#this has never happened to me before 😭

[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!

And if you'd like to be added to my Jack tag list please interact with this post!

Tag list:

@loveyhoneydovey @love-affair-with-fandoms @mstrsgoodgrl0628 @equallyshaw @kmc1989 @artsymaddie @moonshooter @whiskeyhowlett-writes @smallcarbigwheels @hawkswildfireheart @blackwidownat2814 @yxtkiwiyxt @viridian-dagger @andabuttonnose @beebeechaos @pear-1206 @starkgaryan @travelingmypassion @marvelcasey05 @daydreamingallthetime-world @millenialcatlady @nursejuju86 @escapefromrealitysm @emilia527 @satanxklaus @frazie99 @kastleandmurdock @guardiancardigan @zoctopiii @4rosabellaa @adissapointmentlol @nowandajenn @dantemorenatalie @book-of-roses @redzscare @concentratedconcrete @freshbearbouquetblr @qardasngan @practicalghost @wolviehugh @athena1504 @a-stari-night @iamcryingonceagain @acn87 @moonpascal @lostfleurs @beltzboys2015-blog @pouges-world @tinyharrypotterkpopfriend @roseanddaggerlarry

[aias-fxtns]

"My other daughter," Otto says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. After all, he had already mentioned how he's talked to you.

Seriously? Your sick daughter? The one you try keeping safe and heal, bfr now. The options were presented infront of you but amongst it, you listen to you sick daughter's suggestion?

His forehead curls, "your sick daughter?"

Same reaction. Seriously the sick daughter? Out of your two daughters she was chosen?? I can't...

Otto does not appreciate that, no matter how true it may be, "the princess has been recovering greatly," he turns to his lap, raising his brows, "she has been well enough to care for your sons and daughter whenever the Queen is performing her duties to the kingdom."

Doesn't mean she can, her body can. She may be recovering but it's not enough for her to be able to travel. It's crazy how you compare taking care of y/n's niece and nephews is the same when travelling far away.

I worry for her health, I hope she can take the long travel😭🙌

"That said," he links his fingers together, "whether I've cared to admit or not, my daughter thrives when she is allowed to roam. She has long wished to smell the flowers of Oldtown, and now that your son, Daeron, will be sent to ward with his uncle Gwayne, this is a perfect opportunity for all parties to be happy. She can make for Highgarden and send the boy to Oldtown. I don't doubt Olivier will see her home personally, as they were childhood friends, and believed once he would wed her."

I can smell scheming and how this Oliver sounds bad news to me, especially y/n and their supposedly 'marriage', sounds somethingis about to happen. Idk, maybe I'm just paraniod or maybe I'm just a girl🤷‍♀️.

"No," Viserys speaks firmly, "I am sending your wife."

"She is. I am her king! And yours."

You were against it earlier, what happen bud? WHAT HAPPENED?!

Daemon draws Dark Sister.

YES! STAB THAT SKINLESS RAGGEDY LOOKING AHH RAT (Otto) RIGHT AT THIS MOMENT!!!!!

Daemon rushes down the halls, fearing as though if he did not find you, he never would. With his jaw hard and hands clenched, all the souls he passed knew not to stand in his way, lest they be trampled.

"I mean it!" he snaps, holding you still in your place, "speak their complaints to my fucking dragon."

This two🥹. I hope Daemon can join her in the travels, it won't be safe for her to travel without her man (Lowkey want to see some drama between Oliver and Daemon).

Them:

Daemon stares at you, all of his anger now melted and reduced to what it really was. His breath shakes, "I love you."

"Would you stop loving me if I killed him?" Daemon's eyes water as his emotions strangle him, "do you not tire?"

"It will solve everything," he hisses, voice uneven.

I mean— he isn't lying though... Letting that skinless raggedy ahh rat would let our peace of mind be stress free from his stupidity. If it wasn't for the plot and if I was there, I would be jumping and screaming "yes", to him. Yes, I'm insane. God forbid a woman only wants to be free from his father's schemes.

You push his cheek, urging him to face you, "hold me like a grudge."

No comment. Just this picture.

He groans and leans into you, head dropping to your shoulder as his arms constrict greedily around you. He forces you back into your desk and sits you down there, uncaring of the objects that fall out of place. He hikes your skirt up and slots himself between your legs, nuzzling his face between your breasts, inhaling the scent of you. He relaxes slightly, "you hold me to impossible standards."

No comment. Just them and this intimate moment they rarely have.

You look down at him, brushing his hair before kissing it. You rub his back until his tension wholly melts away."I will not be gentle if I return your kiss."

AAAAAHHHHHHH (INTERNALLY SCREAMING, I'M WELL FED WITH THIS CHAPTERS. GAAWD LORD!)

Daemon sighs on your head, "avy jorrāelan," he kisses your temple, "tolī than mirros eman mirre jorrāelatan." I love you more than anything I have ever loved.

Fearing for their future angst, with how we are very well feed with fluffs and intimate moments. I fear the unknown calamity that is about to happen for both of them and the kids. Gawd LArd! The paranoia, I can't😭

Tormented Spirit | 23

Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23 24

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (rough/angry sex to yummy love making, soft dom!dae, oral m&f receiving, spitting, dacryphilia, praise & degradation, piv), emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: I just realized Otto was replaced by lyonel strong as hand at some point and... Yeah I don't remember why so I can't be bothered to write that in. Also I invented a Tyrell character ok? This is probably going to be my last smut piece for this, so it's LONG so long that I HAD TO CUT THIS PART UP 😭🤬😅 it's fine derailed plans slay 3 parts left ig 😭

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching

Viserys sits at the head of his council table, staring at his gloved hands. Lord Lyonel Strong drones about something, something about crops and drought and famine and public unrest, something about how crimes have spiked.

"Just last night, the Gold Cloaks reported to have apprehended 3 men who've broken in and stolen a great amount of flour and meat from three different establishments."

"Three criminals," Otto corrects, nonchalant.

Lyonel turns to him, but the Hand does not even spare him a glance. He clenches his jaw, "men, Lord Hand," he corrects, "who'vee been forced to resort to theft to feed their families."

Otto, who was checking his nails in uninterest, finally looks up. His face is blank, "criminality is criminality and should be met with justice."

Viserys takes one last look at his hand, wondering if what was happening to the kingdom was his fault, thus why his finger was decaying. He sighs, shaking his head, "what measures have we taken to fix this?"

"Thus far, we have banned the export of goods and opened one of the royal storehouses," Lyonel turns to the king, "additionally, the Houses of the Riverlands, mine included, have pledged a portion of their yield to the crown."

"Good, good," nods Viserys, "will it be enough?"

A beat of silence passes.

In truth, it answered the question, but still, Lord Lyonel says, "no, your majesty."

Viserys pinches the bridge of his nose. He sighs, slumping on his chair. He turns to the vacant one parallel to him, the seat of his brother.

Otto presses hi palm on the table, "Highgarden has been relatively unaffected by the drought. I've reports of how they're thriving from the profits of their heavily marked-up exports."

"Where is Daemon?" Viserys looks around the council.

Otto purses his lips, looking around the table before turning back to the king.

"I heard that it was he who made the arrests last night," says one of the council members.

Viserys furrows his brows, "has he not returned since then?"

"Unlikely," Lord Hand blurts, "when he is not razing the city, he is joined to my daughter's hip. I can confirm that he was not here last night, as I was then able to speak to my daughter about the Tyrell's conditions."

"Conditions?"

"I've sent a raven to Highgarden on behalf of the Crown, asking for two months worth of food."

The king narrows his eyes, "but?"

"But Lord Olivier said he will only see food delivered to King's Landing if a true representative of the Crown comes to Highgarden with the request."

Viserys stills.

Tension thickens in the room the king laughs. He leans back into his chair, muttering, "qogralbar jaosītsos." Fucking puppy.

Otto watches Viserys lean into the table. It was clear, though he did not understand what he said High Valyrian, that he was displeased— offended, just as he knew he'd be.

"Am I a dog you beck and call with a mere whistle?" Viserys asks no one in particular.

The council does not respond as the king laughs dryly; the vein popping on the side of his neck gives away his anger.

A moment passes, and the grandmaester speaks up, "my king. Lord Olivier is wrong to insist upon a show of power during a time of crisis, but the cost of pride is the lives of many common folk."

"I am well-aware, grandmaester," Viserys snaps.

Otto takes the opportunity to speak, "gracing Highgarden with your presence is an honor not befitting such insolence. I would not even recommend sending your lady-wife, Queen Alicent, or even Princess Rhaenyra."

Viserys turn to Otto, brows furrowing in disbelief as he thinks of who's left, "so you mean that I should send Daemon?"

The Lord Hand nearly chokes on his saliva, "I would not send the Rogue Prince for any treaty, your grace."

"Then who?!"

"My other daughter," Otto says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. After all, he had already mentioned how he's talked to you.

His forehead curls, "your sick daughter?"

Otto does not appreciate that, no matter how true it may be, "the princess has been recovering greatly," he turns to his lap, raising his brows, "she has been well enough to care for your sons and daughter whenever the Queen is performing her duties to the kingdom."

"Daemon talks to me of her conditions," Viserys nods knowingly, "whether you care to admit it or not, your daughter thrives under his care."

He does not.

"That said, I do not think it wise to have her part from him, especially considering how he's keen on keeping her close until they have their own sons and daughters."

"Yes," the Hand snaps, then catches himself. He forces a smile, "I would be overjoyed to welcome another grandchild, especially as I've witnessed the agony of my girl when she was once expecting."

Viserys stiffens at the all-too-vivid recollection of the miscarriage he witnessed first-hand.

"That said," he links his fingers together, "whether I've cared to admit or not, my daughter thrives when she is allowed to roam. She has long wished to smell the flowers of Oldtown, and now that your son, Daeron, will be sent to ward with his uncle Gwayne, this is a perfect opportunity for all parties to be happy. She can make for Highgarden and send the boy to Oldtown. I don't doubt Olivier will see her home personally, as they were childhood friends, and believed once he would wed her."

The king's brow quirks.

"That was before she got sick, of course," Otto shook his head, "the innocent musings of a child. I digress. With the Tyrell's partiality to the princess, I do not doubt the reunion would inspire generosity towards the Crown."

"Well," Viserys raises a hand, "I admit I'm rather persuaded."

Otto purses his lips into a victorious smile.

"You mentioned you've spoken to your daughter of this already?"

"Indeed."

"And what does she say?"

"She is your loyal servant. Her gentle heart is easily moved and she wishes to help in any way sh-"

The doors slam open and close with a loud creak and thud. Hasty footsteps follow and a hushed mutter of the word, "brother."

Viserys watches as Daemon comes to his side, nodding to him in regard before taking the vacant seat parallel to him.

"I hope all the dull talk is over with," Daemon sits down, looking for a cup of wine, then a cupbearer. He raises a brow, "no Rhaenyra?"

Viserys raises a brow, "she is too old to be a cupbearer."

"Ah," Daemon grins at his brother, "I'd nearly forgotten when just two days ago, she complained to me about her dresses being the wrong color."

Viserys chuckles, albeit begrudgingly; his brother sniggers, wholly pleased with himself and his jest.

If he could, Otto would stick pins in his eyes.

"You've come at the perfect time, actually," Viserys exhales the remaining chuckle out of him, "we were just speaking of the plans to get more food for King's Landing. The Crown will send a royal emissary to Highgarden."

