoughtful.

maybe a little curious.

he hesitated like he was deciding something, then crossed the space between you with that awkward confidence some people carry when they’re not used to starting conversations but do it anyway.

he scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down before landing on yours. “hey. uh... y/n,”

you smiled. “hi.”

he nodded, like that helped him keep going. “i’m also juntae’s friend, in the basketball team. with baku.” you tilted your head. “oh yeah—go hyuntak, right?”

he blinked.

you shrugged. “baku mentioned you once. and you were on the court earlier.”

gotak looked a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t expected you to know his name. then his mouth twitched, the smallest upward curve. “...right. that’s me. call me gotak.”

you stood there for a beat, quiet.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said.

he glanced up, then back down, like he was working through a million thoughts at once. “yeah. you too.”

just then, the gym doors creaked open behind you.

“y/n!” jun-tae called, jogging out with his bag slung over one shoulder. “sorry—got caught up helping the coach—oh, hey gotak!”

gotak stepped back half a pace, nodding. “hey.”

juntae looked between you, confused for half a second. “wait—did i never introduce you guys?”

you and gotak both said, “no.”

juntae blinked. “...oops.”

you laughed. gotak didn’t, but his shoulders relaxed a little as he looked over at you again.

after that, he finally had an excuse.

or maybe it was just that now you were officially introduced—he started showing up more. like how he always just happened to walk by your classroom when it let out. or how he’d offer to carry your stuff from your locker even if it wasn’t heavy. he’d still act casual about it—mumbling something about "heading that way anyway"—but the look in his eyes always lingered a little longer than it used to.

you started showing up to practices more too. usually with a water bottle in hand. eventually, two.

then four.

baku started calling you their "hydration manager" and gotak rolled his eyes every time, but he’d take the bottle from your hands like it meant something, every time you handed him his bottle, your fingers would brush. lightly. deliberately. like a habit you weren’t in a rush to break.

he wasn’t loud about it, but as the days passed, he found himself looking for you more often than he meant to—your voice across the court, your laugh when juntae said something stupid, and the way you stuck around even when no one asked you to.

he didn’t say it out loud, but your presence became something he... liked. something that made the world feel a little softer when you were around.

and sometimes, when you laughed a little too hard at juntae’s jokes, gotak would glance over without meaning to. once, he got so distracted that baku shot the ball clean over his head and it smacked him right in the back.

“yo!” baku shouted, rushing over. “you good?!”

gotak muttered, rubbing the side of his head, “i wasn’t looking.”

“clearly,” baku huffed. “what were you looking at?”

gotak didn’t answer. just glanced back toward the sidelines, where you were sitting, completely unaware.

you weren’t exactly subtle either.

at first, it was just a glance. maybe two. maybe three, if you were feeling brave and he was too focused on the court to notice. there was something about the way he moved—steady, grounded, all quiet strength and furrowed brows. you’d never really watched basketball before, but suddenly it was your favorite part of the afternoon.

whenever he scored, you clapped a little louder. a little quicker. maybe even stood up once, under the excuse of stretching.

juntae caught you once. leaned over and whispered, “you cheer louder for him than for baku.”

you blinked. “no i don’t.”

he grinned. “yes you do.”

you smacked his arm. “shut up.”

but the next time gotak glanced toward the benches after a point, your hands were already mid-clap, eyes already on him.

he met your gaze.

just for a second.

you looked away first.

the more you saw of gotak, the more you saw him. it started with the little things—running into him by the vending machine after class, both of you reaching for the same pack of chips at the same time. you laughed, unsure of who should take it first.

“you can have it,” gotak said, smiling, though you could swear there was a flicker of something in his eyes. something that felt... not exactly like embarrassment, but not entirely casual either.

"no, it’s fine, you take it," you said, holding your hand out. "you reached first."

he paused, just staring for a second, before he gave a small shrug and grabbed it. “you sure?”

“yeah.”

you both took your snacks and stepped aside, awkwardly aware of how close you’d been. as you tried to avoid eye contact, you were almost certain your heart was racing. had he been looking at you like that... or was it just your imagination?

the awkward encounters started happening more often, though. a lot more often.

you’d bump into him in the hallway. near the library. at the school gates. suddenly, you felt like you were always in his orbit—and not just you. everyone noticed.

“you two are weirdly always in the same place at the same time,” juntae pointed out one day while you were grabbing lunch. “it’s like you’re following him around.”

you choked on your drink. “what? no. no, i’m not. i—he just happens to be there. i’m—just minding my business.”

juntae fixes his glasses, shrugging it off with a playful grin, though you could tell he wasn’t completely convinced. “alright, y/n. totally.”

and of course, baku caught on too. one day, while you were standing at the sidelines during practice, watching gotak and baku scrimmage, he glanced over at you, then at gotak, then back at you. then gotak. then you. he raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

“hey,” baku said casually, tossing the ball to gotak. “you two are like, besties now, huh?”

gotak froze, looking at him, and then glancing over at gotak to avoid meeting baku’s gaze. “what? no. we’re not—”

“uh-huh,” baku grinned, spinning the ball on his finger. “sure, and i’m top of the class.”

during practice one afternoon, it happened.

gotak went up for a dunk, but his foot slipped awkwardly when he landed, and he crumpled to the ground with a loud thud. your heart dropped as you watched him clutch his ankle, wincing in pain.

“gotak!” you shouted, rushing to his side.

he grimaced, leaning against the floor, clearly in pain.

“dude, what happened?” baku called out, rushing over too. “you good?”

“i’m fine,” gotak muttered, trying to push himself up, but his face twisted in discomfort. “just sprained it, probably.”

sieun was quick to appear by your side, his usually calm demeanor shifting slightly as he assessed the situation. without missing a beat, he turned to you, a rare glint of something in his eyes. “maybe y/n can take him to the infirmary? we still have to clean up here.”

you blinked, unsure how to respond. “huh?”

sieun shot a pointed look toward baku, who was still oblivious to what was going on. his lips curved in the smallest, lopsided smirk. “baku doesn’t need your help right now,” he said, almost too casually, before giving a side glance at you.

you noticed baku didn’t catch the hint, just furrowing his brows at the situation. “wait, what? you seriously want y/n to drag him to the infirmary? you do realize that guy’s gonna crush ‘em under his weight, right? y’know gotak’s been having too much chicken—”

sieun’s eyes flickered with something that might’ve been amusement, though his expression stayed neutral. “go on,” sieun said, motioning to gotak, tone soft but firm. “help him out.”

you looked down at gotak, who was still struggling to stand, and it dawned on you that he was huge—much bigger than you. and the thought of dragging him all the way to the infirmary alone? absurd. awkward.

but you couldn’t exactly say no, not when everyone was watching and not when he was looking at you like he needed your help.

“you okay to walk?” you asked, kneeling down next to him.

“i think i’ll survive,” he grumbled, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

you offered him your hand. “come on, let’s get you there.”

he took your hand, and you tried not to notice how big his hand felt wrapped around yours. you both started walking, and although you tried to make it seem like a casual walk, every step felt like you were carrying the weight of his entire body.

sieun watched you both for a second, his gaze unreadable. the smallest of smirks tugged at the corners of his mouth.

the walk to the infirmary wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, though you were still struggling to act normal when you finally helped gotak sit down on the clinic bed. his ankle was already wrapped up, but he kept fiddling with his fingers, looking down at his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

you sat across from him, the silence stretching for a moment as you both just sat there, waiting.

“uh, thanks for this, y/n,” gotak mumbled, his voice quiet in a way that was almost unlike him. he kept glancing at you, then back at his hands.

you tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “no problem, seriously. i told you, i’m happy to help. anything for you,” you said, maybe a little more casually than you intended, your heart racing just a little.

he met your gaze then, eyes wide and slightly soft, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “anything?” he asked, teasing, but there was a hint of something more in his tone.

“well, yeah,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “you’re my friend. i’ve got your back.”

there was a beat of silence as you both just looked at each other. gotak’s gaze lingered on you, his fingers still fidgeting, though a little more nervously now.

“you’re…you’re a really good person, y/n,” he said softly, his eyes lowering to his hands again, as if he was unsure of how to put his feelings into words.

you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm at the sincerity in his voice. “thanks, gotak. that means a lot coming from you.”

the moment stretched longer than it probably should have, but neither of you seemed to want to break it.

finally, he cleared his throat, looking up at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “so, uh…if you’re willing to do anything for me…”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah?”

he shifted a little, suddenly a little more serious, though his usual playful grin still tugged at the corners of his lips. “you think you could—i don’t know—not make me fall for you?”

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you swore you didn’t breathe. his words hung in the air, the playful edge still there, but there was something different about the way he said it. something that made your heart flutter in that puppy-love way that only people in the early stages of affection could understand.

“w-what?” you stammered, unable to hide the rush of warmth that spread across your cheeks. “you’re—you’re falling for me?”

he raised both eyebrows now, the teasing gone from his voice, replaced with something more earnest. “maybe,” he said with a small, sheepish grin, his gaze never leaving you. “maybe it’s too late for that. i think i’m already halfway there.”

you blinked at him, unsure how to respond, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. the air between you was suddenly thick with something you didn’t quite know how to define.

you broke the silence with a nervous laugh, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “well, i guess it’s not so bad to meet you in the middle if you’re already halfway there.”

gotak chuckled, his lips curving into that genuine smile you’d come to look forward to. “yeah, i guess it’s not, huh?”

if u liked this, a reblog would be greatly appreciated to help my work reach other people as well >><< !! thank u thank u

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[mrsfudd]

dangerous

You were Paige and Azzis secret. You spent nights at their house. You wish they would love you out loud but they simply refuse. You were tired of feeling used and decided to ignore their texts and calls. You went to a party instead of their house one night.

warnings: toxic paige n azzi, double penetration, slight drinking, slapping, denied orgasms, lots of degradation, mommy azzi n daddy paige.

sorry for typos 🙏

Paige 🙉: yoo when u coming over

You ignore her message and keep getting ready.

azzi 🫦: u home?

You roll your eyes at the notification and start to put your heels on. You got invited to a huge party and were going with your good friend Chloe. She had no clue of your relationship with the basketball players. She offered to pick you up and was honking the horn outside waiting for you.

You snap a quick picture of yourself in the mirror, you wore a tight black mini dress with a back cut out and some sexy heels.

You almost fall walking out the door and to the car. “Look at you, walking sex” Chloe praised as you got into the car.

“Im so excited, I haven’t been out in forever” You said drinking whatever was in the water bottle she handed you.

The car ride was 12 minutes long, you listened to music and took more shots. Your phone was completely muted.

Walking into the party felt like a movie, it was so packed you started to worry if you could even breathe in there.

You and Chloe immediately find the kitchen where she pours you a maybe too full drink in a red solo cup. You take a picture of the cups and posted it on your private instagram. Phone put away immediately after, still muted.

You could feel the music in your veins, bass pumping and lyrics barely audible. Chloe and you start to dancing, swaying and grinding against each other. You were so focused on you and her, focused on having a good time that you didn’t realize the girl saying “excuse me” next to you.

After her failed attempts she ends up shoving past you, you try to give her an apology but it ended up just being more of a laugh. You suck your teeth when you realize she knocked your phone out of the top of your dress.

You try not to get crushed as you bend down to pick it up, accidentally bumping your head on someones back. Once your back up straight, you decide to swipe up and check if anyone had messaged you.

12 missed calls: azzi 🫦

2 missed facetimes: paige 🙉

paige 🙉: text me back

azzi 🫦: ?????

@ paigebeuckers replied to your story: alright bet

You rolled your eyes at the notifications, what were they gonna do.

You and Chloe dance some more and then have an adventure trying to find the bathroom. Unfortunately the line was 20 girls deep. Once you finally are able to finish your business, you make your way right back to the dance floor. Not one care in the world.

You and your friend are having a great time, laughing and enjoying each others company. The place was so full with people, everyone was unrecognizable unless they were standing in front of you.

Your just grooving to the beat until you look up and see two very recognizable people. Fuck, they actually pulled up. They are so tall, they could see above everyones head, immediately locating yours.

Paige pushed through people like they were children, Azzi followed right behind her. Eyes locked on you.

“What the fuck are you doing” Paige cursed maybe standing a little too close.

“Hmm, im at a party” You giggle, seeing Paiges expression get angrier.

“Dont act fucking stupid” Azzi snapped, your heart dropped a little.

“And look at your outfit, your dressed like a fucking slut. Just begging for attention” Paige hissed looking you up and down.

You just roll your eyes and started to take a sip of your drink as Azzi grabbed your arm without hesitation. Her grip on you was firm and left a bruise for sure. She dragged you out of the party and all the way to the car.

Paige pushed you into the backseat and shut the door. Paige got into the driver and Azzi in the passenger. She started driving and said “ I cant fucking believe you”

“What did I do?” You say trying to act clueless.

“Stop, that dumb shit isnt cute. You know exactly what you did. You think you can just ignore our texts and calls and get away with it?” Azzi said turning back to look at you.

“Why do you even care, we aren’t together.” You say scrunching up your face.

Azzi turned back around in her seat, Paiges grip on the wheel tightened. The rest of the car ride was silent.

Once you got back to their house, Paige opened the door for you and started to follow Azzi to the door. You were terrified of what was to come.

You take a second to get out.

Chlo money 💰: Where tf are you????

You: sorry ml, got caught up in something. Text me when you make it home, love u sm.

Chlo money 💰: be safe hoe, love u 2

You walk in the house to see Azzi standing in the living room and Paige sitting in the couch.

“Hey guys” You joke but nobody moved.

Azzi walked over to you, uncrossing her arms and dragging you to the bed room.

“Strip. Your practically naked anyway” Azzi demanded as she tossed you onto to the bed.

You get turned on, they were acting so possessive. You listen, started at your feet, taking your heels off in a antagonizing pace. Azzi does not find this cute or sexy at all. She ends up ripping your dress clean off and breaking the buckle on your heals.

Once your naked, she jumps on and starts to mark your whole body. Starting at your neck, down to your chest, then stomach, then thighs. Seeing her between your legs made you feral, you started to buck your hips into her face but she didn’t react.

She stood and took a second to admire her work, at least 25 dark red spots were forming all over your body. Azzi walked away and Paige walked in.

She was down to a sports bra and some rolled basketball shorts, her strap was different, you never seen it. It was fucking huge.

“You already look fucked out, probably cause of all those bitches you let touch you at that party” Paige argued.

“I didnt do anything with anyone” you say trying to defend yourself.

“Yea yea whatever, shut the fuck up we don’t believe you” Azzi said walking in with something in her hand.

She walked over to the side of the bed and tied both of your wrists together, you tried to fight her but she was too strong. Azzi ties you to the bedframe, leaving you limp and helpless, then she grabs a piece of cloth and shoves in your mouth so hard you almost choke.

Azzi left the room once more as Paige started to move closer to you. She rests your legs ontop of her shoulders and starts to tease your dripping pussy with the tip of her dick.

“Soaked already? Your such a fucking whore” Paige chuckled while rubbing lazy circles into your clit.

You let out a muffled whimper as Paige slams into you. Her pace is punishing. You feel her ruining your insides, hitting your gspot repeatedly. You try to push Paige off of you but its no use, Azzi was right there. Her strap looked new as well, longer.

Azzi stood next to Paige and said “ You wanna be a slut right?”. You shake your head aggressively but Azzi doesn’t believe you. The tip of her cock finds your already stuffed hole and starts to squeeze its way in.

Tears stream down your face, the feeling of them stretching you was taking you over the edge. Pain mixed with pleasure but Azzi wanted you to feel more pain. She stuffs her dick into you more, Your muffled screams fill the room as they both start pumping in you. Since Azzi wasnt all the way in, her fingers found your oversensitive clit.

Your silenced moans and crys become louder and louder as you feel your orgasm reaching. Paige and Azzi take note of this and pull out of you. The lost of touch makes you whimper. Azzi climbs ontop of you and sits on your hips. “Dont cry baby” Azzi coos with fake sympathy as she wipes off some of your tears.

Azzi unties you from the bed, making you lay flat but kept your wrists locked. Paige had made her way down to your inner thighs and started planting kisses. Azzis pussy was hovering over your face, dripping in arousal. She takes the gag out your mouth “i-im so sorry i didnt mean i-” you blurt out.

“Shhhh baby, i dont wanna hear that shit. You wanted to be a slut so now your gonna be treated like one” Azzi said as she shoved her pussy into your face.

You started to taste her as Paige did the same to you. As you moan into Azzi, she starts to ride your face faster. You barely can breath as Azzis clit rubs against your nose and your pumping your tongue in and out of her needy hole.

“You like how mommys pussy tastes?” Paige asks while sticking her long fingers in you.

Unable to talk you let out a whimper. “ Oh yea she loves it” Azzi said grabbing a fistful of your hair.

You clench around Paiges fingers and she immediately pulls out, denying another orgasm. “Dumb slut thinks shes gonna cum” Paige snickered.

“Not yet baby, make mommy cum first” Azzi let out, getting closer to her release.

It wasnt long before she came, the warm and creamy substance coated your face. It was sweet and had a slight hint of pineapple. Azzi got off of you and before you could even say anything, Paiges mouth was in yours. Tasting Azzi all over your tongue.

“Are you ready to be a good girl yet?” Paige asked straddling your face and Azzi finding her way to your cunt.

“y-yes im sorry ill never do it again” You plead.

“Too bad I don’t fucking believe you” Paige laughed.

“Poor baby, look at this little pussy, dying to cum” Azzi said circling her finger around your clit, making your hips jump up.

“You wanted to be a slut right?” Paige asked.

You shook your head no and a slap landed right across your face, then one to your pussy.

“Dont lie to us baby, admit your a dumb slut” Paige demanded.

You swallow your pride and say “im a dumb slut” behind your tears.

A smile on Paiges faced appeared and Azzis finger was inching closer to your clit. “Are you gonna be a good bitch for us?” Paige asked bringing her clit closer to your mouth.

You nod your head but it wasnt good enough. “ Words baby, you know better” Azzi murmured.

“Y-yes” You whisper.

“Good fucking slut” Paige praised as she sat her warm pussy on your face.

Your tongue immediately goes to work, trying to please her. Azzis mouth attaches to your clit, making you moan into Paige, the vibrations make her fuck your face harder. You try your hardest not to cum on Azzis tongue as shes tasting your walls. Paiges hands find the sides of your face as shes using your tongue.

Your legs tighten around Azzis head as your inching closer to your orgasm. Paige is seconds away from making a mess all over you. Azzi stops, your confused but don’t have time to ask. Paige cums in your mouth and you swallow every drop, you try to lick up the rest but she gets off of you.

“You really thought you were gonna cum? Wow you really are a dumb slut” Azzi said standing at the foot of the bed.

“Why would I just make a random girl cum, we aren’t together right?” Paige said crossing her arms and shaking her head.

Azzi tossed you a towel and some clothes, untied you “ Go wash up baby and find us later”. They went to another bathroom and left you in their bedroom. Cold, naked, and not one drop of pleasure.

You struggle to get up and have a hard time walking to the bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror, makeup smudged, dark red and purple spots all over you, hair ruined. You wash off all the sweat and cum. You put on what it seemed to be Azzis shirt and Paiges shorts.

You limp out to the living room, Paige and Azzi are all clean lying on the couch together. You walk over to them. “You look so cute in our clothes” Azzi coos. “ Look at her legs, trembling like you actually came” Paige joked. “ She probably got off on looking at us” Azzi added on.

“Come here” Azzi said motioning for you to lay between them.

You get comfortable and Paige whispers in your ear “Maybe next time you’ll think before you act, yeah?”

You look up at her and nod, she gives you a long waited for kiss.

Azzi goes into your other ear, “ Making us mad is dangerous baby, do you see that now?”

You nod and she kisses you as well. “Now, let daddy make you cum” Azzi said as Paiges hand dipped into your shorts.

[povbarnes]

Stay.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You want Bucky to stay, he never does.

Word Count: +3K

Warnings: Angst, Heavy angst, Smut, Angsty smut, Hurt no comfort, Bucky Barnes is TERRIBLE at feelings, Reader is a little desperate, but so is Bucky, bear with me for this one, No use of Y/N, i think that’s it, lmk if i missed or forgot anything!