"Oh," Daemon raises his brows and leans into his chair, "me."

Viserys mimics his brother, leaning back and tilting his head, "not you, child."

The prince laughs, "course not," he looks across the table, "you're all so damn serious," he props his elbows on the table, "so, when is my niece leaving?"

Viserys shakes his head, "not Rhaenyra either, no."

Daemon raises a brow and thinks for a moment. He leans towards his brother, "surely, you cannot mean to send the boy, Aegon, to negotiate?" He raises a hand, "I agree he can do with diplomacy, but you will see your city sooner starve than the boy to learn from the trip."

Viserys is taken aback, as he did not think of Aegon once during this entire meeting, "no, Daemon. I am not sending Aegon off to learn at the expense of my people."

"Well," Daemon looks around the council, "hail Viserys the Wise," then back to him, "do tell me who else is left. I worry if you send Helaena, I would have to join her."

"I am not sending Helaena," Viserys raises a hand.

"Well, good. She would never fly again if you do."

Viserys sighs, "I'm not sending any of my children."

He watches his brother in expectation.

"I am sending your wife."

It does not register with Daemon for a moment. When it does, he laughs. He leans back and motions, "alright, so you are sending me?"

"No," Viserys speaks firmly, "I am sending your wife."

"What?" Daemon laughs, but less amused. The lightness that he had brought into the council meeting morphs into tension.

"Lord Olivier demands the Crown meet him in Highgarden or starve. I will not grace him with an audience of any of my—"

"But you would gladly offer up my wife!" Daemon snaps, "she is not yours to of-"

"She is. I am her king! And yours."

"And I have done much for my king lately," Daemon rises, "I keep his streets clean and discipline his sons—"

"This isn't about you, Daemon," Viserys decisively interrupts. He sighs at the look of his anger, his betrayal. He raises a hand and speaks softer, hoping to placate him, "this is for the good of the realm."

"Then send your heir!" Daemon snaps, "my wife has nothing to do with the realm."

"Daemon," Viserys slowly tries to stand. He finds he does not have the strength to, thus why he remains seated, "won't you listen to me first?"

"And won't you listen to me?!"

The brothers stare at each other for a prolonged moment. Viserys huffs and motions a hand that he may speak.

Daemon immediately blurts, "she is not fit to travel."

"Olivier Tyrell is a childhood friend of hers. If it is she he meets, he might inclined to give more generosly."

Daemon scoffs out a chuckle, "oh, and you conveniently remember her speaking to you of Olivier fucking Tyrell in passing, have you?"

Viserys points, "her father has spoken of it in-"

"SE PELDIO?!" THE SNAKE?! Daemon snaps, turning to Otto, nearly lunging across the table to choke him. He instead leans on the table, "you toil so tirelessly to steal her from m-"

"Why need I steal mine own daughter?" Otto cuts him off, raising his voice, though his tone is low.

Daemon draws Dark Sister.

"DAEMON!" Viserys screams.

The looming kingsguards draw their swords as well, slowly pressing towards the prince, watching his every move.

"YOUR KING COMMANDS YOU TO HEEL!"

Otto glares at his daughter's husband with all the contempt he'd set aside, "had you been less ill-tempered, perhaps the king would have confidence to send you to Highgarden instead."

"Otto!" Viserys chastises, "silence!"

Daemon laughs. He wants nothing more than to sever his head from his shoulders but he doesn't. He can't, not when you've explicitly begged him not to. Otto knows this, as no semblance of fear is behind his eyes. Daemon thinks he might push him down the stairs when no one is looking.

Viserys watches his brother, calling the guards off before they attempt to apprehend him. He speaks to him in High Valyrian, attempting to again explain the logic in his decision. Daemon does not listen. He sheathes his blade and storms off before he does something irreversible.

Daemon rushes down the halls, fearing as though if he did not find you, he never would. With his jaw hard and hands clenched, all the souls he passed knew not to stand in his way, lest they be trampled.

A gasp leaves you when your chamber doors break open. You stand from your desk, eyes wide as you watch Daemon bolt the locks and march over to you. Your mouth falls open and your pulse races as you half-expect him to pounce on you.

He doesn't. Daemon comes to an abrupt halt, his breath and fists trembling. You watch his Adam's apple bob and you cautiously step forward, hands coming to his cheeks. You press firmly into his skin, brushing your fingers back into his scalp, "speak to me."

Daemon's lips quiver and you gasp when he squeezes your hips. You swear you can feel his nails through your skirt.

You shudder, "Dae-"

"Have you spoken to your cunt father lately?" he quips under his breath, knowing if he didn't, it'd come out as a scream.

You knit your brows, thinking for a moment. "Ah..." your expression relaxes, "Highgarden?"

Daemon grits his teeth so hard, it's a wonder they don't break, "so you agreed?!"

Before you could reply, Daemon pulls away and paces around. He reaches the wall, leans on it for a moment, then marches back to you. You flinch in surprise when he takes your hands and places them back on his cheeks. You squeak when he yanks you by the hips and presses himself against your chest.

"You fucking agreed to go to Highgarden?!" he quips again, less of a whisper, more of a groan.

Your expression softens as he heaves. The struggle to keep his peace is evident. You firmly clutch his cheeks and raise your brows, "I told him it is in my intention to help the Crown as much as I can—"

You feel him shake beneath your palm.

"— and I would go only if my husband allow it."

"Well, he fucking does not!" Daemon snarls, pulling at your skirts in anger. He chuckles dryly, "he doesn't."

You squeak when he begins to rock you back and forth erratically.

"Let the fucking peasants starve," he speaks, almost like a threat, "no one else can have you."

You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, "Daemon."

"I mean it!" he snaps, holding you still in your place, "speak their complaints to my fucking dragon."

"Daemon," you take his chin.

Daemon stares at you, all of his anger now melted and reduced to what it really was. His breath shakes, "I love you."

You tuck his silver hair behind his ear, "I love y-"

"Would you stop loving me if I killed him?" Daemon's eyes water as his emotions strangle him, "do you not tire?"

Your chest begins to tighten. You can feel him tremble in anger. You rub his cheeks, "killing him won't solve anything."

"It will solve everything," he hisses, voice uneven.

You sigh and rub his shoulders, simultaneously finding the knots in his muscles and the continuous quivering of his form. You shake your head and lower your gaze, "I would rather count the lives you spared in my name than the ones you took."

Daemon shivers, anger still stoking flames in his blood.

You lift your gaze, your own eyes now watery as you look at him. His brows are furrowed, his forehead curled, and his lips pulled into a frown. You clutch his jaw, muttering his name softly.

He looks away.

You push his cheek, urging him to face you, "hold me like a grudge."

He groans and leans into you, head dropping to your shoulder as his arms constrict greedily around you. He forces you back into your desk and sits you down there, uncaring of the objects that fall out of place. He hikes your skirt up and slots himself between your legs, nuzzling his face between your breasts, inhaling the scent of you. He relaxes slightly, "you hold me to impossible standards."

You look down at him, brushing his hair before kissing it. You rub his back until his tension wholly melts away.

After a long moment, you shift, trying to get Daemon to look at you. "My love."

He reluctantly lifts his gaze.

You take his cheeks and he raises to his height. You pout at him and trace the bridge of his nose before leaning in to kiss him.

Daemon looks away, taking a step back from you.

You freeze, frowning as he takes a deep breath.

"I will not be gentle if I return your kiss."

Your belly drops. You stare at him for a moment as he slowly turns to you. When your eyes lock, he anticipates your reaction. He squeezes your hips.

You gulp and think about his words a moment longer, hands brushing across his chest.

He begins to shift restlessly in his spot as the silence becomes an unspoken rejection. He's about to say something but then he hears your deep inhale.

You tilt your head back and slowly pull him back in, "kiss me then."

Daemon would be damned not to, but he knows you are too kind to him. The last time he had his way with you, your heart nearly gave out. So long ago it may have been, it was still fresh in his memory. He whimpers and nips your neck, "I am serious, sweetness."

You whimper when you feel him begin to undo your dress.

"I want to see you smothered beneath me."

Your breath hitches, hands finding the band of his trousers. You slowly unfurl his ties, humming softly as you do, "you can smother me," you lick his earlobe and nip it.

Daemon, ignoring his better judgment in lieu of his lust, soon has your dress thrown on the floor, leaving you in your shift. He lets you remove his top and his dress shirt, feeling all the heat of anger in his body boil down to desire as you reverently trace his scars with your fingertips. He grabs your wrists before you can kiss his chest.

You look up at him, searching his face.

Finally, Daemon kisses you, mouth hungry, tongue searching yours. He releases your hands to clutch your jaw and continues to kiss you until both your lips are swollen. When he pulls away, he brings you to your feet, "on your knees."

Daemon hastily rips away from you to grab a pillow from the bed. He drops it on the floor in front of him and you lift your shift up your knees, immediately sinking down before him.

Your prince groans and undoes the make of your hair until it is spilling freely down your back. He gathers your raven locks, twisting it around his palm, "my pretty girl."

You gasp when he tugs your head back, forcing you to look up at him. He brushes his thumb across your lower lip, "open."

You oblige, sticking your tongue out while you're at it.

Daemon sighs heavily, pleased with how well he's trained you. He presses his thumb on your tongue, wetting it with your saliva, "your father doesn't know how easily you submit to my whims."

Your brows furrow at the mention of him. It pulls you out of the moment. You suck on his thumb, hoping to distract him of his thoughts.

It does. He tugs your hair back, making you cease your sucking. Daemon stares at you, "I said open."

You open your mouth again.

He presses on your tongue with more force as he builds spit up in his mouth. He spits on your tongue, and it splutters everywhere, causing you to flinch. You can feel heat sliding down into your throat.

Daemon pulls his thumb out of your mouth, "swallow."

And so you do.

He grabs your jaw, firm but not painful. He gives you a look, "you will obey, won't you?"

You lick your lips and nod, "yes, my love."

"Good girl," he gently brushes the spit off your cheeks with his thumb, "now, be a good slut and suck me off."

Your gaze lands on his trousers, or, to be exact, his visible erection. You tug his pants down and pull his cock free; the heat and scent of him radiates onto you. He hisses when you claw him forward. It takes great effort for him not to just fuck your face.

He enjoys the apprehension, or even fear, that clouds your expression when he has you like this. He enjoys the uncertainty that hides behind your determination to please him. He heaves through an open mouth, "such an exquisite bitch from a cunt so vile."

You look up at him as you take his cock and lick his tip.

Daemon huffs, fist tightening around your hair, "your father hurt you so bad, you'd take anything I give you, wouldn't you?"

You gag when he pushes his entire length into your hot mouth. Your hands grip his thighs, nails clawing into his skin. The sharp sensation only intensifies his pleasure.

He slowly begins to buck into you, "even if it makes you cry?"

You whimper, and on cue, your eyes water at the size of him. You gag again when he tugs your hair. The feeling of your constricting throat drives him wild. His thrusts grow faster and faster at a rate you wished was more gradual.

Your nose knocks into his pelvis, his coarse pubic hair uncomfortably tickling your nose, making you want to sneeze. You momentarily scratch your nose, then you recall a lesson he had taught you once before. You do your best to relax your throat and cup his stones, massaging them.

"Fuck," he pulls your head back, ghosting his other hand by the side of your head, "such a good whore."