A/N: alrighty! first of all, thank you so much for the love on my first fic, it means the world to me. this took way longer than i thought it would but it’s finally done, hopefully i won’t disappoint. pictures are only for the vibes, no description of reader in this one other than that she has hair. hope you like it! :)

P.S. i couldn’t really decide which bucky this was, you can decide for yourself but the closest to me was tfatws!bucky i think.

He won’t stay, you know it. He never stays.

You wait for it every time. You spend all the little time that you have together waiting for it, dreading it, never being able to fully enjoy a single second. You dread the moment that eventually comes every single time, that moment when you feel the instant shame surrounding his entire frame right before he gets out of your bed, gets dressed and leaves you while you watch him with tear-filled eyes.

As time passed, you got better at not crying. At least not in front of him.

You know he hates seeing you cry, more so when it’s him who is making you. Not enough to make him stay, but enough to hurt him too. So you simply try not to. You never want to make him feel bad, even though he holds your delicate heart in his strong hands and crashes it over and over again.

He tries talking to you, you’ll give him that. He tries to make you understand. You can’t. Or rather, you won’t. You don’t want to understand him, you want him, all of him. Not just the parts he thinks is worthy of you, which are very little, but anything and everything that makes him who he is. You want it all. And for the months that you have been sleeping together, he could never accept that.

You shouldn’t let him in. Every time he leaves, you make a promise to yourself. To not let him in, to not let him make you feel more miserable than he already has.

Then, you hear his voice. “Please, doll. Open the door.”

All your resolve crumbles in an instant, and you never succeed.

You open the door, lay your pride in front of him like a red carpet and watch him walk all over it to get to you. You don’t even think there’s any pride left in you to protect anymore. It sickens you.

One last time, you say to yourself, every time.

Your breath catches when you see him, all tired blue eyes and hunched shoulders. It takes everything in you not to throw yourself into his arms and hold him until your limbs melt into one. Instead, you stare at him, and he stares at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says after what feels like a lifetime. The first thing he said to you after not seeing him for a week.

You huff. “For what?”

His lips press together, head hanging low to look at his shoes instead of you.

You put him out of his misery, just as you always do, and take a step back so he could come inside.

He doesn’t lift his head while he steps in.

It goes the same way it always does. He waits a moment, maybe as long as he feels enough that you would feel somewhat respected by him, because he knows you’re upset, and that you know why he’s in your house, and how even if you are upset, you still want him because that’s just the way it goes, something that just is and something you can’t help, and how none of it will change anything for him.

He will still leave you at the end of the night.

After the short pause, he is on you, his lips crashing onto yours filled with the amount of desperation that almost matches yours.

You want to push him away, smack him, scream at him to stop doing this to both of you. You wrap your arms around his neck instead. You’ve missed him so much.

His vibranium arm sneaks around your waist to cage you to him, flesh hand holding your chin, covering your entire lower face. It’s so possessive, and you feel so safe, and you hate yourself.

He lifts you just a bit, starting to move towards your bedroom through the familiar path. His mouth is relentless on yours, not even giving you a time to take a breath, not that you want to.

He doesn’t turn on the lights when he reaches your room, he never really does. He doesn’t like you to see his scars.

You gasp as soon as his mouth travels from yours to your cheek, nuzzling his face to yours, leaving kisses to your eyes, nose, all the way to your neck. When he reaches the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder and takes a deep breath, a sob you so desperately try to keep in wrecks through you. He tries to look at you when he hears it, but you hug him tighter to keep him there. You don’t want to talk, not when you know it won’t make a goddamn difference, but the words that come out of your mouth are not planned, they claw their way out of your throat in order to be freed. “You make me hate myself.”

He pauses, this time doesn’t let you stop him from looking at you. He sees your damp eyes, and you think he might be sick. You don’t want it to be a relief, but there’s not much you can take from him. So, it is a relief that he looks as guilty and as in pain as he does. Because you are hurting more than him. You must be, with the way your heart feels like it’s torn off by the seams and stitched together by shaky hands for a thousand times.

“Don’t stop,” you murmur when he doesn’t say anything. A tear rolls down your cheek. “Don’t stop.”

When he still doesn’t move, you do instead. With his eyes still on yours, you withdraw one of your hands from the back of his neck, slowly moving it south to his jeans. After a short fumble with the button and the zipper, your hand quickly reaches inside the soft material of his boxers, pressing your palm against his dick. His expression he tried to maintain so hard crumbles in an instant, eyes fluttering shut as his hips jerks forward against your hand.

He curses lowly as you move your hand up and down before freeing him and starting to properly move around him.

His blues find your eyes again, watching you for a second while you slowly move up and down. His breathing gets frantic quickly, and it doesn’t take long for him to grab your wrist to stop you, lifting you with comical ease and laying you down on your bed in mere seconds.

His hands do quick work of your sleep shirt and shorts, vibranium hand going straight to where you ache for him to rub you over your underwear.

Your moan makes his eyes flutter, his jaw ticking as his flesh hand coming to massage your breast.

He keeps the perfect pressure, at the perfect speed, shows you once again how he knows your body better than you do. His eyes never leave yours, and he watches with wide eyes and a slack jaw as your first orgasm hits you hard and fast, his hand never slipping inside the thin material, torturing you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I need to be inside you.” He doesn’t give you a minute to recover. You can barely blink before your underwear is thrown away somewhere around the room, and he is already moving between your legs.

He is too desperate, too fast. Everything’s going to be over way too soon. And you need more time. This night of all nights, you need more time with him. Your heart clenches in your chest.

He is about to push in when you place your hand on his chest over his shirt. “Wait.”

He freezes. And when he looks at you this time, maybe for the first time, he looks panicked. Disheveled. You don’t know what exactly he is thinking, but you lift your hand to his face to soothe him immediately. You smile at the feeling his stubble leaves inside your hand.

“Can you go slow?” You see relief rushing through him like it’s something solid. His hands that are on either side of your legs move up and down as he looks at you with a softness in his eyes that make tears form behind your eyes.

When he speaks, it’s worse. It’s like the first time, when you weren’t this glass half version of yourself, when he didn’t break you just yet. “You okay?”

You nod, smile faltering but not leaving your face. “Yeah, just…” You don’t know what to say. Just what? Just I can’t stand the thought of you leaving so soon? Just I want you to stay a little longer?

“Just a little sensitive today.”

He smiles then, first time since he walked through your door, flesh hand coming up to cup the side of your face. “My girl’s sensitive.”

You whimper at his words, and his smile grows a little, still soft as silk. “Of course I’ll go slow, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever you want me to.” Except stay.

He does go slow.

He opens up your legs to make room for himself, but doesn’t lay on top of you yet. His hands, one warm and one cold, roam around your body, making you shiver. “How do you want me?”

You pause even though you’re not moving, and he senses it. Edge of his mouth ticks up a little. Your heart clenches in your chest.

He never asked you that before except for the first time you had sex, when you’d met just a couple of days ago.

Most of the time it feels like he knows you better than you know yourself.

You don’t know what to say for a good minute, but he is patient, he’s going slow, he waits for you.

Your mouth opens and closes for once or twice, but no words come out. Eventually, your fingers find his shirt, dragging it up and off. Your hands close around his shoulders, and he tenses when he feels your warmth around the scarred tissue of his left shoulder.

You pull him over your body in response, your legs caging him onto you by wrapping around his torso. You hold him to your neck, your mouth dancing over his ear, a small shudder leaves him as his forearms rest on either side of your head. “Like this,” you whisper. “Close, and slow.”

“Close and slow.”

You nod, and he copies you.

When he pushes in, it’s both heaven and hell.

Heaven because he’s here, he’s so close, as close as he can be. And he feels so good, filling you so well that makes you think he was made for you.

Hell because he’ll leave, he may be close but he’s always so far. He is breathing into your neck, inhaling your scent, grunting with every powerful thrust of his hips, and it feels like he thinks you are made for him as well.

After five or ten or twenty thrusts, you can’t even tell, you are gone again. You try to warn him while also holding onto him impossibly tighter before softly crying out. “Bucky- I’m-“

He nods, because he already knows. He always knows. “Go on baby,” he says without lifting his head, voice muffled. “I got you.”

You come with tears gathering in your eyes, burying your face in his neck and breathing him in.

His hips never lose their rhythm, instead gaining strength and speed. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Squeezin’ me so tight.”

He keeps going until the you come around him once again, the force of it catching you by surprise. You don’t even realize you are chanting his name until he starts caressing your hair and murmuring next to your ear. “I know baby, I know.”

He is losing control, you can tell. He still tries to go slow like you asked but his rhythm falters, his hips speeding up and slowing down like he’s at war with himself. You can tell he is close when he starts grinding into you every other thrust, almost making you climb that high again.

“You feel so good,” he says suddenly, voice higher than before. “Best thing in my goddamn life.”

Faster.

“Baby, my baby.”

You can’t breathe.

Faster.

“I love you, I love you, fuck. My baby.”

Your whole world narrows down to the sound of his voice, hands freezing where they were traveling around his shoulders.

You don’t even breathe when he collapses on top of you, and even though you can’t see anything in the now pitch black room, you can feel him. He’s so warm, his face still hidden in the crook of your neck, heavy breaths mixing with yours. He stays like that for a couple of seconds.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, not knowing what to do, how to react. You are terrified.

You try savoring the feeling of his strong frame enveloping yours, even though you almost choke under his weight.

You are afraid to move. You are afraid the second you move an inch, he will come to himself and realize what just happened. And you so desperately want this to last, for it to be real. But after a minute or two, you can’t stop yourself from slowly bringing your fingers to his hair and starting to play with the damp strands that curls a little around his neck. He lets out a soft breath and you can swear that for a moment, he relaxes into you even more.

It takes a while for him to raise his head from your neck and look at you, his eyes filled with so many emotions that you can’t quite name.

“Please, James.”

That seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, because he averts his gaze from yours, shame, again, winning over any other emotion on his face. You watch it happen like it’s a movie you’ve seen a hundred times.

You wince when he pulls out of you, and he steals a glance to make sure you are okay, but that’s it. He is on his feet, putting on his clothes again.

“J- Bucky,” you try one more time, your voice wavering. Pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he’s in a rush. “It was- I-“ He shakes his head, pulls on his pants.

“It was the heat of the moment, I- I got carried away. It wasn’t-“

He might as well struck you.

“It’s okay,” you manage to say, interrupting his rambling. You take the blanket hanging off the bed and cover yourself, feeling too exposed now that he wasn’t in the bed with you. “I know.”

You feel like you are about to throw up.

He pauses for a moment at your words, but doesn’t take it back.

And for the first time ever, you want him to leave. Because now, you are about to lose control. You feel on the verge of some kind of an anger attack, because of him, or yourself, you don’t know. You just want him to get the hell out of your house as soon as possible so you can cry until your body runs out of tears.

“Take care of yourself,” he says when he is dressed seconds later. You almost laugh. He rushes towards your door, lingering there for a second too long that causes your stupid heart to skip a bit and straighten up a little bit.

But then he is gone.

The low sound of the apartment’s door getting shut making you flinch like someone slammed it, and you find yourself where you always were. Crying, with his cum dripping between your legs, trying with every fiber of your being to not feel used.

IloveyouIloveyouMybaby

—

Bucky knows what it means to hate oneself. He’s hated himself for the better part of his life. He knows what it’s like to not be able to live with himself. Which is precisely why he cannot have you. Not in the way you and him both want. You don’t deserve this broken version of him. He did things in his life, terrible things, killed and tortured people, did things he can never forget or forgive himself for. But after meeting you? After leaving you over and over and over again? He didn’t know he could hate himself to the degree he does now.

Each time he leaves you with tears in your eyes, it feels like it’s the worst thing he has ever done.

And he knows it’s not fair, how he keeps coming back. He knows he isn’t letting you breathe, let alone move on. Yet he can’t stop.

Standing outside your apartment now, trying to stop himself from knocking on the door, knowing he will hurt you again, is a unique kind of torture.

A battle he always loses.

Because he needs you. He always needs you.

And he knows it’s selfish, so selfish that it makes his stomach turn, makes him unable to look in the mirror in the morning. But he needs you, and he can’t help it.

He knocks.

He hates himself.

The second his hand meets your door, he knows something’s wrong. He doesn’t know why, but it’s wrong. The sound of his knuckles against your door is wrong, the eerie silence of the building is wrong, and he can’t hear your footsteps coming towards the door. It’s just wrong.

His brows furrow. His heartbeat picks up.

He knocks again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing.

A rational part of him inside his head tries to reassure him, maybe you were out with your friends, maybe you just went to get some fucking milk. But no, he knows. Something’s not right. He can feel it in his bones.

He is panting now, staring at your door, eyes wide, trying to not let panic consume his whole being.

“Doll?” he tries desperately, heart pounding.

The door behind him opens, and it makes him flinch so hard that he needs to take a second to look behind him. An old lady, probably younger than he is, stands behind the threshold, looking at him with squinted eyes. “Are you James Barnes?”

Bucky’s heart drops. He doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want to know how she knows who he is or hear what she has to say. His mouth feels like he spent the last three days chewing concrete.

He nods.

“She’s gone.”

No.

“What?”

“She left,” the lady repeats. “She’d say you’d come by. Kindly asked me to let you know.”

Just like that, the earth is swiped away under his feet, his whole world is crumbled, crushed down upon him. Two words, and he feels like he’s dying.

“What- uh…” A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, flesh hand coming up to rest on his forehead for a second. “What do you mean she left?”

The lady looks at him with sympathetic eyes. Bucky wants to cry. “She moved away, it’s a shame. Such a nice girl. Told me to tell you.” When Bucky just stares at her, she gives her a tight smile like she knows. “Sorry, Kid. Have a nice evening.”

Then her door is shut.

He flinches again at the sound of it.

And Bucky is left in the hallway, your door not opening for the first time in seven months.

WELL! wasn’t that something? thinking about doing a second part for this with a more detailed smut section, but i think i’ll just see whether you guys want one or not.👀

comments & reblogs fuel me, love you!

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 14

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You two have a little getaway.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: This took a hot minute lol I kept rewriting the first bit even after the rest was written, and then my dog got a bad infection (he’s okay now). It’s been a time lol I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs last chapter💜

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: age gap, SMUT (MINORS DNI), p in v, oral (f! receiving), fingering, light dirty talk, pet names (honey, sweetheart, my love), foul language

not beta read

On the night of Michael’s birthday, he grew more reserved. Dinner came and went with you trying to coax him back out of his shell — and you hoped it was only his nerves about you meeting his friends afterwards. You were nervous enough for the both of you, but you began to worry he was having second thoughts.

In the car, he said, “I’m nearly twice your age now.”

You leaned back into the passenger seat with a long sigh. You both sat quietly for several moments, Michael staring out the window while you rubbed your thumb along your other palm. The age gap seemed to hold steady over your heads — even as you were falling in love. He was now closer to nineteen years older rather than eighteen, and would be until your birthday later in the year. It was clear the near two decades were weighing on him.

You reached over to grab his hand, “And so what? We’ve discussed this.”

Michael ran his other hand over his face, letting out a huff of air. “I don’t want to steal your youth.”

“Michael, you’re not stealing anything.” You told him, “This is a two way street. One I’m actively choosing.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking out at the parking lot. He squeezed your hand with a heavy sigh.

“Do you feel like I’m stealing something from you? I don’t know…I haven’t fully gotten my life together yet, I’m still waiting to get my certifications…I can’t always be there in a way someone older might be able to—”

His eyes were on you while he shook his head, “Not at all. That’s not…I want you as you are.”

You held his gaze and smiled, trying to convey the same sentiment, “That’s what I want, too.”

“I’m sorry. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy or normal. I don’t want to keep chasing you away, I just wasn’t expecting to feel this way today.”

“Well, I’d rather you tell me what's going on in your head rather than bury it.”

He nodded, “And what happens when I turn 50?”

“That’s five years away. It’s not like I’m immune to aging…I’ll age five years, too.” You said. “And I’d hope we’d have made a life together by that point. We can deal with how you feel about it together.”

“I like the sound of that.”

You smiled, and he leaned over to kiss you.

The drive to the bar was quiet, but nerves had invaded your belly at meeting people from Michael’s life. You had been able to learn how to handle the judgment from strangers, but it felt like a whole new ballgame with people in his life.

Jack was tough to read, and it felt like Dana had been an easier sell. Her husband, Benji, had been easy enough to talk to, and took some of the conversational weight off your shoulders. Perhaps since he also did not work in the hospital, or perhaps he took pity on you, either way, it was relieving.

When asked about it, you told them about school and graduating — but it made you feel too young. One could attend university at any time in their life, but all of them had finished closer to when you were born. You tried not to be uncomfortable about it.

“How did you guys meet?” Benji asked, sipping his beer.

Your eyes flickered up to Michael, trying to conceal your alarm. Why hadn’t you discussed it? Did he want to tell them the truth or—

“Coffee shop. Our orders got mixed up.” Michael supplied, the lie passing easily from his lips.

Though, you had met at a coffee shop, so it wasn’t a straight up lie.

You forced a smile looking back to Benji, “We ended up talking for a while and I gave him my number.” Again, not a total lie, but your cheeks burned.

Dana’s eyes moved back and forth between you, “You could’ve told me she was your girlfriend when she came in, Robinavitch. No need for all that secretive VIP crap.”

You watched Michael cringe slightly at the use of his full name.

“I wasn’t yet.” You interjected, smiling shyly. “It took awhile for us to figure that part out.”

The night continued after with less pressing questions and easier small talk. They each traded stupid stories about patients, or the weirdest thing they found swallowed or inserted on x-ray. With Benji there, it made you feel less out of the loop, and he waved them off.

“Don’t you guys work there enough to not talk about it after hours?” Benji asked.

“Never after hours.” said Jack with a shrug.

Michael rolled his eyes playfully, “Fine, fine — how’re the kids?”

Another hour and they were all departing. Dana pulled you into a quick hug, whispering, “You’re good for him.” in your ear. You had grinned wide, relief flooding your system as you thanked the woman. Everyone parted ways after, and Michael took your hand as you walked to his car.

“They all seem like good people. I hope they liked me.”

Michael kissed the side of your head, “Of course they did. You make it easy.”

Your eyes met his brown, “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Before opening the passenger side door, he turned you around. He was fidgety, his hand growing clammy while the other rubbed the back of his neck.

“You okay?” You asked tentatively, squeezing his hand.

He cleared his throat, “I can’t really even begin to tell you how much I enjoy our time together, how much I enjoy you. I’ve—this hasn’t been easy and we had a rough start, but I’m glad you’re in my life. I love you.”

Your breath caught and you stared at him wide-eyed. Your heart thudded hard against your ribs and you reminded yourself to breathe.

When your thoughts returned, you smiled at him, “I love you, too, Michael”

—

“You sure know how to play the long con.” You said, eyes still bleary from the early morning as trees raced by.

Michael looked over at you with an eyebrow raised, before looking back at the road.

“Murder me in a cabin in the woods?” You elaborated, “Peaceful, quiet. It’d be great if it wasn’t so cliche.”

Michael laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Does that have anything to do with the documentary you insisted on watching last night?”

You had barely been able to fall asleep until Michael had pulled you into his arms, making you feel safe and protected. You loved those documentaries, despite how dark they were, or how many lights you had to turn on to get through them.

You sipped your coffee, “Of course not.”

“I see far too much blood and guts on a daily basis; I’d never spoil the cabin like that.” He said, tone momentarily slipping into something serious. “Besides, I like you too much. Thought I’d keep you around.”

You laughed, “How romantic.”

“I’m plenty romantic!” He said with a smile, “Cabin in the woods, a fire, good wine, the works. I even remembered to snag your favorite rom-coms from your apartment last week.”

You hid your grin by glancing out the window at the world speeding by. “And to think, you did all that to take me fishing…”

“You said you wanted to learn!”

Laughing, you said, “No harm in trying something once.”

He reached over the center console to grab hold of your hand, “I’m glad we’re getting some time away. It’ll be nice to not worry about work for a bit…”

“Or studying.” You added, intertwining your fingers. “Thank you for bringing me, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

He smiled softly, and you thought about all the feelings swirling in your chest. All of them easily spelling out love. Even after confessing it to each other weeks ago, it still felt new and exciting. Like everything had finally clicked into place after dancing around it forever.