You choke on your yelp as he speeds up to the tempo that pleases him most. Unfortunately for your throat, it was fast as a galloping horse, or at least it felt like it. More than his pleasure, your main focus becomes breathing. You're glad he no longer knocks into you all the way. You've thoroughly slobbered all over him at this point, feeling heavy droplets of spit dribble down your chin and his pubic hair.

Daemon's breathing grows ragged as he concentrates on his peak. His heart thunders as you squeeze your eyes shut, watching tears stream down your stuffed cheeks. He huffs, "such a perfect mouth."

He slows down but replaces speed with depth. You gag far too many times for your liking.

"Jurnegon rȳ nyke, ñuha prūmia," Daemon encourages, slowing even more. Your beady eyes lock with his predatory gaze and he instantly begins to speed up again, "ao sagon gaomagon sīr sȳz syt nyke." Look at me, my heart. You're doing so good for me.

You whimper, pushing back at his thighs as he continues to take your mouth. Your jaw begins to hurt.

"Shh, shh," he heaves as he watches you, "you can take it."

You moan in protest, eyes widening and watering further.

Daemon could care less about your weepy face... but he does, he does care. His toes curl as he slows despite himself. You try to push him off you, but he doesn't let up. He wipes your tears with his free hand, "you said you would obey."

You weep at the reminder, helplessly moaning against his cock.

The sensation nearly makes him finish in your mouth. Daemon hushes you and rubs your cheeks, "just a bit more. My wife doesn't want to disappoint, does she?"

You sob and slobber. You close your eyes and slightly shake your head.

"Good girl."

You take a deep breath and slowly suck on him, bobbing your head back and forth on his hard cock.

Daemon groans and lets you take the lead, though he does not deny himself the flick of his hips, "that's it," he groans, "taking me so well. Better than any painted whore."

You continue like this until Daemon can no longer help himself and takes the reins again. He thrusts into your mouth roughly, but thankfully, it doesn't last very long. He soon spurts in you, hot and salty, and you involuntarily swallow some of his seed.

"Issi ao jāre naejot mōzugon ziry mirre bē syt nyke, litse riña?" Are you going to drink it all up for me, pretty girl?

Tears rush down your cheeks as you shake your head. Daemon, still chasing the last bit of his climax, continues to thrust into you until his reason makes him soft, both in his heart and his cock. He huffs, wiping sweat off his forehead before slowly pulling out. With the same gentleness, he releases your hair. He squats down, bunching your shift out in front of you, "spit."

You spit, watching his thick spend plop on your clothes as you cough and slightly gag. You roll your jaw around as you catch your breath, nearly toppling in exhaustion.

"Shh, shh," Daemon reassures, "arms up for me."

You gulp, sinking to your bum as you raise arms.

"Good girl," he praises, pulling your shift off, leaving you in your small clothes. He wipes your mouth and quickly stands, chucking your clothes with the rest, "water or wine?"

You sigh, watching Daemon go to the nightstand, the muscles on his bum tight as he leans on a leg. He grabs a cup as you mumble, "wine."

He chuckles, pouring some for you, "too salty?"

You groan as he walks back then gratefully take your wine from him. You sigh as he sits in front of you, grabbing your hips before unfolding your legs over him. His filled with mirth; a smile now graces his lips. You watch him as you have your drink.

He kisses your neck, rubbing his hands to your waist before he licks a stripe up your breast.

You pull your cup away, placing a hand at the back of his head.

"You did so beautifully for me," Daemon leans in, violet eyes sparkling in adoration.

You sniffle and pout at him, "it hurt."

He sinks into your neck, "mmm... but not too much..." he frowns, "n-not too much, right?"

You torment him by finishing your wine before replying. His nerves get the best of him and he anxiously peppers kisses on your throat, as if it makes up for the abuse it just went through. You whimper and drop your cup when he begins to suck on your pulse.

"Daemon."

He pulls away, guiltily gazing at you, "just slightly much?"

You chuckle, kissing his lips.

Daemon tries to deepen the kiss, eager to taste himself on you, but you do not let him. You push him back with a sigh. His chest grows uneasy.

You notice and shake your head, "I'm accustomed to pain."

Oh, how he despises it when you say this. He grits his teeth, "but I-"

"It was not very bad though," you press a hand on his chest, "if you feel so bad about it, perhaps you'll bring the ewer of wine over here."

Daemon freezes then furrows his brows through a nod, "of course."

He stands and gets the ewer. You take your cup, raising it to him and he immediately fills your cup to the brim. He props the ewer down then resumes his spot in front of you. He stares at your smallclothes, gulping at the wet stain between your legs. He attempts to pull them off, "you should be naked too."

You squeak when he forces your remaining articles of clothing off, causing some of your wine to splash into your chest.

Daemon throws your clothes off, humming at the red liquid that drips down your navel, "I love wine."

He slides on his chest, but instead of licking the wine, he licks your dripping cunt, forcing you to lean back and release your cup of alcohol.

"Da-Daemon, I'm-" you pull at the roots of his hair, "- I'm still thirsty."

He hums, rubbing his nose against your clit, maddened by the wet squelch it produces. He greedily laps and sucks at your weeping entrance, squeezing your thighs around his head, wanting nothing more than to be smothered by your arousal.

"Daemon," you yank at his roots to gain his attention.

"Mmm," he does opposite, pressing his face deeper into you, "dmrinmk umpm, lomvem," as if you could understand his words in his current position.

You had meant to say something, but the feel of his hot mouth evaporated all your thoughts. You fall back on your elbows, knocking down the cup of wine on your side. Your legs twitch behind his ears and your heel digs into his back.

Daemon hums in approval, gripping your thighs tighter as he feasts more eagerly upon the nectar drawn out with his tongue. He pulls his mouth away, sucking roughly on your clit, before nipping your inner thigh, "such a messy girl."

You gasp as he lifts your lower body, pulling you closer into him until the curve of your arse was resting on his shoulders. He pushes your upper body down on the floor, hands clutching and kneading against your tender breasts as he kisses your cunt.

You writhe beneath him, unable to stay still from the pleasure coursing through your veins. Your back arches, pelvis rutting into him. You encourage him further into you, fingers tangling into his hair.

"Such a needy thing," Daemon pulls his mouth away, hands brushing down your hips, "so pretty when she's about to come."

You hold on him falterd when he begins to rapidly rub your clit. You feel your belly begin to tighten.

"Do you want to come on my fingers or on my tongue?"

You mewl, raking your fingers up the side of your scalp, "darling... I..." you tighten your thighs around him, "I want both."

"Fuck," he sighs, fixing the pillow beneath you, propping your bum atop it, "what a greedy whore you are."

You whimper when Daemon shifts and pushes your thighs up to your belly.

"Are you a greedy whore, Lady Hightower?" your husband raises a brow, parting your hot, weeping cunt to lick a stripe there.

Your spine twists and your belly trembles, "y-yes."

"Mmm," his tongue licks you up. His mouth and chin is soon shining under the lights of the room. He lifts his head, "what was that? I didn't hear."

You watch him hover over you until he aligned and eye level. Some of the slick on his mouth drips onto you. You heave through your mouth, "I'm a greedy whore, my prince."

Daemon squeezes your jaw open and spits on your tongue again. You swallow without a word. He can feel himself grow hard, "I had no idea you were raised to be such a desperate slut."

You hum, "not raised," you rub his chest, "trained."

He gulps, cock twitching in excitement, "seven fucking hells," he grinds on you, "gaomagon jaelā naejot ossēnagon nyke?" Do you want to kill me?

You pout and meet his hips with the same motion, "jaelagon naejot mazverdagon ao iā kepa." Want to make you a father.

Daemon curses before kissing you. You whine as you kiss him back, legs wrapping around his hips, hands clutching his sticky face. You whine again when he pulls away and sinks down on you, "nooo."

He kisses your breast, "just going to make you peak on my tongue and and fingers."

"No, please, I want you."

He gives a boyish grin, "and what do you want?"

"I want your cock," you try to pull him up, "want you to fill me with your seed."

"Qogralbar, litse riña," he swipes your lips, "gaomagon daor buragon, nyke'll tepagon bona naejot ao hae sȳrī." Fuck, pretty girl. Don't worry, I'll give that to you as well.

You were so worked up at this point, it didn't take very much for him to push you over the edge, not when your words fueled him so. Even if you weren't on the precipice, with the way he sank two fingers knuckle deep into you and flicked his tongue over your clit, you'd end up a mess either way.

The next thing you knew, you were breathlessly shaking and spilling over his face. You whine his name out and grind against him. He moans in approval and makes sure to pull every bit of pleasure out of you.

Once your high had thoroughly washed over, Daemon rises back up and kisses your face, "did so well for me."

You hum, your womanhood throbbing from its recent peak. Still, there was a want inside you as you heaved. You catch him by the mouth, pulling him into you. He is taken off-guard by your heated kiss.

He does his best not to crush you beneath him. Even with his revived hard on, he still had reason and knew to let your breathing even out, lest your heart give in.

You make it incredibly hard for him to listen to reason though. "Need you inside me."

Daemon chuckles incredulously, "my love, there is no rush."

"There is," you shake your head, "I need you now," you kiss him, "will you make me beg? Please."

He laughs again as you pepper him with kisses, muttering the same word over and over again. He gulps when you whisper it against his ear in High Valyrian.

"I don't think I will last long if I fuck you like this."

Before you can speak, Daemon flips you over and rubs your hips.

"Ride your dragon, princess."

And so you do.

He knew you had terrible stamina, so he could prolong the session enough to work you up again that you might reach your climax together. You a vision as you mount his cock and lean into his chest. The wet and heavy slap of your hips drive him maddddd.

As expected, it didn't take long for your thighs to ache and your bucking to slow. You whine out his name.

He hums and clutches your neck, "you can do it, my ferocious dragon." He lifts his head and kisses your arm, "don't you want to feel me spill in you? Don't you want to be heavy with my babe?"

You whimper coming to a halt, "yes, but—"

He cuts you off with a thrust. Your flesh spills between his fingers as he squeezes your thighs, "take it. Take what you need from me."

Your face contorts as he bucks into you, his cock poking the delicous tenderness in you that makes your lungs tighten and your toes curl.

Soon, your husband sits up and wraps his arms around you. He brushes the hair sticking on your skin and licks the sweat off your neck, marking you just behind your jaw.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and soon find yourself moving along with him.

"That's it," he hums in approval.

You yelp at the sudden slap of your arse.

"Take it like the slut you are."

You bite your lip and furrow your brows in concentration.

Daemon groans, feeling his peak draw near. He rubs furious circles on your clit, making you groan into his shoulder and bite him. He sighs, wrapping an arm around you, "don't stop, my queen. You're going to ride me until I come inside your tight cunny."

You whine and throw your head back, gasping as you grip his shoulders, maneuvering up and down on him harder.

Yet again, your legs begin to give in and he can feel you tremble in exertion. He kisses the frustrated tear that begins to roll down your cheek as you call out his name. "Shhh. Is it too much for you, sweetheart?"

You sniffle and nod.

"Alright," he holds you still by your hips, making you come to a halt.

You whine defeatedly, cunt throbbing in need as you lean into him, "my love, please."

"I'm here," he kisses your head, slowly pushing you back on the floor, pillow finding your bum again. He pushes your legs into your chest and hooks your feet behind his ear, "did such a good job for me."

You helplessly moan as he begins to thrust sharply into you, each movement creating an obscene wet noise that makes your belly tighten and the rest of you melt. Your back arches in anticipation.

"I'm going to take good care of you," he mutters kissing your ankle, "make your belly swell," he kneads your breasts, "your tits heavy with milk."

You gulp, "please."

"You're gonna take it, aren't you?"

You nod frantically.

"Take it, lover, take it like a dirty slut."

"I'm so close."

"Yeah," he grits his teeth, "can feel you squeezing me so tight."

Daemon leans into you, pressing your legs down with his weight. The moment his lips take yours for a kiss, you break into a mind fogging peak and an unholy sound rips out your throat.

To your husband, it was the holiest of holies. He pushes his hands into the back of your knees and goes wild, slapping roughly into you as he chases the high that had been building up his loins the moment your molten heat wrapped around him.

As your climax reach its highest intensity, your husband finally reaches his, and you feel him throb inside you as his frenzied thrusts grow fast and irregular.

You feel winded, but not at all in the usual suffocating way. Your body melts into him as he fucks out the last of his orgasm into you, milking his cock for all its worth, making sure every drop was pushed deep inside you.

You brush his sweaty hair back, mouth finding his textured shoulder, suckling on it as he slowly relaxes atop you. You bite him once then whisper against his ear, "I love you so much."

Daemon sighs on your head, "avy jorrāelan," he kisses your temple, "tolī than mirros eman mirre jorrāelatan." I love you more than anything I have ever loved.

[ven0moir]

Clearing the air on the “Bychance vs Byler Civil War”

Bylers vs Bychancers? More like Bylers & Bychancers vs The Miscommunication Trope ( something like that ).

Why this is what i think is actually going on:  

This is NOT Mileven vs Byler 2.0 at all because bychance has not ONCE been proposed as a replacement for Byler, at least not from myself or @cypherheartnokey which are ( as far as im aware ) the main people theorizing about it right now. I personally don’t even see it as a real ship, but that’s just me. 

HOW THIS WHOLE THING STARTED ( as far as i know )

So a few days ago, i made this post:

I used the Byler tag and have continued to do so bc skeptic ( and even full on anti-bychance ) Bylers were my intended TARGET AUDIENCE for this. I knew there was a risk I would get some hate for taking it seriously since Bychance was never supposed to be more than just a silly and fun crackship that the fandom made up. (😭im not even gonna pretend I don't go into laughing fits over how absolutely bonkers I sound to myself most days. cypherheartnokey and others --you pookies know who you are <3-- who See The Things Im Seeing keep me sane istg my ride or die fr ) 

It was just supposed to be a fun writing exercise to see if my current ideas held up under scrutiny from bylers. To test myself, basically. 

MY INITIAL ASSUMPTION 

Before I posted, I thought the risk of getting dogpiled on & getting called 'delusional' & whatever else was worth it bc, to my surprise, my earlier Bychance analyses had been well received–even though some of the Bylers engaging with them don’t really think Bychance will happen, they still think the theories about it are entertaining and fun to read and offer input on. This has led to some interesting conversations about Mike and Will’s arcs, and it’s been nice through this content drought. 

However, what i did NOT anticipate was to cause a ‘ship war’--I really didn’t think this would cause harm and that anyone would stoop so low as to send death threats over differing opinions on hypothetical ships that may or may not even happen in the show & even if they do, nothing guarantees they’ll happen in a way we’re perfectly happy with, let’s please be real about our expectations here since we have 0 control over the creative direction the duffers will actually take. 

All we can hope for is that us Bylers truly are amongst their intended target audience and that the show delivers a satisfying closure.  

MY INTENTIONS & WHY I WILL CONTINUE TO USE THE BYLER TAG ( with discretion )

Using the Byler tag allows like-minded Bylers to find my theories–without the tag, it'd be harder for them to find them. 

However, I WILL be extra thoughtful with my use of the tag going forward, and make sure I'm using it when the conversation centers Byler/Mike/Will and other themes pertaining to Byler.

MY CURRENT STANCE

for anyone receiving death threats or insults on behalf of “bychance shippers”, you DO NOT deserve that. Please report and block, if possible. these people are saboteurs, and just want to stir drama without caring about the harm they cause to the community. In fact, they probably enjoy it tbh. 

i do also have to say that i am no authority here and cannot be tone policing other bychancers. i also can’t pretend i am entirely neutral in this scenario since from what I've observed, my bychance mutuals and anons are REACTING to hate we’re getting from bylers. And whereas I'm aware that type of hate is only coming from a handful of people in the community, not all of us will be patient and graceful at all times, we’re human after all.

I dont care if a mileven calls me delusional, i laugh. But when bylers i have admired and learned from for years call one of us stupid for thinking/suspecting X theory might be hinted at and getting stomped on for trying to bring the conversation to the table, yeah I can't guarantee that's not gonna trigger a defense mechanism over time.

Do you personally have to like Bychance or agree? Absolutely not, nobody is saying that. And good faith critiques of the theory are always welcomed and I actually encourage it in my space as long as we keep it civil and follow fandom etiquette, since it keeps fandom alive.  

FINAL THOUGHTS 

The very message of the show we’re discussing is to choose love in the face of fear, and to not let it drive our choices and unawarely continue to feed the cycle of abuse and trauma. Let's do our best to not keep repeating, amongst each other, what we have already been subjected to by the most hateful parts of the ST fandom. 

i'm here to learn and have fun, not to cause wars, discourse or division--bychance as a theory is just the jumpstart and can change over time and maybe even become something else entirely. the goal is just to open the door for those curious enough to investigate, share and discuss any findings. Whether or not you go in, it's up to you. Just don't be mean to the ones that do.

[dissolvedprincess]

I love your blog!! Your writing is incredible and I was hoping you'd be able to write me a Frank Castle fluff fic with a reader who's struggling mentally during her period. I got home and I've just been bawling my eyes our for no reason😭

Thank you sweets🥺. I’m so sorry to hear that, the experience is sooo relatable. I’ve been needing a lot of comfort as well and writing this out for you has helped me out a bunch. I hope i can make you feel better!

With love, Z

Morning Comes

✷ CW : no actual warnings, just a bit of angst and a whole lotta comfort

(Not proofread)

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶

Your eyes slowly crack open at the sound of rain pattering against your windows. The blinds aren’t closed, Frank left it that way for you and the thought of it caused your lips to lazily stretch upward. He knows how much you love it when it rains, more so when you can see it dribble and roll on glass doors and windows.

With rain comes peace and stillness to your rushing thoughts. That’s how it usually goes. But the heavy sigh you promptly let out, seems to prove differently this time.

The pillow shifts as you glance at the glowing numbers on your bedside clock.

01.46

You attempt to gently pull away from Frank’s tight hold on your waist. But no matter how careful you try to be, the slightest bit of movement still manages to pull him from his slumber. You look over your shoulder as you feel his arm twitch and watch him blink his eyes open.

“Hey Frank.” You huff lightly with a tiny smile.

“You okay sweetheart? Does your stomach hurt?” Frank’s awake now, he rises up to lean on his crooked elbow as his other hand settles on your stomach, gently stroking up and down. You like the sight of him when he’s all soft like this, short hair tussled and eyes heavy.

“Or is it your back?” A shudder ran through your spine as you feel his hand on your lower back, already sneaking its way under your shirt.

“No honey, i’m okay. It’s neither actually.” You turn to face him and whisper in a playful tone, “I just need to pee.”

“Oh— right. Okay.” He lets you go and fully sits up to lean against the headboard.

“Go back to sleep Frank.” You mention quietly as you stretch your arms up, humming as one shoulder pleasantly pops.

“No it’s fine. I’ll wait.” Frank seems adorably determined to wait up for you. So you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before lifting the blanket from your body, “Okay sweetie.”

The hardwood floor feels cool against your bare feet as you pad towards the bathroom, you shiver as the cold air hit your skin. You shuffle quickly to get this over with. Already severely missing Frank’s warm body, and the passing thought of him strangely causes your throat to clench.

You exhale deeply as you relieve the pressure on your bladder. The thoughts in your head freely wonders as your hands mindlessly move to change your pad. Rolling through your collection of past events; heavier ones in particular, and it’s affecting you more than you’d like to admit.

You get up and pull your panties back on. A staggering breath escapes as you felt the shock of cold water on your hands, and with only a quick glance in the mirror, you can see tears start to line your eyes. It’s not a rare occurrence, you understand that already. Things like this just unfortunately— happens, you can never have full control of it.

“Fuck.” You inhaled sharply, followed by a sob that you attempt to cover with a palm over your mouth.

“Sweetheart? You okay?” Frank half yelled, his voice laced with concern.

As you head out to the bedroom, he catches on and quickly rose up to close the distance between the two of you. His big hands provide the much needed warmth as he cups your wet cheeks.

“Hey. Hey. Shhh. What’s wrong, huh?”

“Frank.” Your voice breaks as you call his name, eyes struggling to come into focus through the influx of tears.

“Yeah baby, i’m here. Come on, i got you. Let’s go back to bed.”

Frank walks the two of you back after linking your hands together, and you are grateful for it.

He sits down on the bed first, hand never letting go of yours as he scoots back into the pillows. “C’mere baby.” He gently beckons, and you settle right into his hold. Frank immediately wraps his arms around you to keep you tight against his chest. The feeling of his thumping heart on your cheek, acts as a kind reminder that you aren’t alone. He’s real and he’s right here with you.

“Shhh. It’s okay baby. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Frank…”

“Yeah? What d’you need? You wanna talk about it?” He’s so gentle with his offers, he knows never to push you to do anything when you feel like control is no longer yours anymore.

You’re not even sure what you need right now, there is not a single problem you could pinpoint right off the bat. Everything just feels overwhelming, you feel too much for painfully abstract reasons. You just want to cry.

“I don’t know…i—“ You struggle to get the words out as you keep choking back tears. “Just. Hold me.”

You feel him softly nod at your simple request. “Yeah. Of course sweetheart, i can do that.” His fingers brush carefully through your hair then to your shoulder. “I got you. I got you.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses your forehead. He reaches for the blanket that got thrown to the other side of the bed and covers your tangled bodies with it. Then there is only the sound of rain coupled with your near silent weeps.

Though the rush of your persistent sobs eventually calms down as the minutes pass. You find yourself in a calmer state, breath coming in sync with Frank’s

You look up to find him already staring back at you. “You okay?” His brows are knitted together in worry.

“Mmhm. Better.”

His drawn up shoulders then softens, “Good.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it yet though.” You just aren’t ready yet. You feel too exhausted to even think about it right now.

He’s smiling now and you can’t help but mirror it. “S’okay sweetheart. You’ll feel better in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶

Hope you guys loved it. Whatever you’re struggling with, know that i want you to be gentle with yourself and Frank does too. Take care my sweets!