His cabin was miles off the highway, found after traveling several winding roads, a long driveway nestled between towering trees. The trees eventually gave way to the cabin, quaint but with plenty of character. A picnic bench sat to the right of the structure, where a set of stairs led into a screened in porch. A large built in firepit sat several feet away from it.

The back door opened onto the porch, which held an outdoor dining table and a few outdoor loungers. The land began to slope downward right where the porch started, free of trees that made the view of the mountains all the easier to take in. The forest picked back up again about a quarter of a mile down, where it seemed the land leveled out again. Jutting out just slightly from the cabin was a storage closet, holding some cushions for said loungers, an umbrella for the table, and some odds and ends.

You took a deep breath in, and leaned into Michael when you breathed out. It was quiet and serene, the silence only filled by birds and buzzing insects. You could only slightly see one of his neighbor’s houses through the trees, but otherwise, it was completely private.

“You sure do know how to pick ‘em.”

Michael looked at you and smiled, “Yeah, I do.”

—

After an unsuccessful fishing trip, a hike and a long soak in the clawfoot tub, you emerged in the kitchen to see what Michael was doing. Uncooked burgers sat on parchment paper on a sheet tray, while Michael was putting a bowl of pasta salad in the fridge.

You followed after him and sat on one of the loungers while Michael cooked the burgers. He was humming an old blues song while you took in the view of the retreating sun over the mountains.

Dinner was spent under the sky, with quiet banter and easy conversation — and you savored more than just the meal. Pittsburgh could be busy, messy and complicated, but stepping back in a secluded cabin, you knew you wouldn’t change a thing about your life.

Cleaning up dinner, you both settled on the couch, turning on one of the rom-coms he had brought — How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days — and you curled into his side.

By the time the credits were rolling, you found yourself in his lap, kissing up his neck while his hands explored your figure. Your heart sped up in your chest, moving your hands to his hair. You tried not to grind your hips into his, trying to be slow — but your mind grew hazy with lust.

“Mike.” You breathed against his lips, half a whine, half a plea.

Like he could read your mind, his hands were on your hips, pushing just enough to where you got the hint and stood up. Your lips never left his, even as he led you to the bedroom, hand in your hair.

Once on the bed, Michael removed your pants and trailed kisses up your inner thigh. Your face heated and you suppressed the urge to beg him to move faster. You never wanted to rush him, to be painfully young in wanting it all without the chance to savor it, but his hot breath on your skin and his teeth nipping at your flesh made you feral. You were already squirming before he even situated himself to your wet heat.

Discarding your panties, Michael left a wet kiss to your clit, and you jolted at the sensation. One of his hands traveled up your torso to grab hold of your breast, fingers twirling around the nipple, while his other was locked around your knee. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you took in a deep breath to steady yourself.

Your clit was throbbing, spurred on by the sensation on your nipple. He held your gaze as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moaned, gripping the wrist that was at your breast and held onto him like it would keep you tethered.

His tongue was an expert, and always left you seeing stars — your orgasm never taking very long, especially not when his fingers rubbed at that spongy spot inside you. He sucked, licked and devoured everything you gave him like a man starved, and it thrilled you more to know he was enjoying it. Even when he was being slow or teasing, he never seemed to mind how long it took.

Michael’s fingers curled upwards, tongue tracing circles on your clit until the wave took you in. You cried out his name, fingers in the bed sheets while the heat barreled through your system. He had a habit of not stopping, even when you grew overstimulated, sometimes eagerly even trying to coax a second out of you.

This time, though, you pulled him up to kiss him hungrily. The taste of yourself on his tongue made your thoughts stutter, before bringing him closer.

Without warning, you flipped you both so Michael was on his back and he stared up wide-eyed at you. Your shirt was easily discarded.

He smirked, hands going to your hips while you undid his pants. Pulling off his shirt, he pulled you in for a quick kiss. He was straining against his boxers, hard and immediately at attention when you pulled back his boxers. You were quick with the condom before steadying yourself over him. You leaned down to place a delicate kiss to his lips.

You sunk down on him slowly, hissing as you adjusted to his size, hands on his chest. He groaned low in his throat and you pulsed at the sound, your hips meeting his.

“Yeah? Like hearing what you do to me, sweetheart?”

You grinned, nodding dumbly, pulling his hands from your hips up to your breasts. To be so full of him made your eyes water and you threw your head back to try to find your breath again.

“Feels so good.” You moaned, looking back into his eyes.

You moved up slowly, before grinding back down and trying to find a pace you liked. Michael stared up at you, eyes dark, meeting you halfway with thrusts of his own. Heat coiled low again, pooling throughout your abdomen.

Michael moved a hand to your clit to rub lazy circles, and it burned deliciously — overstimulation yielding to pleasure. You moaned, moving up just enough for him to brush against that spot inside you.

“You look so good like that, honey. Fuck, you ride my cock so well.”

Your pussy fluttered at the words, eyes screwing shut. You felt lost in the winding euphoria coiling tighter. Michael gripped your hip while keeping his thumb rubbing your clit, thrusting up into you as you grew tighter and tighter.

Michael choked out a moan, and you hummed a mewl as you approached your climax.

“Mike—Mike—“ you whined, “So close—don’t stop, please.”

“Gonna fill you up, my love, come on. Come on my cock, know you want to.” He ground out. “You look so pretty when you do.”

You moaned low when the coil snapped and the white-hot heat invaded your vision and took over your senses. It rushed throughout your body and a single tear escaped the corner of your eye.

Michael was relentless after that, even as you were whining from the overstimulation, he kept going. Chasing his own high, but he never let up on your clit.

You felt completely blindsided by your third orgasm, rolling off the waves of your second until you were fluttering around him again. Crying out and squirming, you met a few of his thrusts in a cock-drunk daze.

Pleasure contorted Michael's face until he was coming with you, a groan low in his throat. His thrusts grew sloppy until they slowed. He twitched and you felt the warmth of it inside you, blooming upwards.

Your hairline was wet with sweat, and you breathed heavily. You leaned down to lay on his chest, his cock still stuffed inside you, but it had pleasure still echoing in your system.

Moving your head to his shoulder, Michael kissed your forehead. One hand trailed light lines up and down your spine, while you kept your hands on his biceps trying to catch your breath.

“I don’t think I ever wanna leave.”

Michael chuckled lightly, and brought you in for a kiss.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx @longlivecandice @misshoneypaper @moonshooter @catmomstyles3

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with bigger age gaps since this started. Sometimes I forget I aged Michael down slightly lol

Robby’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day up next!

[yungistiny]

heat wave

[ J. Yunho ]

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summary: in which your brother’s best friend helps you during your heat

warning: alpha dom yunho, sub omega reader, unprotected sex, claiming, biting, scenting, early heat, mating, knotting, slight breeding kink, semi public sex

genre: romance, smut

pairing: alpha yunho x omega afab reader

word count: 3.8k

note: this was requested anonymously but thank you for it because I enjoyed writing this too much 🤭

masterlist

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The car ride was already too warm, even with the AC blasting and the ocean air drifting in through cracked windows.

You sat in the backseat, legs curled beneath you, tank top sticking to your lower back from sweat. The music was low, some playlist Yeosang had made for the summer, and your half brother San was in the passenger seat up front, arm out the window like he owned the world.

Yunho was driving.

And you were trying not to squirm.

It had started that morning, the slow, low pulse in your core, the sudden heat flushing through your skin. You’d brushed it off as nerves, maybe excitement. You hadn’t seen the boys in a while with being at college.

But now, in the tight space of the car, between the weight of Yunho’s scent and the increasing slick dampening your shorts, you knew better.

Your heat was coming.

Too early. You’d miscalculated. You always had a few more days after the headaches started. But now? Your thighs were slick. Your pulse was rapid. And Yunho kept glancing at you through the rearview mirror like he already knew.

You pressed your knees tighter together, willing your body to behave, heart pounding.

San was oblivious, chewing sunflower seeds and tossing the shells into a paper cup. He didn’t notice the way you kept shifting, or how you’d rolled the window down further to get his scent out.

Yunho’s scent.

It was worse than you remembered. Stronger. Musky and warm like sandalwood and fire. It coiled around you in the car like a thick rope, subtle but unmistakably Alpha.

He cleared his throat once. Twice. “You alright, Y/N?”

His voice was deeper than usual. Too casual. But his eyes lingered when they flicked back in the mirror.

“Y…. Yeah.” You tried to smile, but your voice came out too soft, too breathy. You saw it hit him immediately. Yunho’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched, and he didn’t look in the mirror again after that.

By the time you arrived at the beach house, the sky had turned a pale, hazy gold. The house sat at the edge of the dunes, a long wrap around deck, high windows, and the sound of waves just beyond the trees.

It should’ve felt like paradise.

Instead, you were burning.

You pretended to help carry bags but ducked into the hallway bathroom the moment you could. You turned on the fan, pressed a cold towel to your neck, and bit back the whimper clawing its way up your throat.

Your body was drenched.

Your scent, sweet, thick omega arousal, was impossible to hide now. You knew it. And so did Yunho.

When you slipped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, you walked straight into him in the hallway.

“Sorry!” You froze. His arm had come out instinctively to steady you. Your body screamed at you to lean into him, let him scent you, touch you, fill you.

But you pulled away, too fast.

His nostrils flared. His pupils were dark.

“You should’ve told someone.” His voice was rougher now. Low, quiet, but laced with Alpha command. “It’s early. You’re in pre heat, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t speak.

He looked down at you, his hand still halfway raised like he wanted to touch you. His scent was rolling off him in heavy waves now, desire barely restrained.

“I’m fine,” you whispered. “I’ll lock my door tonight.”

His jaw ticked. “That won’t help if you’re loud.”

You swallowed. “I’ll be quiet.”

He took a slow step closer. You didn’t move. “If you need help,” he hesitated for a second. “I’m here.”

You didn’t trust your voice anymore. You just looked up at him, eyes wide, body humming.

And you knew.

If you asked, he’d come to you.

Your brother’s best friend. The same one you’ve had a crush on forever.