[kafus]

still awake, i did finally drink water and i’m about to try to get a couple more hours of sleep, but first i want to talk more in depth about my experience flying for the first time yesterday because honestly i got the best case scenario despite there being turbulence for a good chunk of the flight which scared me

so i have anxiety problems and was really scared of flying. like, violently shaking just waiting to board and cried when i started boarding and cried again when liftoff happened. i was pretty anxious the whole flight and ended up shiny hunting a lot less than i wanted because i couldn’t focus lol, i was texting my friends with plane wifi to cope

but anyway, point is this was going to be hard for me and both me and my mom knew that. so my mom went to the front desk and asked to get a pass to come back to the gate with me since it was my first time flying and i was anxious. we did NOT ask for this, but the guy who gave my mom the pass was incredibly kind and just… upgraded my boarding pass to preboarding for free (as in getting on the plane before anyone else), just handed me the upgraded pass and said he has a daughter too and he gets it and i was very thankful 😭

so this put me in the preboarding line next to an older woman and presumably her husband who was in a wheelchair. my mom and her were making small talk while i was visibly anxious asf and it turned out that once we got to chicago, me and this woman would be going to the same place! and she offered to help me there! the airport is fucking huge so i was a little worried about finding my way to the correct terminal and everything by myself 😭 i mean i can read signs and i can ask staff for help, i’m sure i would have gotten there eventually, but it was a huge relief off my back.

i ended up sitting with this lady in front of me on the isle (i didn’t want to be near the window because it would probably frighten me and wanted easy seat exit too) and then i was sat next to an older couple in the two seats to my right. the woman next to me was also nice to me, reminded me about airplane mode and asked if i was OK a couple times, and i was able to ask her what was going on a couple times lol. lady in front of me also turned around during liftoff just to ask if i was doing okay and i told her i was holding it together even tho i had obviously been crying LMAO

when i got off the plane me and this lady made small talk while she helped walk me to my proper destination to get on my shuttle to the hotel. it wasn’t until she and her Probably husband left (after i thanked her ofc) that i realized i never even got her name and i don’t think she got mine either

while waiting for the shuttle i was really having a Wow humanity is so cool sometimes moment. just a lot of kind strangers making life easier for my anxious autistic ass yesterday. things could have easily been a lot more difficult otherwise

oh and the cherry on top is my mom was checking something to do with my flight back on sunday only to realize the guy who upgraded my pass to preboarding actually did it in both directions. like he also upgraded my flight back home to preboarding. literally what a saint for real

[returnofeternity]

hope finals have been going well for you!! they're lowk kicking my ass and i might have to retake them 😭💔 but anyways— nothing but thoughts about adult van 🥲

thinking about being a college student who goes into town during their breaks, trying to find something to do or just eat somewhere for lunch. maybe you bump into van at a café or at her work just out of curiosity, resulting in a spark of a genuine bond that you start coming to her regularly. she gives you sm movie recs and probably great advice whenever you're doubting yourself because of school getting hard that you start crushing on her so bad 😭

⋆🍓

i just finished all of them yesterday!!! i passed all of them 😁 hope u do well on urssss :)

you have a long gap between classes and decide to take the bus/or ur car if you drive (im license-less sorry) to your favorite cafe that always give you freebies. maybe you pass by van when you first walk in! you have to do a double-take because 1. this is the most beautiful woman you've ever seen here, and 2. she calls you babe after you held the door open for her. you're blushing and smiling as you make your way to the cashier, and they know. they mention that her name is van and she's a regular here, almost as regular as you.

you would have never expected that the random video store you happened to stumble upon a few minutes later was run by her.

she's in the back sorting things when you walk in, the little bell ringing to signal that a customer is in, and she yells that she'll be right with you. you walk around in awe, looking at all the awesome vintage items, poking around through old magazines she has and laughing at how there's old porn in here.

"we have vintage tapes too." the raspy voice from behind makes you jump, and you blush bright red at getting caught. your eyes widen when you turn around and see the older woman from the cafe. the one who called you babe. "uh," an awkward sound comes out of your throat. you place the magazine back down and turn around, not ready to face her. "you're from the cafe." she looks you up and down. "did you follow me here?" the woman laughs at your shocked face and scoots past you to rearrange some CDs, grumbling about 'some teenagers.' you scratch your neck and turn around to look at her again. "i just thought the store looked cool. i didn't know you worked here."

you ask her about what she recommends, and you two get lost in a talk about movies, CDs, mp3 players (she has a hard time believing you're even old enough to have had one -__-), and what you like to do for fun. you're genuinely there for hours, just following her while she puts things away and shows you what she has. you end up leaving with like 5 VHS tapes along with the VCR machine she rented out to you. and she expects you to be back to report on all the movies.

at first, she's honestly just a safe space for you :( thinking this older butch lesbian who kind of takes you under her wing, showing you all sorts of queer cinema that you've never even heard of before, always giving you advice and talking to you about things you wanna learn. van who, once you two start to get closer, takes you out to lesbian bars and introduces you to all her older butch and femme friends!!!!

she;s so amazing. you tell her that you're crushing on this girl and she just immediately goes into ways on how to ask her out and when you say EXACTLY what she told you to say, she just says "good job! she'll for sure say yes." like girl 😑😑 she tries to play cool and act like she knew, but she's dying inside.

van who drops you off and picks you up from classes in her truck 😍😍 always kisses you and tells you good luck in your classes, always asks you how your day was and if ur hungry cos she'll take you out to eat :)

always thinkin of movie dates in her room. popping in a VHS and cuddling on the couch, telling her about how you were on ebay and saw this shrek crt tv for sale and that she should totallllyyy get it. and you know van palmer don't mess around about ebay bidding.

ALSO. do yall think this is her skateboard......gulp. butch skateboarder van......

sorry for this added angst but now i just cant stop thinking about being van's favorite regular and hearing about her passing away 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[kjhbsies]

Ok so this might be long but I just LOVE the way you write, Peter Parker x Reader!!, but I think it could also work as Remus Lupin x reader

“…And you didn’t come after me.” “I didn’t know you wanted me to.” at Chicago??? Pretty please 🙏🏼

Also you can ignore and not include the following but I’ve had this on my head for days that I just NEED to tell someone HAHAHAHA😭 but:

maybe reader decides to move on from bestfriend!character after realizing he’s never gonna make a move, they’ve been dancing around each other for YEARS (like he would lead her on, but never actually get into a relationship with her because he is too caught up with his insecurities, she deserves better, cant risk losing her) and at first he’s okay with her meeting other guys, he just wants what’s best for her. But then she might get a bit too serious with a guy and it’s like someone flicked a switch because poor bestfriend!character is now spiraling (there could be a time jump, i feel like that would work pretty good for the trope) I’m sorry I’m just so into the hurt/comfort 😭

The Waiting Game

navigation | main masterlist | rules

join my 500 celebration!

TASM!Peter Parker x reader

synopsis: You were always there— his comfort, his constant, his maybe. But when you finally stopped waiting, Peter had to face his fear, and that is to finally say that he loves you before it's too late.

wordcount: 2, 163

note: Prompt: “…And you didn’t come after me.” “I didn’t know you wanted me to.” + Chicago: angry love confession in the rain. kudos to this request, too! listen, thank you for this. i really, really loved it. and i almost cried writing this lol. also,this was inspired by niki's backburner and migraine by moonstar88. requests are still open!

The first time you saw him, you thought he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Which wasn't far from the truth.

Peter Parker walked into your flower shop one rainy Tuesday afternoon, shoulders hunched under the soaked hoodie he was wearing. He bought white daisies. Didn't say much. You packed the bouquet on a brown paper, tied it with twine, and offered a warm smile which he didn't return— at least, not immediately. Just a faint curl of his lips and a small nod.

You didn't take it personally. Some people were just... introverted. Shy.

He came back next week. Then the week after that. And it just became a routine that you were always expecting him to show up. There are times when you notice a small bruise on his face, hidden by the shadow of his hoodie. You never asked. You just wrapped the flowers he had picked and handed them over, your fingers brushing his for a second. Just enough to notice a chill in his skin.

You have come to the impression that Peter has a girlfriend. He always brought fresh flowers every week—never too grand, always simple, delicate, and white most of the time. You imagined a quiet girl waiting for him at home, maybe someone who loved reading books and the rain.

So you never made a move. You just kept smiling, kept asking him how his day was, even if the answer never came.

Until, eventually, it did.

The first real conversation you had with him was in the library. You spotted him in a far corner, tucked behind a stack of physics books and a nearly empty coffee cup. He looked surprised to see you, but then he suddenly smiled.

"Hey," You greeted. "Didn't think you were a big physics guy."

Peter smiled, that tired grin again. "You'd be surprised."

That was the beginning. Of what, you weren't sure.

Over time, he stopped ignoring you. He became more open, more comfortable in your presence. You'd always see him in cafes you liked, in late-night grocery runs, or walking around Queens with headphones on. Always in his own world.

You learned about Gwen one cold night. He'd shown up at your shop just before closing, hands trembling slightly as he approached you.

"She loved flowers. Especially lilies." He said.

Your heart sank when he told you everything that had happened with his former girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. He told you about his abilities, his persona, and everything that has led to her death. You didn't ask any questions. Just offered him a tea in the backroom and sat with him until he felt less lonely.

After that, things changed.

Peter became your friend. A real one. The kind who waited for your shop to close so he could walk you home every night, who showed up at your doorstep with pizza and sodas in hand after your shop got vandalized by some street punks. The kind who listened. The kind who stayed. And you didn't even know that two years had already passed.

Two years of tangled heartstrings and almosts. Of late night phone calls, movie marathons, and shared laughs that felt too sweet just to be called platonic. Sometimes, he'd tell you something that left you breathless.

"You make everything easier." He said as you helped him tend to his wounds.

Other times, he'd look at you like you were the safest place in the world— and then pull back like he wasn't allowed to feel that way. You didn't know what you were to him. A friend, just what he always called it, but it felt like more.

And maybe, you were selfish, but you wanted more than being almost. You wanted him to do something, to claim you as his. But Peter never made a move.

You just... sat in between. Held his hand at dark times. Loved him quietly— hoped that someday— maybe— he'd let go of the ghost haunting him and see you standing there.

But no one warned you how exhausting it is to love someone who stands still while you take steps forward.

You kept hoping, quietly, stupidly— that one day Peter would wake up and finally say it. Say something. Do something. Anything. Call what you two had by its real name. But he never did. You kept giving, but he kept holding back. And suddenly, something inside you just... dimmed.

You were never an expert in love, but you knew that it shouldn't feel like this. And no matter how much your heart yearned for him, you realized you were done orbiting someone who never made an effort to pull you in.

So you started going out with men. You said yes to coffee dates with those guys who never leave your messages unanswered, whose laughter wasn't laced with something unspoken, and someone who doesn't look at you like you were a ghost of somebody else.

Peter didn't even react. Not even a twitch of jealousy. In fact, he told you he was glad and he was very supportive of doing what you thought would be best for you. And it stung more than it should've. Because all you wanted was for him to express how much he hated it. You wanted no more than for him to get mad and ask you to leave all those guys for him.

After that, something shifted. Your late-night calls stopped, and he stopped showing up at your shop. Your conversations grew distant and clipped, surface-level and polite. There was an invisible line between you two now, something that seemed to pull you apart.

It was both a blessing and a curse. It was a strange relief that you didn't have to love him loudly. Not having to read every brush of his hand across your fingers, not having to be puzzled by his actions every night, and not having to overthink anything anymore. You could finally breathe without wondering if he'd ever choose you. Because his silence told you the real answer.

But at night, when you stared at your phone and saw his name untouched in your inbox, the silence was killing you. You missed him. The version of him that let you in. The Peter who held your hand when you cried without ever asking why. The Peter who laughed with his whole chest when you told a joke that someone else wouldn't even find funny.

But that Peter was gone.

And then came Silas. He was different. Patient, kind, and steady. All the ways Peter wasn't. For three months, you've been getting to know each other. And you were thinking of letting him in finally.

People began to notice. And so did Peter.

You didn't know it, but he was spiraling. Quietly, of course.

He saw you and Silas walking around the streets at night when he was on patrol, and despite his mind telling him to just turn around and look away, he couldn't. Not when it was almost the first time in months he saw you smile like that. Not when his heart almost stopped at the sight of another man's arms wrapped around your shoulders.

He told himself that he was happy for you. He pretended to be okay watching you move on. Pretended he didn't care. Pretended he didn't stay late at night replaying every missed chance, every almost-kiss, and every time he called you just a friend when his heart said otherwise.

But would you hear him out if he told you the reasons why?

What if he hurt you like he hurt Gwen? What if he couldn't protect you? What if loving him meant having the same fate as Gwen's?

But he doesn't know what to do anymore.

What if Silas made you happier than he could? What if you stopped waiting entirely? What if you never looked back?

One fortunate and gloomy afternoon, Peter saw you whilst he was walking around the Queens to clear up his mind.

You were sitting by the window of the little cafe, a lonely cup untouched in front of you. Your phone sat on the table, screen lit up with a message you'd already read twice:

"Sorry, something came up. Raincheck?"

Then, the skies started to darken, and rain immediately poured like the city itself was crying.

Peter clenched his jaw. He adjusted his hoodie, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started to at a different direction.

But he didn't get far.

He stopped mid-step. Closed his eyes tightly.

Don't do it, Parker. He thought. Let her be happy.

But he couldn't. So he walked back.

He now found you outside the cafe, waiting for a cab. He stood beside you, wet from head to toe, his hoodie clinging to his frame.

You blinked up, startled. "Peter?"

"Where's Silas?" His voice was low, almost lost in the rain.

"He said he couldn't come," You answered, still reeling from the sight of him. "Why were you here, Peter?"

He looked at you, eyes glassy and stormy. There was a lump in his throat he couldn't swallow, not with the way you were looking at him. Like he meant something. Like he still has a chance.

"I don't want you to be alone," He said quietly.

You nodded once, looking down. Your heart ached as you felt your walls crumbling down.

"Don't say things you didn't mean." You whispered, more to yourself than to him. It was so quiet that if Peter didn't have super-hearing, he might not have heard it.

"I mean it. Why do you think that I don't?"

Your breath hitched. You looked away as you blinked your tears. "So, what? You're talking to me now because you just figured out you liked me again?"

"I've never stopped liking you," Peter said, stepping closer, eyes searching for yours.

You shook your head and started to walk abruptly. The rain had picked up, soaking your clothes within seconds. Your pace quickened, just so he wouldn't see you crumbling because of him.

"Y/n, stop." Peter jogged after you, catching your arm with a gentle but firm grip. "You'll get sick, alright?" He began taking off his hoodie to cover you.

You shoved it away, the cloth falling off the road.

"You're the one who should stop!" You yelled, voice cracking through the rain. “Were the past two years not enough for you? I waited, Peter. I waited for you to finally love me back. But now that I'm trying to see someone new, that’s when you want to say something?!”

Peter’s eyes were full of sorrow, of regret too big to carry. “I know. I was scared. Really. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“This hurts me even more, Peter.” You cried, the tears now freely falling. “Do you know how many guys I tried to like, just so I could forget you? Every night, I was hoping you’d do something. And you never came after me."

Peter bit his lip to hold in a sob, but the tears streaming down his cheeks betrayed him. “I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

You stared at him, heart breaking all over again.

“Of course I wanted you to!” You sobbed, voice trembling. “I wanted you to show me that I mattered. That I was not only an option when you don't have anyone to talk to, a second choice for—” You stopped yourself, eyes shutting tightly.

Peter nodded, understanding everything that you were feeling. He then closed the space between you, hands trembling as they cupped your soaked cheeks. You didn’t pull away. He silently thanked the Gods because he didn't know what he would do if you walked away from his grip.

“I’m sorry,” He said, voice shaking. “I was too caught up in my own fears. Too stuck in the past. I thought… I thought if I let you go, you’d be safer. But I was wrong. I don’t want to live scared anymore. I don’t want to keep losing people I love because I’m too afraid to love them in the first place. I don't want to lose you.”

You stared at him.

And Peter whispered, “I love you.”

Your breath caught. He looked terrified, like saying it would break him, but it didn’t. It held him together.

“I love you,” He repeated, stronger this time. “If you let me, I’ll be better. I’ll do things right this time. I promise.”

The rain still poured, but neither of you moved.

And then, finally, you let yourself believe him.

You surged forward, arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him, angry and tender and relieved all at once. He kissed you back with the same fervor, like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “You’re not waiting anymore.”

And you weren’t.

Because this time, he chose you.

And he wasn't going to let go. Not ever.

©kjhbsies

[arctic-space-penguin]

For the bad things happen bingo, could you do mistaken identity with Leo and Donnie (this is called disaster twins right?) where one gets mistaken for the other and that both A: causes one to get hurt & B: causes the other to feel guilty and think it’s their fault for their twin getting hurt. (I’d prefer if Leo is the one getting hurt. I would be curious to see what emotional turmoil Donnie goes through, but do it any way you want too)

if you don’t like the idea feel free to ignore it

OH BOY DO I HAVE EMOTIONAL TURMOIL FOR YOU!!

I'm gonna be honest, it's night where I am right now and I thought Donnie would come out of the shadows just to kill me himself for this 😭😭😭😭😭

Seventh BTHB fic - Mistaken Identity - 5277 words

tw: temporary major character death, one blood mention at the end, psychological torture, hallucinations, and panic attacks

---

Leo doesn't know why he even went anymore. He was too busy trying to not pass out, breaths coming out quicker by the minute. The spell that witch had sent at him, he had a small understanding of what it did now. If the shadows he could practically feel smothering the inside of his head was anything to go by. It only made his breath increase further.

Donnie had trackers surely, right? They could find him before he passed out? He had been in the Hidden City square for an hour or two before heading for Witch Town after all. Perhaps they would show up any second now. They had to. Right?

Half an hour flew by. Pedestrians continued past the alleyway he was in. How did he manage to get up to the surface in the first place? He doesn't know that either.

His breath was the quickest it had ever been by now. It was terrifying. Did he tell someone where he was going? He didn't, did he? Maybe he was a dum-dum like Donnie said a lot.

They'renotcomingthey'renotcomingthey'renotcoming

He had to get himself out of here on his own. With newfound (rapidly waning) determination, he grabs onto the wall and uses it to get himself to his feet. His head spins with the movement, but he keeps going.

The second he reaches the manhole cover at the back of the alley, he sinks to his knees to pull it away. Leo throws his legs over the edge of the hole, reaching for the ladder.

About halfway down the rungs, still a moderate height from the ground, his eyes flutter close, hand slipping from the railing, as the shadows complete their takeover of his mind. He lands hard against the ground shell-first and gasping, blacking out in the same instant.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donnie sighed and put his palms up to cover his eyes as the spiking headache hit again. He pushed out of his chair and went to the kitchen for his tenth cup of water in two hours. Mikey was there making lunch and greeted Donnie with a happy chirp.

"Hey Dee! Have you seen Leo around anywhere?"

Donnie drank the water in one sip. "No, I haven't. Wasn't he here for breakfast?"

Mikey hummed. Right, Donnie almost never came to breakfast. "Nope. Has he bothered you at all today?"

Donnie refilled his cup and realized, "No, no he hasn't yet. Maybe he just left the lair and didn't tell us again."

"But he's been getting better at that!" Mikey protested. "If he wasn't here for breakfast and hasn't bothered you at all, something has to be wrong."

Raph entered the kitchen then, freshly showered after his second workout of today. "You talking about Leo?"

"Yes," "You know it," Mikey and Donnie replied.

"I thought I saw him leaving before breakfast," Raph supplied, earning weird looks from both little brothers. "Woke up a little earlier than usual."

Donnie sighed and held his wrist tech up to examine it in silence for a minute. "It says he's still in the sewers..."

"We split up and search for him then!" Mikey switched the stove off. "Lunch can wait, let's go!"

Donnie and Raph exchanged a glance before following the box turtle out of the kitchen. The snapper went with Mikey down the right tunnel while Donnie went down the left tunnel toward where they normally leave the sewers. The softshell never stopped scanning the tunnel for something, eyes flicking every which way.

The worst time for the headache to come back was right now, but it had it's own rules. Donnie held his head and had to pause for a second. He continued on the moment it subsided, only for it to come back full force, almost sending him to his knees. He growled and pushed through it.

He eventually reached the ladder they used to leave and the sight made him widen his eyes in horror. Leo was on the ground, eyes closed, breath so fast it didn't even look like he was breathing. Donnie sank down and the headache vanished for good.

"No no no," Donnie's hands hovered over Leo's unconscious form despite not knowing what he could even do. "Leo! Leo, wake up, c'mon!"

He tapped Leo's face desperately. Should he try to get him home by himself or call the others? Raph could probably carry Leo better than any of them. Donnie shook away those thoughts and got his arms under his twin himself. He pushed himself up with difficulty and ran as fast as he could back to the lair.

Once he had gotten Leo in a safe spot on a cot in the med bay, he yanked his phone out and texted Mikey and Raph to come home immediately and that he had found their missing brother.

The older and younger brothers made a swift appearance after the text was sent. They both crowded around the cot Leo was on.

"What happened to him?!" Mikey cried.

"I don't know, I just found him like that!" Donnie replied.

"Deep breaths, you two," Raph commanded. "We can't be freaking out right now, we need to find out what happened. Mikey, call Draxum. Donnie, get Dad."

Mikey had his phone out in a flash. Donnie turned tail and sprinted for the living room. Dad was on his couch like always.

"Dad, Leo's--" Splinter leapt from his chair the second his son spoke. "Leo's sick, I-I think. He was missing and we just found him, but--"

Splinter was gone. Donnie took a second to recompose himself before going straight back to the med bay. Raph and Mikey were still close to the cot, but not enough for Dad to hear their whispers. Donnie went in their direction to listen.

"Draxum should be here soon," Mikey was saying. "Hopefully he can at least tell us what's going on because that doesn't look like something human medicine can fix."

"Raph agrees," Raph nodded.

Donnie stayed silent for now. He turned to Leo and stared, eyes glazing over the longer he did. He didn't know how long he had been doing that when Draxum's gruff voice cut through his haze.

"Donatello, I need to be where you are," the goat man said.

"S-sorry," Donnie blinked and backed up out of the way.

The three brothers stood off to the side and let Draxum do his thing. It only took him a minute to find out what was wrong and he looked a little worried despite himself when he turned to the brothers. A panic button almost identical to Donnie's creations was pushed into Mikey's arms at the same time.

"Put that on," Draxum commanded.

"Where'd you find that?" Donnie asked him back.

"Abandoned by the ladder," Draxum replied.

Mikey slowly slipped the button on after removing his own. When the magic that came up vanished, the button was revealed to really be a cloaking brooch.

That had Mikey look like Donnie.

"Why would Leo have had this?" was the first thing the box turtle asked, examining himself.

Donnie snatched the button-brooch away. Draxum sighed.