“Pizza is here!” San’s voice rang throughout the house. You and Yunho practically jumped away from each other, making your way to the living room where Yeosang carried in three boxes of pizza.

You almost ate an entire pizza by yourself, the boys not saying anything. You were desperate to distract yourself from the constant ache of your heat, ignoring the way Yunho would glance at you, eyes dark, as if he were drinking you in.

“I’m gonna go to bed.” You jumped up, hands shaking, San arched a brow at you. “You ok?”

“Fine.” You answered too quickly, brushing him off. “Just tired, long car ride.”

You could feel Yunho’s gaze burning a hole in your back as you left to your room.

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You tried to wait it out.

Tried to stay in your room, quiet, curled in your sheets, fingers buried between your thighs and biting your pillow until you cried.

But it wasn’t enough. It never was.

You needed him.

If you need help, I’m here

You slipped down the hall barefoot in the dark, the moonlight pooling over the wood floors. His scent led you, spicy, electric, magnetic. His door was slightly open. You didn’t knock.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless, sweat clinging to his chest, one hand running through his hair like he was fighting a war in his head.

He looked up when you peeked inside.

“I can’t….” you gasped, feeling embarrassed. What if he wasn’t serious? What if he just meant to help you in a different way all together? “Yunho, it hurts.”

He stared at you for a long moment before standing up. “You’re so fucking lucky your brother is passed out downstairs.”

Then he was on you.

Mouth crashing to yours, hands already dragging your tank top up and over your head. You moaned as he shoved your shorts down, fingers grazing your slick.

“So fucking wet already…. god, you smell like mine.”

You whined at that, shuddering. Any coherent thought long gone the second he kissed you.

“You want to be bred, omega?” he growled, the alpha in him taking complete control. “Want me to knot you so deep you won’t be able to get out of bed?”

“Yes…. please, Alpha, I need it…”

He grabbed your thighs, tossed you onto the bed, and spread your legs. His tongue was on you before you could catch your breath, long, deep strokes through your folds, drinking your slick like he was starving.

Your hands clawed at the sheets. “Yunho…. please…. I can’t….” Every touch, every sensation was so much. You’d never had sex during heat before. Never been knotted before.

He growled into your cunt, the vibrations making you jerk. “Say it.”

“Yours….. I’m yours!”

He stood, yanked his boxers off, and climbed over you. His dick slapped against you, thick, flushed, and already leaking. You sobbed at the sight.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna make you feel so good.”

When he pushed in, you screamed in pure bliss, shaking, shuddering at the stretch.

It was too much.

Too wide. Too deep. But your body welcomed it, greedy, slick walls clenching around him like it knew him already.

He fucked you slow at first. Long, deep strokes that made your toes curl, his hips grinding into your ass. His mouth stayed on your neck, teeth teasing your gland, breath hot.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Faster… Yunho…. more… please…”

He growled and flipped you over, pulling your hips up so your knees barely touched the bed. Then he slammed in again, over and over, fast, brutal, perfect.

You sobbed into the pillows as your orgasm slammed through you, your body locking up, your cunt milking him.

“Good girl…. such a good little omega… taking your Alpha so well.”

You felt the swell of his knot beginning, stretching you more with each thrust. “Gonna knot you now, baby,” he groaned. “Gonna fuck it in and keep you full.”

You screamed when it locked, the thick bulb stretching you wide as he came, hot and endless, deep inside you.

You were trembling, body pulsing around him, stuck together now. His knot throbbed inside you, his arms tight around your waist as he kissed your spine, murmuring. “You did so good. So fucking pretty when you come. You’re mine now. You know that, right?”

You nodded, tears of relief slipping down your cheeks. “I’m yours.”

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The morning light felt too bright.

You barely managed to wash up and throw on a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized tee, Yunho’s, you realized. It still smelled like him, and the second you slipped it over your flushed skin, your body gave a needy shiver.

Your thighs still ached from the night before. Your skin tingled from where his teeth had marked just beside your scent gland.

But you were still in heat.

The ache hadn’t gone away, just dulled slightly under the weight of Yunho’s knot and his scent and the way he curled around you all night like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You didn’t expect to be woken up by San pounding on the door.

“Wake up! Hike day! The trail’s only shaded until noon!”

You froze. Yunho, still tangled up with you, still inside you, his knot now soft, muttered a curse and pressed his face into your neck.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he growled.

“We don’t have to….”

“He’ll get suspicious if we don’t show. Just… stay close to me.”

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You couldn’t meet Yeosang’s eyes as you climbed into the back of the Jeep with him. He looked a little too knowing. San, of course, was all energy and excitement, water bottles, snacks, an old bandana tied around his head like a scout leader.

Yunho walked behind you the entire time, his hand grazing the small of your back whenever you stumbled, his body an ever present shadow.

Your scent was lighter now, masked with suppressing spray you found in the bottom of your bag and layers of sunscreen. But the way his pupils stayed dilated? The way his jaw clenched every time the wind shifted your scent toward him?

You knew the heat was still affecting you both.

And you knew something was going to snap.

You barely made it halfway up the trail before you started feeling it again.

The ache. The pulse. The slow slick build between your thighs that made your steps shorter and your skin hotter.

Yunho noticed first.

He leaned in under the guise of tightening your backpack strap, his lips brushing your ear. “Can’t wait any longer? You need it again, don’t you?”

You nodded helplessly.

He glanced up the trail, where San and Yeosang were arguing over whether to take the right or left fork. Then he grabbed your hand. “Come with me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t even wait until you were fully hidden in the trees. Just far enough that their voices were gone, the air thick with pine and earth, your scent already blooming again, syrupy and sweet.

Yunho pressed you against the nearest tree, mouth crashing to yours, tongue deep and possessive, hands under your shirt like he couldn’t bear the distance of clothing.

“You’re soaking through these shorts,” he growled against your lips. “Your heat’s calling to me like a fucking siren.”

“Need you…. Alpha…. please..”

“You’re gonna take my knot right here, baby? Out in the woods where anyone could find us?”

You whimpered, head tipped back. “Yes… need you inside…”

He didn’t need to hear more.

He ripped your shorts down, barely giving you time to brace before he spun you around and bent you forward against the tree trunk. His hand snaked under your belly, lifting your hips just right.

And then he pushed in.

Your body welcomed him, slick and open and already spasming. His dick slid home with a loud, wet sound, both of you gasping at the sudden stretch.

“Fuck… so tight, so perfect…”

He started moving instantly, hips snapping into yours with sharp, possessive thrusts. His hand stayed around your waist, keeping you anchored as he drove deeper and deeper, the knot beginning to swell again.

Birds scattered from the trees from how loud you were, your moans echoing through the woods.

“You gonna come for me again?” he hissed. “You gonna milk my dick like you did last night?”

“Please… please, I’m so close”

He slammed in deeper, rutting like the heat had taken him over. One hand came up to your throat, pulling you back against his chest.

“You’re mine, omega. My scent’s all over you. My knot’s been in you all night. Say it.”

“Yours… Yours, Yunho… Alpha, I’m yours!”

That was it.

He bit down on your neck again, still not your scent gland, but enough to bruise, and with a broken growl, he came, knot locking tight inside you as his dick pulsed with hot, endless release.

You shattered around him.

Body twitching, cunt clenching tight, your vision going white as you sagged against the tree and let him hold you there.

After a few moments, he carefully guided you down to the soft moss, his arms still wrapped around you as he whispered praise into your ear. “So good for me. My pretty little omega. Always gonna take care of you.”

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, still panting, still trembling.

“San’s gonna kill you if he finds out.” Maybe not.

Yunho chuckled against your temple, breath warm. “Let him try.”

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The sun had sunk into the horizon hours ago, bleeding gold and fire into the sea before giving way to a blanket of stars. The breeze was cooler now, ruffling through the gauzy curtains that framed the open patio doors.

San was at the grill, flipping shrimp with a beer in one hand, his bandana crooked on his forehead. Yeosang was on his second glass of wine, legs kicked up on the railing, pretending not to be watching everything.

And you were sitting at the table, trying to act normal.

But Yunho’s thigh was pressed against yours.

And your core was still aching.

You were on edge, high strung, over aware, heat rattled. The ache hadn’t faded, if anything, it had deepened after the second time. Your scent was mostly masked, and you’d spent the last hour pressed against a cold glass of water in a vain attempt to cool down.

Yunho wasn’t faring much better. His voice was hoarse from hiking. His neck was flushed, hair damp from a shower, and his eyes flicked to you every few minutes like he couldn’t stop himself.

San sat down with the last plate of food and grinned like a man proud of himself.

“God, today was perfect. We’re doing the long trail tomorrow. Maybe the one with the cliffs, oh!” He pointed his fork at the two of you. “Where the hell did you two disappear to today?”

Your heart stopped and you went still mid bite.

Yunho, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He reached for his drink slowly. “She twisted her ankle a little,” he said smoothly. “We doubled back the lower trail. Took it slow.”

You nodded quickly, mouth full. “Yeah. It was nothing.”

San squinted. “Seriously? You okay? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Ever the protective brother.

“I’m fine.” You waved a hand, barely forcing a smile. “Didn’t wanna make a big deal.”

It might’ve worked. It almost worked.

If Yeosang hadn’t snorted into his wine.

You turned slowly. Yunho stiffened beside you.

Yeosang didn’t look at you. He just swirled his wine and stared at the liquid like it had wronged him.

“What?” San asked, confused.

Yeosang looked up, eyes lazy. “Nothing.”

San blinked. “You laughed.”

Yeosang tilted his head. “Did I?”

Yunho’s fingers were clenched around his glass so tightly you were afraid it might shatter.

Yeosang didn’t even bother pretending to not enjoy it.

“I just think it’s funny,” he said, slow and casual, “that someone who twisted their ankle still managed to scream loud enough to wake me up at three in the morning last night.”

The entire table went still.

Yunho swore under his breath. You choked.

San frowned. “Wait…. what?”

Yeosang leaned back, the picture of calm. “Walls are thin. And I’m a light sleeper. Really light. Especially when someone’s… y’know. Trying to claim someone’s sister.”

You dropped your fork.

San stared. “Wait. Who…. wait, what?”

Yeosang smiled. “You’re the only omega in the house, Y/N.”