"The mystics currently taking over Leonardo's brain can only be done by one being in the Hidden City," Draxum eyed Donnie. "A witch."

Donnie's whole life came crashing down when Draxum said that. His breathing quickened and all he wanted to do was hide.

"--ello!"

"D--!"

"Pu--e!"

Voices cut in and out of his consciousness. He recognized them. His family? No, they would hate him for what he did, right? They wouldn't be talking to him. He scrambled under the cot Leo was on and pulled his legs to his chest to bury his head in between. People continued to speak above him, but he didn't care to listen.

"Should we call April?" Raph wondered. "Raph has a feeling he'd take seeing us badly right now..."

"Do not bother April yet," Splinter commanded. "I will see what I can do first."

The rat slowly got closer to Donnie and reached a hand out. Donnie's head shot up all at once. He saw the hand coming at him and the person, no, witch behind it, wearing a sinister smirk on it's face.

"Stay away from me!" he cried, maneuvering out from under the cot quickly.

He fearfully looked up at the legs he ran into and shrank under the similar smirk as the first. He rushed away as fast as he could, but ended up tripping a few feet from the lair exit. He twisted back around to see darkness swallowing up the walls and floor as the too-wide smiles exit the med bay. He choked on spit when he tried to scream.

He needed to get out of here.

He turned tail and scaled the ladder two rungs at a time, looking down once he was at the surface to see the darkness had followed him. It had taken over his home. He couldn't go back until it was gone. So where could he go?

April.

Yes! Right! He could go to April's! She was safe.

Donnie leapt up the building on his right to the roof and reached his best friend's apartment before he knew it. He frantically knocked on the bedroom window until she came to open it.

He threw himself inside, still panicking a little, and muttered out begs for her to close the window, to which she complied.

"Donnie, what's going on? You normally don't just show up out of the blue," April asked softly.

"Witches," he whimpered. "E-everywhere. In... In Leo t-too."

Her eyes widened as she settled by his side. "Everywhere where?"

"T-the lair. Can't go... can't go b-back," he replied.

She gently rubbed his shoulder. "Okay, deep breaths, baby. You're safe now, you know that."

"I k-know," he sucked in deeply then released.

Silence stretched between them as he continued taking the breaths. She gently rubbed thumbs into his shoulders comfortingly. Eventually, his breathing evened out and he was able to speak clearer again.

"Good," April praised. "Now, what was this about a witch being inside of Leo?"

"The dumb-dumb went to the Hidden City, Witch Town, more specifically..." oh God, he didn't want to admit this part. "With a cloaking brooch to disguise himself as me."

Her eyes widened again. "It's because we didn't tell him what happened there, wasn't it?"

"He's been unconscious for about an hour now since I found him. I don't know," Donnie supplied.

"An hour?! And none of you told me?!" she shouted.

"We would have eventually," he rested his chin on his knees.

She sighed. "So he got cursed, then?"

He nodded. Silence filled the empty space in the room. His phone inevitably started going off with worried texts that she made him answer. They both decided to go back to the lair after. Mikey threw himself at Donnie the second he stepped a foot into the lair.

"Donatello," Draxum spoke over everyone else. "I believe you and I need to talk."

Donnie exchanged a frightful glance with April. Was he allowed to say no to this? He really, really (that's two reallys) didn't want to talk about what happened.

April stepped forward and hooked her arm around Donnie's. "If you're going to talk about the Witch Town thing, I'm coming too."

"Very well," Draxum beckoned them both to the living room.

The goat settled himself on the couch when they both there and gestured for them to start explaining. Donnie didn't want to, but there was also no way April would let him get out of explaining when this was all his fault.

"I messed up when we went," Donnie admitted first. "I thought April would've been better off with me helping her and not the witches so I..." Insulted them. Destroyed their statue. Helped unsuccessfully. "I just messed up."

He avoided gazes and stared at the very interesting floor on his left. Painful nothing happened for a few seconds following his words, as if no one wanted to address his failure. Seconds turned to minutes. He finally looked up, but when he did, Draxum and April were just... gone.

He panicked again. He tore around the couch back to the main atrium only for it to be empty. His brothers and dad were gone too, fantastic. He took deep breaths to attempt to calm himself down. That is, until movement in his peripheral caught his eye and made him crane his head up to the right.

Leo stood on the edge of the platform in front of the medbay, almost looking like he would fall off. Donnie widened his eyes and was about to shout up at him to back up, but Leo spoke up first, pointing his finger at the softshell and staring him right in the eyes.

"Seize him! Seize the scientist!"

Donnie's breath hitched dangerously at those all-too-familiar words. What's worse: the witch's voice that had initially said those words was echoing along with Leo. The slider leapt down from the platform and landed easily behind Donnie.

The purple twin spun around. The blue twin's eyes were pure white, like he was angry. When Leo opened his mouth to say something, glowing blue liquid poured out of his mouth.

"This is all your fault, Donnie~" Leo singsonged, advancing, more liquid dripping down his chin. "You didn't tell me what happened down there~"

"No!" Donnie screeched, reaching back for his techbo only to realize he had left it elsewhere and therefore didn't have it.

Leo practically pounced on Donnie when his backing away buffered. "It's your fault I got cursed~"

"I would've told you eventually! I just wasn't ready to yet!" Donnie whimpered.

Leo snarled, some of the liquid falling to land on the ground in between them. Without warning, Leo grabbed Donnie's forearms, spun around once, and threw him right into the wall behind them. The impact knocked Donnie's breath from his lungs. He didn't have time to recover before Leo slammed him back against the wall again and hands tightened around Donnie's throat.

"L-Leo, let g-go!" Donnie cried, scrabbling at the slider's ever-tightening hands.

Leo leaned in close. Donnie shivered at the impact of breath against his tympanum. He felt Leo smirk before whispering something in a voice that definitely wasn't his own.

"Well, aren't you fun to torture," Whatever it was said. "Should've done something sooner."

Donnie's second shiver was much more violent than the first. Leo spun Donnie around by his throat twice before releasing him. Before Donnie could hit the sewer wall directly outside of the lair, he opened his eyes, sat up, and screamed.

Splinter, who had been sleeping nearby, startled awake with his son's scream. "Purple!"

At their dad's call, Raph and Mikey hurry into Donnie's bedroom.

Wait, how did he get in his bedroom? Wasn't he going to explain to Draxum what happened?

"You passed out," Mikey supplied, as if having read his mind, squeezing Donnie in a hug.

"P-passed... out?" Donnie asked in a barely audible voice.

Raph got behind the softshell and pulled him closer. "Yeah, bud."

Donnie keened and sobbed, covering his face with his hands. "S-sorry..."

Mikey started crying too, ever the empathetic one. Raph churred comfortingly deep in his chest. Donnie melted between his brothers and didn't hear Splinter say he'd be right back.

When Donnie got the courage to open his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was their dad gone, just like before. Donnie thrashed in a panic trying to look for him. Raph yelped a little when Donnie scratched his arms in desperation, but didn't let go.

"Don, what are you looking for?" the snapper asked as gently as he could.

Donnie continued frantically searching and didn't seem to hear his older brother. Raph tried again.

"Donnie, stop. What are you--"

The moment Splinter came back into the room, Donnie stopped moving and hiccuped. Raph opened his arms to let Donnie go and Mikey didn't hesitate to do the same. Splinter seemed shocked when his son wrapped his arms around him.

"I'm sorry," Donnie dug his beak into the robe. "This is all my fault. Leo's cursed because of me."

"You do not know for sure," Splinter whispered.

"I am!" Donnie insisted, pushing away. "I am sure! He would've never gone to Witch Town looking like me if I had just told him what happened!"

Splinter looked up at Raph and Mikey with a serious stare that said they needed to be alone. The duo exchanged a glance before getting up and leaving. Donnie resisted in going after them to make sure they wouldn't disappear.

Splinter's gaze flicked to Donnie, who was hugging himself and openly sobbing again. "My son, it is not your fault."

Donnie continued like he hadn't spoken. "Why couldn't it have been me?"

Splinter hovered his hand over Donnie's knee. Donnie noticed and let him rest it on top. Splinter did.

"It is not your fault, Donatello."

"How do you know?" Donnie muttered.

Splinter sighed. "You could not have known what Leonardo would do. You didn't tell him because you felt uncomfortable, correct?"

Donnie nodded slowly.

"Blue is stubborn, as are you at times. He does what he likes when he wants. He wanted to know, and made a decision that wasn't the smartest and got him cursed. But it is not your fault."

Donnie pulled his dad in for another much-needed hug, wetting his robe again with tears.

"Repeat it," Splinter commanded. "Repeat what I said last."

"I can't. I don't... I don't believe it," Donnie returned to hugging himself.

"It is not your fault. Say it. I'll repeat it as many times as I need to," Splinter smiled.

Donnie opened his mouth to say it, but then snapped it back shut. He hiccuped. C'mon, Tello, just say it already! "It's-- It's not my f-fault."

Splinter initiated a final hug before leaving Donnie's room. Donnie scrambled back under his blankets and cried himself to sleep.

A week bordering on two passed following that talk. Draxum had revealed Leo had a month at find a cure two days following the talk. Donnie only had solace from nightmares, panic attacks, and hallucinations when he was under his twin's cot.

Which is where he was now.

Donnie was scrolling through feed after feed without really seeing any of the posts when Mikey crouched beside the bed.

"I made pancakes for breakfast," the box turtle informed. "Want some?"

"Not hungry," Donnie replied immediately.

Mikey frowned. "Dee, come on. You've been under here all day."

Donnie paused from scrolling to glare at his little brother. "I haven't and I said I wasn't hungry."

Mikey's face turned unimpressed, but he groaned and left. Donnie poked his head out from under the cot to make sure Mikey was gone only for a plate with two pancakes to be shoved his way.

"You're going to eat," Mikey demanded from somewhere above him.

Donnie rolled his eyes and grumbled, taking the plate to retreat back into his solitude. He grumpily stabbed into the top pancake. About halfway through it, creaking from the cot above made him abandon them both. Especially when a pair of light olive green skinned legs appeared over the edge.

"Leo?" he asked cautiously. The legs opened enough for a head to appear between them. "Leo!"

Then Donnie noticed the glowing blue eyes, almost like one of his twin's portals.

"Not exactly," Leo laughed nervously. "He's actually, um... been taken prisoner."

Donnie narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't make any sense. Who are you then?"

"A manifestation of your beloved twin's ninpo of course! You can call me Blue!" the slider smiled widely.

Donnie didn't take long to decide to go along with this. "Assuming I believe you, color me skeptical, how was Leo 'taken prisoner'?"

"I can explain everything later, but right now what I need is Draxum. Like, immediately," Blue said.

Donnie had already sent a text off to Mikey and the family before 'Blue' had even finished talking. Speaking of Mikey, the youngest brother sprinted into the room after summoning Draxum with a text.

"What's up with Leo?! What do we need... Draxum... for...?" Mikey trailed off at the sight of Blue.

Donnie crawled out from under the cot, stood up, and stretched his back. "Before you jump to conclusions, this isn't actually Leo. Apparently it's some of his sentient ninpo of his."

"Blue's the name, portals the game! I was supposed to protect your brother, but I got him taken instead," Blue caught Mikey up. "That's why we need Draxum."

"What's he supposed to do about a kidnapping situation?" Mikey blurted without thinking.

"Uh, determine how much time he has left to live?" Blue adjusted himself to put the world upside down, muttering "Oo, make Leo do this more often, it's amazing."

Donnie had to blink. "I'm sorry, live?"

Blue looked over at him. "Yeah, this curse is supposed to make his mind deteriorate until either she kills him herself, she kills me, or until his mind falls to her magic."

Donnie threw his hands in the air. "And who's this 'she' you keep bringing up?"

"The witch," Blue replied simply, shrugging. "Oh, hey, Draxy's here!"

Donnie and Mikey turned away from Blue to face an almost buffering goat man. Draxum yanked himself out of it violently to stomp over to Blue, forcibly sit him up, and waved his hands around in thinly veiled confusion and worry.

"Look, I know I screwed up, but if you want Leo to live, we probably don't have very much time left," Blue warned.

Draxum eventually got himself to calm down and pulled Donnie and Mikey to the side. "That is not Leonardo's ninpo. I don't know what it is exactly, but stay vigilant when I send you into Leonardo's mind."

Donnie and Mikey shared a nervous glance before Mikey lowered his voice.

"Should we bring Raph too, then?" he asked timidly.

Donnie nodded confidently. Draxum agreed too.

"Go fetch Raphael while I prepare to get you two into his mind," Draxum told Donnie.

The softshell nodded again and hurried off to the garage where he knew he was. Sure enough, there was Raph, just finishing up using a dumbbell.

"Donnie, you okay?" Raph asked when he noticed him.

Donnie could finally shake his head. "Leo's been captured by the witch in his mind. There's something claiming to be some manifestation of Leo's ninpo in control of his body right now that told us." Donnie curled in on himself standing up and sobbed. "I d-don't want us t-to die, Raphie."

The snapper got up and went over to comfort Donnie. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Neither of you are going to die with me there, I promise. We'll do whatever we have to do to save Leo, okay?"

Donnie shakily nodded. "Y-yeah... okay."

Raph offered a reassuring smile before leading Donnie back to the medbay. The three brothers stood where Draxum wanted them to and did whatever he said. Soon enough, Raph, Donnie, and Mikey were standing on a beautiful green hill that sloped down into a valley with a castle right in the middle of it all.

"That's where he's being held," Blue appeared next to them, revealed to be a see-through, glowing light blue (same color as his eyes earlier) version of Leo. "We just need to go in, get him, and get out before she knows and can stop us."

Mikey and Donnie both recalled Draxum's warning to stay vigilant. Blue started down the hill and Donnie made Raph wait an extra second so Blue wouldn't hear what he had to say to him.

"That's not actually Leo's ninpo," Donnie whispered. "Draxum said so. He warned us to watch our backs too."

Raph played it off by pretending he didn't hear. Donnie knew he did though. The group reached the castle gates surprisingly fast for being on foot. Blue pushed open the large doors easily and gestured for them to go inside.

"Shouldn't we be sneaking directly to where Leo is and not going in the front door?" Raph questioned with narrowed eyes.

Blue waved off his question. "Relax. She doesn't have any guards since she didn't believe we'd reach her castle and there's no other surveillance that I've seen."

"What do you mean 'you--"

Blue cut off Donnie's question by leading the way into the castle. Was it just Donnie or was it really dark in here? Mikey clung to Raph's arm and jumped at just about every shifting shadow in the dark. Donnie wanted to bolt the darker it got.

At some point, the trio didn't notice that they're guide had vanished. They reached some room, the doors slamming closed behind them, effectively just making it all even darker. Donnie went to push his goggles down, but they weren't on his head anymore. Raph and Mikey didn't have their tonfa or kusari-fundo either. How stra--

A light flicked on in front of them all, illuminating a familiar face tied up to a chair and gagged. Leo. The slider squirmed and whined and tried to shout a warning around the cloth in his mouth, but to no avail. Suddenly all the lights turned on, making Donnie flinch at the sudden brightness.

"Wait, where'd Blue go?" Mikey asked, finally noticing him missing.

A sinister laugh echoed around all of the walls. Leo widened his eyes, staring at something behind his three brothers and tried to shout or yell a warning. Raph spared him a glanced and followed his gaze before widening his own eyes.

"Donnie, look out!"

The softshell stiffened when he felt something cold brush his arm.

"If it isn't the mutant I'm after," the voice said. "The one that the other one sacrificed himself for," the cold reached further up Donnie's arms, making him shiver. "The one that's so easily tortured."

Donnie had to lift his head up when the cold reached his neck. He whimpered, whined, and shook his head as if that would make it go away. It actually worked though. Raph had to rush to catch his purple brother before he could fall.

"But glad you could all make it to the show. It's a killer one."

Donnie immediately thought the worst. Raph and Mikey did too, judging by the looks on their faces. The witch laughed again in a mocking way.

"Don't worry, it's not any of you who're going to die. It'll just be the worthless one."

Donnie growled and sprinted forward only to run into an invisible wall. He didn't get time to straighten his stance before the witch froze the three brothers on the outside of the wall so they wouldn't try to break it and just watch.

"Leo is not worthless!" Donnie shouted. "I know you want me, so why not kill me instead?"

"Because maybe the only way to make you really sorry for what you did," she answered simply.

And just like that, time slowed down as the spear-shaped piece of ninpo reached Leo's front. Donnie screamed bloody murder the second it skewered his twin open from lower plastron to the top of his shell. When Donnie met Leo's too-calm-for-the-current-situation eyes, he felt the whiplash of being thrown back into his body.

Donnie caught a glimpse of the light in Leo's eyes dying before collapsing to the floor to just scream until his throat couldn't take it anymore. Raph and Mikey weren't sure what to do for someone who had just lost not only a brother, but a twin. They just hugged each other close and released their own tears.

The softshell scrambled under the cot and tried to get the images of Leo dead and bleeding out of his mind, but failed. He refused to move from his spot no matter what.

"Don, we're all grieving. Please come to dinner and we can find a spot to bury him in the morning," Raph tried to sooth.

"No!" Donnie's throat was still a little scratchy from screaming so much earlier. "I'm not coming to dinner! I'm not coming to help find a spot and admitting Leo's really dead!"

Raph sighed and left. Donnie stared at the floor mindlessly for hours. It wasn't until the middle of the night that something miraculous occurred. Leo coughed.

Donnie was at the bedside in a blink with wide eyes staring down at his twin for any other signs of life. He quickly lost hope when nothing happened for three minutes. He was about to get right back under the cot when Leo coughed even more and much more violently. Donnie wasted no time to sit Leo up so he could breathe (Donnie really wished he had a tail right now).

The slider's coughing died off after a few more and Leo blearily looked around. Donnie laid Leo back down and sank to his knees, burying his head in the sheets. He felt a hand rest on his head and gently rub in a circle.

"I'm okay now, DonTon," Leo whispered.

Donnie raised his head at that, tears still running down his cheeks. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Leo smiled, a rare genuine one.

Donnie pulled himself closer to his twin, curling up on the cot. Leo wrapped his arms around him. Donnie buried his beak into Leo's shoulder.

"You were dead," Donnie's breath hitched. "I saw you die..."

Leo waved his hands around dramatically. "I arrived on this sick spirit plane place. There were so many spirits there, all wearing almost the same clothes. It was soooooo coooollll. I was told it 'wasn't my time to die' like almost every hero movie ever and sent back into my body."

Donnie chuckled softly at his retelling. Leo was always the best at making boring stories interesting. The softshell closed his eyes, churred comfortably, and promptly fell asleep at his (alive) twin's side.

When morning came, Donnie woke up in his bed. He panicked and hurried to make sure last night wasn't just a dream. It wasn't.

Raph and Mikey were both crowded around the bed when Donnie got there. The purple-clad turtle went up to the cot quietly, not wanting to disturb the other's time with Leo. Mikey noticed him and chirped excitedly.

"Can you believe this Dee?! Leo's actually back and-- what's wrong?" the box turtle broke off when he noticed his second-oldest brother crying (and realized Donnie had cried more in the past two weeks than in his entire life).

"Nothing," Donnie wiped them away. "Just happy to have a twin again."

"Deeeeee!" Leo drawled. "I knew you loved me."

Donnie huffed and rolled his eyes. "And you ruined the moment."

Leo pouted and frowned, crossing his arms. Raph recognized they needed another moment and led Mikey away to finish making breakfast. Donnie feigned acting annoyed at being left alone with the slider.

"You owe me a movie night," Leo told Donnie out of nowhere.

"For what? What did I do to owe you a movie night?" Donnie asked back.

Leo smirked. "You blamed this on yourself."

Donnie spluttered. "How-- What-- When--"

Leo laughed. "I knew it! You're not escaping a twin's only movie night tonight or I'll get Mikey to help me bother you for an entire week."

"Fine. I'll be there," Donnie got closer to the cot. "Promise you won't go down to Witch Town looking like me ever again like a dum-dum."

"I promise I won't go down to Witch Town looking like you like a dum-dum," Leo repeated. "And I also promise to wait for you to tell me something on your own time. I think I already learned my lesson."

"Good," Donnie smiled. "I can't wait for our movie night now."

"Me neither," Leo agreed.

---

Tags:

@ceciturtle-myproudtime

@tonystarkwasrobbed

@kitkatthekitkatkat (even though this was your ask)

@badthingshappenbingo

Ao3 Link

[frostbitebakery]

One of these is not like the others

Omfg??

Anyway.

Gentlebeings, I need your help. I wanna do a quick face study of Obes Kenobes that requires no brain cells. So screencap study it is. @adiduck suggested I do Obi-Wan looking down at Cody from Boga when he accepts his lightsaber back. Hence the goggeling. And I can’t find it. It’s all Cody being dashing and “I think you’ll be needing this” which I’m not against but not what I’m looking for.

Does anyone have a screencap of Obi-Wan’s 😍 face?

Thank you 💜

[baby-yongbok]

Tumblr just posted a fic I had drafted for Saturday and I almost had a fucking heart attack. Oh well, my Jeongin fic OnlyFans is out... against my will.

[zaddyazula]

MY FIRST GEN SIM HAD TWINS BACK TO BACK 😭😭😭

[stonedopossums]

if anyone has any tips for getting hair dye stains out of cheap apartment bathtubs lmk 💔

[bored-boring-and-tired]

HUH?? I LEFT FOR LIKE… 3 HOURS?? WHAT HAPPENED??

[thedrotter]

i could go on and on on the importance of shunkun and yuu being narrative foils of each other and how devastating it makes things

but nah, don't be silly, why would I express this sentiment on a serious drawing when i can draw fluff!!!😊😊 (copium)

progress dump... from vision to the end!!!

Vision->Spirit drawing->Sketch->Details on top of Sketch->Lineart->Color!!!!

"what is a spirit drawing michael" spirit. i inject spirit of my vision into the canvas and hope it makes sense later somehow💜 my process is mysterious in its ways.... not even i know what is going on(゜∀。)

anyway heres an image of the many. many glitches and difficulties i have to face now that my computer finally sniped clip studio😭 but i never give up I dont let the computer stop me

[dragonknightofsummerset]

Had to post these somewhere & I choose here!! Just look at his face as he looks Wheeljack up and down at the grenade on Wheeljack's hip

And also the face he makes after Wheeljack hands it to him:

[maxanor]

just spent an hour blocking ~600 bots that had followed me overnight and every time i refresh there are more following me....how do i make it stop