You wanted to die.

Yunho reached for your hand under the table, protective, subtle, and you let him take it.

San looked between the three of you. “Wait, wait. Someone explain. What the fuck is going on right now?”

Yeosang took a sip of wine. “Ask your best friend.”

There was a long pause of silence. San looking back and forth between you and Yunho.

I’m not mad,” He finally spoke. “I’m just… disturbed.” He really could have went the rest of his life without knowing his best friend….. knotted his sister.

You and Yunho both sighed in relief and sat on the deck like kids caught sneaking out. You’d expected yelling. Rage. A storm. But San just kept poking at his empty dinner plate like he was mourning the loss of his innocence.

“You’re my best friend,” he said to Yunho, making a face. “And you’re my sister. So that means this is… like… double disgusting.”

“Technically we’re half siblings,” you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not helping.”

Yunho winced. “Look, San…”

“Don’t.” San waved him off, shuddering dramatically. “If you say one word about her, I’m throwing myself into the ocean.”

You squeaked in horror. Yunho turned beet red.

Yeosang, still sipping wine behind you both, gave a slow, satisfied clap. “Honestly, I’m proud of how this all came out. A little traumatic, but narratively satisfying.”

By the time the house had quieted, it was past midnight.

The stars were sharp above you, a spray of silver scattered across the velvet sky. The ocean was a low hum beyond the dunes, and the full moon hung huge and watchful overhead. The breeze was cool on your flushed skin as you padded barefoot across the deck.

Yunho was waiting by the edge of the stairs.

He held out his hand without a word.

The sand was cool and damp beneath your feet. The moonlight painted the waves silver, glinting off the white foam as they rolled in slow and steady. You walked in silence for a long while, hand in hand, your heart thudding with something more than heat.

When he spoke, it was soft. Barely above the hush of the sea. “I almost didn’t come to the beach house this summer.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Why?”

“Because I knew this would happen.” He stopped walking, turning to you. “I knew if I saw you again….. I’d finally give in.”

His voice shook at the end. The wind caught it and carried it away.

You swallowed hard, throat aching.

Then he pulled you into him.

The kiss was different this time. Not wild or frenzied, but deep. Full of everything he hadn’t said. His lips were warm, his hands gentle as they cupped your jaw. You melted into it, your fingers gripping his shirt like it anchored you to the moment.

When you pulled apart, his forehead pressed to yours. His breath was trembling.

“Let me do it right this time.”

You nodded, breathless. “Please.”

He guided you down slowly, taking his shirt off, laying it out onto the sand before lowering you onto it. The waves whispered nearby. The moon watched. The world shrank to just you and him.

He undressed you slowly.

No rush, no panic, just reverence. Each inch of skin he bared, he kissed. Your throat. Your collarbone. The valley between your breasts. Your hips, where his fingers brushed over the curves.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, eyes heavy lidded. “You always have been.”

You reached for him, fingers trailing up his chest, his lean muscles gleaming under the moonlight. You couldn’t stop touching him. His chest. His arms. The strong lines of his torso. He trembled under your hands like you had magic in your fingers.

When he finally slid between your thighs, you were already slick and throbbing.

But he didn’t rush.

He cupped your face as he pressed inside you, inch by inch, watching every expression, waiting for your gasp, that breathy moan that told him he was home. You arched beneath him, hands fisting in the shirt beneath you.

“Yunho…”

“I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you.”

His pace was slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that made you whimper and cling to him. The stretch was delicious. The pressure perfect. Every thrust was laced with devotion, like he was memorizing how your body opened for him, welcomed him in.

His forehead rested against yours. His lips brushed your cheeks, your nose, your chin.

“I love you,” he whispered, breath catching. “I’ve loved you since we were teenagers and you asked me to teach you how to drive.”

You kissed him, moaning into his mouth as he rocked into you harder now. The rhythm built slowly, steadily, like the tide coming in. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs as you urged him deeper.

“Yunho… need you… want all of you…”

“You have me,” he growled, the edge of his control fraying. “You have me.”

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit. You shattered, eyes rolling back, body clenching so hard around him he nearly lost it. You sobbed his name, a broken, “I love you too,” as your orgasm pulsed through you, your body arching into his.

He buried himself deep, thrusting hard now, chasing his own release.

“I’m gonna knot you, baby. Gonna fill you so good. Wanna claim you under this moon… make it forever…”

“Yes… yes, please… do it!”

The knot began to swell, thickening inside you, stretching you wide again. You moaned as your body took it, your hands gripping his shoulders, your mouth on his jaw.

He bit you. His teeth sank into your scent gland, the claiming bite deep and final, binding you to him. You cried out as it sent another orgasm slamming through you, cunt fluttering around his knot as he groaned your name into your throat.

He came hard.

Hot, endless release flooding you, locked inside by the knot, your bodies fused under the full moon, claimed in every sense of the word.

You stayed like that, tangled together, breathless, trembling, as the waves rolled in the distance and the sky slowly shifted above you.

His fingers brushed your cheek. “You’re mine.”

“I always was.”

He kissed you again, long and slow.

And the world was nothing but you, him, and the ocean singing to the moon.

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[followthestarliight]

the LI the LADS Men are jealous of

featuring - Xavier x F!Reader, Rafayel x F!Reader, Sylus x F!Reader, Caleb x F!Reader, Zayne x F!Reader

a/n - Sylus's is kind of sad, im sorry...

XAVIER

Every single one, but none of them elicit a stronger reaction from him than Caleb.

It's a little funny, because while Xavier doesn't usually express emotion unless he's with you, his expressions take you out when he sees Caleb. He either pouts, glares, or stares very, very intensely at the Colonel - as if trying to will him out of existence. He finds it very hard to keep a straight face around your childhood friend, and you find it even harder to keep yourself from laughing.

It was very rare for Caleb to visit you in Linkon. He was so busy that you usually went up to Skyhaven to see him, though you hadn't gone in weeks due to the influx of missions you'd been assigned. So you were in the middle of planning a trip to Skyhaven, Xavier having insisted on coming with you this time.

"Xav, won't the Hunters Assoc-"

"I've asked for a few days leave."

"You don't need-"

"I want to," he said so sweetly, with an even sweeter smile, his bright eyes never failing to make you melt.

"...Okay."

But now, as you two were looking for accommodation - you figured that offering to stay at Caleb's was out of the question, even if you had a key - there was a knock on your apartment door.

"I'll get it," Xavier stood up, walking over to open it. His body tensing moments later told you exactly who was at the door.

"Colonel," your boyfriend greeted him formally, stepping aside, "What brings you to Linkon?"

"Just wanted to see my pipsqueak," Caleb grinned, oblivious to the sharp, terrifying glare that followed him as he walked deeper into your apartment.

Xavier hated that nickname. More than he hated Wanderers.

"Caleb!" You beamed, jumping up from the couch.

Did the Colonel really need his eyes? Xavier wondered, as he came up with a dozen different ways to kidnap and blind your poor childhood friend, who was really doing nothing wrong.

Not only did Caleb have a very annoying nickname for you, but he had also grown up with you. He was close to you in ways Xavier could only dream of being, and he knew everything about you - mannerisms, habits, favourites, likes, dislikes...much more than Xavier knew, because he was still discovering all of that. You had spent your entire childhood with the Farspace Fleet Colonel, whereas Xavier had only thus far had just over a year of time spent with you.

And...maybe he was also jealous that Caleb was more outgoing, more expressive, than he was. The stark differences between them gnawed at him, like an itch that wouldn't go away.

Xavier joined you on the couch quietly, his eyes flitting between you and Caleb as the Colonel asked you if you've been eating well and getting enough sleep. Why was he asking? Xavier took care of you, and he did it well. You ate together, and fell asleep together. He was perfectly capable of-

"Xav, you okay?" You cut off his train of thought, a worried expression settling on your face at the look on his. He looked like he was going to take out the whole city block's lights.

"I'm fine," he replied calmly, in his usual tone. Though you knew him well, and you noticed the slight pout on his lips and you picked up on the jealousy in his voice.

Once Caleb was gone - everyone had agreed it might be best if he stayed in Xavier's apartment while Xavier stayed with you - you sidled up to the pouty Hunter on the couch.

"Xav," you poked his cheek, "Were you jealous of someone I only consider an older brother?"

"No," he mumbled, trying to appear cool and collected.

You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder. Your hands slipped into the warm pockets of his hoodie, earning you the slightest of smiles.

"You don't have to worry, I love my sleepy Hunter boyfriend more than anyone," you kissed his cheek. "I'm yours, for as long as you want me."

"Forever."

RAFAYEL

Rafayel asserted multiple times that he did not ever get jealous - but for every time he made that preposterous claim, there was a time that he very obviously got jealous of Xavier.

"It's always the quiet ones!" He would retort, when you chided him for being so hostile towards your partner.

"He's harmless! To you, anyway!"

"Sure...until one day I wake up and you're gone...with him!"

Your poor, overdramatic fishie would never admit it out loud, but he was jealous of the Hunter's ability to stay calm in any situation. He was quiet, reserved, mature - not dramatic, loud and childish like Rafayel was. He was Rafayel's opposite, and sometimes...sometimes the fear got the best of Rafayel and he'd think one day you'll be tired of his antics and run off with the Hunter. Xavier also didn't necessarily need a bodyguard, so that also worried Rafayel - his deepest insecurity when it came to this one-sided rivalry was that he was too reliant on you, unlike your partner.

Today he seemed to be especially bothered by your association with the blue-eyed 'menace' - Rafayel's "insulting" nickname for him.

"Do you have to go?" He pouted, bottom lip sticking out so adorably that you were almost tempted to stay and cuddle him longer.

"Yes, I do. But I'll be back soon," you kissed his cheek.

"Mhm," he crossed his arms, sulking. "I'll give you one hour, then I'm going to drown him in the ocean for thinking he can steal you away from me!"

"He doesn't-!" You laughed. "Where did you get that idea??"

"Shhh, go now before I spit bubbles at you."

His indignant tone forced you to bite your lip so you wouldn't provoke him further with your amusement.

When you returned, the weariness drained from your system as your eyes widened, becoming comically large at the sight of the painting that was adorning the wall before you - the painting that your boyfriend was currently working on.

Red.

That's pretty much all you saw.

On the surface, it was a beautiful painting with no clear meaning or no visible references. But because you knew Rafayel, and you knew how he could be, you immediately knew that the blue and silver laced together within the chaos of the red was meant to symbolise Xavier.

"What is this?" You asked him, amused but also a little frightened.

"You like it?" His voice had an uncharacteristically unstable edge to it, "It came to me right after you left."

"...Yeah...I'll bet..."

You approached him, ready to give him a kiss, but he didn't climb down to meet you like he usually did. His eyes remained fixed on the canvas, his paintbrush moving swiftly. You tugged on his pants, thinking he didn't see you standing there, but he stubbornly refused to give you any attention.

"Rafayel!" You smacked his calf, making him yelp and drop his paintbrush, red paint splattering all over the tiles.

He finally looked at you, his expression a mix between a pout and a glare, "Yes?"

"Can you please come down?"

"That depends, are you actually going to stay with me this time or run away with your Prince Charming?"

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, "I'm considering the latter."

That got his attention, an undignified screech leaving his lips as he practically hurled himself at you. The two of you hit the ground in a tangled mess of limbs, his arms wrapping around you like tendrils, tightening when you tried to struggle.

"Rafayel!"

"Sorry, not sorry, cutie," he grinned at you, peppering your face with kisses. "I caught you, so by rule you are mine to keep."

"Technically, I caught you..."

SYLUS

Sylus never struck you as the jealous type, but you soon learned that he was not always as composed as he made himself out to be, especially whenever the name Zayne came up in a conversation.

It was harmless, too, a comment that you didn't think would be problematic. But it sparked some unwelcome thoughts in his mind.

"I'm fine, Sylus. Doctor Zayne was there. He helped finish off the Wanderer and then took me home after treating my wounds."

Sylus's jaw clenched. Why was another man taking care of you? Why was another man taking you home? That was his job, and his job alone. You were dating him, not whoever this Zayne was. So yes, maybe his possessive streak flared up a little.

So he did his research.

This doctor was well-known, and had earned a very respectable reputation. He also earned well enough to live luxuriously, but seemed to choose a simpler life instead. Humility.

He found himself scoffing as he read more and more.

But that may have been an attempt to hide his growing insecurity. He knew he wasn't good for you - quite the opposite in fact. His reputation, what he did for a living, how he handled things...he always knew you were too good for him. Before, it was easier to ignore because you were happy.

Now?

Much harder, knowing that you had someone who could take care of you just as well as, if not better than, he did. Someone who was just as pure as you, someone who lived in the same place as you and could see you whenever he wanted.

Sylus didn't tell you about this. He didn't want to make you choose. Or maybe, he was avoiding it because he was scared...that your choice wouldn't be him.

When you finally got to the N109 Zone, Sylus couldn't stop himself from engulfing you in what felt like the tightest embrace he'd ever got you in. Like he was trying to crush you, though not intentionally.

"I missed you," his deep voice was muffled by your hair.

"I missed you too," your expression softened, a warm smile on your lips as you wrapped your arms around him. "But what's prompted this sudden, unexpected affection?"

"Can I not just miss my girlfriend without having an ulterior motive?" He chuckled, pulling away to give you a once-over. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Doctor Zayne-"

Behind Sylus, Luke and Kieran shook their heads frantically, as if trying to tell you not to say what you were going to say. They were trying to be discreet, but then you frowned.

"Luke, Kieran, out," Sylus commanded, without even looking.

"Do you not like Zayne?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, now it's Zayne, hmm? What happened to 'Doctor'?" He chuckled, clearly trying to brush this off.

"Sylus."

He sighed, "The doctor seems...nice." Saying even that was clearly a struggle for him.

You laughed.

"Is my misery amusing to you, kitten?" He asked, though his eyes betrayed his own amusement. "You like seeing me suffer?"

"Nooo," you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck, "I just...it's so unexpected. I didn't think any man in existence could make you jealous...since you're the guy making other boyfriends jealous. Or, well you would, if you spoke to any other women..."

His amusement only increased, though your words did bring him comfort, "Would you like me to speak to other women, then? Test out your little claim."

"Absolutely not."

Sylus's laugh was rich, deep and full of joy.

CALEB

Like Xavier, Caleb is jealous of every single one of the LIs, though his Operation: Get Rid of The Other LIs didn't officially start until he found out about your encounters with Sylus, the head of Onychinus.

In this situation, his concern over your wellbeing (and your constant visits to the N109 Zone) warred with his intense jealousy and possessive nature. He didn't know whether to be more worried about you going into such a dangerous place so often, or worried about you being around Sylus more than he'd liked.

You had met Sylus before you found out Caleb was alive, that much he knew. The only way he could rationalise your behaviour in this regard was that he hadn't been there to stop you.

And now you spoke about the Onychinus leader as if he was a saint - which he was far from being.

"Next time you need to go to the N109 Zone, for whatever, tell me," he murmured in your ear one night, as you lay in his arms watching a movie.

"That's random..." You looked up at him, "What made you think of that?"

"Promise me," his eyes darkened.

"Okay, okay, I promise. But don't you think...that the Farspace Fleet's Colonel being in the N109 Zone would draw some...unwanted attention?"

"Last I checked, pipsqueak, you did that by yourself," his tone lightened, turning teasing.

"Hold on," you raised an eyebrow, "Are you-"

"Nope."

"You didn't even know what I was going to ask!"

"Yes I did," he flashed you a mischievous smile, "You were going to ask if I was joking. Which I wasn't."

"I wasn't-"

"Shhh, the movie is playing."

"Sylus."

Immediately the Colonel tensed beneath you. His arms tightened around your body, almost squeezing the life out of you. His hot breath warmed your neck, before he bit you.

"Don't say that name," he was trying to sound playful, but the dark undertones made you shiver. "Don't even think it."

Caleb was trying his best to keep calm. But hearing you say the Onychinus leader's name, even playfully, was really pushing his limits. His low growl was an indication of that, if his possessive bite wasn't.

"You're jealous," you laughed, amused and slightly disturbed.

"And you're mine," he growled once more. "Mine."

"That wasn't in question-"

"That guy," he pointed to a character on screen, one of the worst developed characters in the movie, with the worst appearance, "Reminded me of the Onychinus leader."

"You mean Sylus?" You laughed.

"No, the leader of Onychinus."

"So....Sylus."

"Stop that!" He growled.

"We're saying the same thing!"

"Every time you say his name, pipsqueak, I'm going to bite you. Hard."

Despite that sounding like a good thing, you shivered. When Caleb wanted to bite you as a punishment, it definitely was a punishment. He latched his teeth onto your shoulder, and kept them there until you squirmed uncomfortably and tried pushing him off. Usually leaving indents that you could not, for the life of you, make an excuse for in public when anyone saw it.

"...Alright fine...Caleb."

"Much better."

ZAYNE

Rafayel's new painting this, Rafayel's new painting that. Zayne was, ironically, sick and tired of hearing those words. Those specific words. He was a patient man, so it wasn't the other women in the hospital talking about Rafayel that got to him.

It was when you spoke about him.

Zayne was well aware that Rafayel had hired you as his bodyguard, which really wasn't a problem. You were a good Hunter, you could be trusted. But could Rafayel?

Zayne often wondered why you'd chosen him. Especially when he comes across men like the purple-haired artist. He knew he wasn't the most lively or fun person, he could be stern and restrictive, and he absolutely did not know how to flirt or be romantic in an 'aw, that's sweet' kind of way, the kind that makes people swoon.

He worked late, he couldn't spend much time with you beyond morning office visits and very rare lunches or dinners, and sometimes he had to leave during those, too.

Yet you endured everything, with a smile on your face.

And Zayne was content, for a while, knowing you had no qualms about all of this. But then you met Rafayel, the eccentric, bright-eyed artist that had a knack for flirting and making you laugh. The man whom you had much more fun with, always off doing something dangerous, or something simple like one of his art exhibitions or going to the carnival.

Things Zayne was too busy to do with you.

"Zayne?" Your voice brought him back to reality. "Are you alright?"

The doctor blinked, lifting his head to see you settling into the chair across from him, on the other side of his desk. A brown paper bag sat in front of you, and your eyes were studying his face worriedly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm fine." He adjusted his glasses. "Is this-"

"Yes," you finished eagerly, your eyes brightening, "I figured you would want some. You barely had time for breakfast this morning."

"And you think a brownie will fill me?" He asked, not realising how badly that came out until his eyes landed on your face, watching it fall as hurt flashed in your own eyes.

"Oh, well, I-" You reached for the bag. "I'm sorry, I'll-"

"Don't," he gently grabbed your wrist. "Please, don't go."

You sat back down, but stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, taking off his glasses, "I was just thinking about how much time you have spent with the artist, and it reminded me that we haven't spent enough time together."

"Rafayel?" You frowned. "Why-"

"Some of the nurses were talking about him," he leaned forward, his arms coming to rest on his desk. "You always laugh when you talk about him."

Your eyes widened, realising what was wrong, and then you reached over to take his hands in yours, "Because he's an idiot. Seriously. I tune out half of the things he says!"

"But...you have fun with him," the doctor frowned, as if your response didn't make sense.

"Yeah, but not the kind of fun I have with you," you smiled, then realised how that sounded. "I-I mean, not that kind of fun, but the kind of fun that...oh forget it." Your cheeks burned.

Zayne chuckled at that, "I understand." His heart fluttered at the implication.

"Ah, the romantic kind of fun, that's what I mean!" You looked proud of yourself, for finally saying it. "The dates, the cuddling, the short but incredibly sweet moments we share...Zayne, I don't have that with anyone else and I would never want to. You're what I want, and certainly what I need. A grounded, responsible man to keep me from doing stupid, reckless things."

"You do them anyway," he pointed out, though his smile was now a little bigger.

"Yes, yes, details," you waved his extremely logical point away, "What I'm trying to say here is...I like our dynamic best. You, the mature and responsible one, and me, the reckless and playful one. I don't want another me in a relationship!"

That's when Zayne laughed, a genuine laugh that only you ever heard. And you smiled, because being able to ease his worries was something you enjoyed doing more than anything else.

"I love you, Zayne. Only you."