#17k$

[oldjewelryfeed]

Micro Mosaic cross with Religious Christianity motifs in 22kt gold

[todayisdeadinside]

if you have "cishet men dni" in your bio i, a trans man, will not touch you with a 10 foot pole. i should not be forced to out myself as a trans man just to interact with you. on top of that, cishet men are not inherently evil. stop trying to reinvent bioessentialism with your "girl good, boy bad!" mentality.

[parkjammys]

the audacity of the official dc account to even post this 😭

[attex]

this is horrible

[janelame-sicksadworld]

[mr-3rr0r]

[xmascritter]

Honey, what's tommorow again?

[gojosbf]

boyfriends? boyfriends.

he totally stole them from geto's closet without his permission

[lauraneedstochill]

mad about you

pairing: Jack Abbot x lawyer!reader summary: it was supposed to be a one-night stand but Jack can’t stop thinking about you. what he expects the least is for you to arrive at his ER — and not as a patient. (or, alternatively: Jack meets the right person at the right time. and he lets love in)

warnings: 🔞 descriptions of injuries / smut (some teasing, fingering, p in v), Jack being touch-starved and a little rusty (or so he thinks ;). an unexpected amount of domestic fluff, mentions of Jack losing his wife and being shy about his prosthesis / words: 17K / author’s note: I love me a bossy reader but most importantly, I wanted to write someone who can appreciate Jack for the hot man that he is (yes, I got carried away with smut and softness... OH WELL) ♡ {read on AO3}

There is a feeling that’s been growing roots in Jack — it’s agitation that’s akin to premonition. His recent shifts have been too quiet, uneventful, downright boring. With hands trained to save lives, Jack has to spend his nights treating mild burns and accidental cuts, a few drunkards with bruises and concussions, appendicitis being the most exciting diagnosis he made this week. Any sane doctor would be glad to get a break, but Jack finds it annoying.

Because he needs work to keep his head busy, to have something else occupy his thoughts. He wants his hands sweating in gloves, covered in blood — so he’d have an excuse to wash them clean, so he’d get a chance to scrub off the feeling of your body under his fingers—

Jack shakes his head, a movement barely visible, quick like a flinch. He tries shaking off the memories of you — and he keeps failing. Because it feels like they are tucked away in every corner of his flat, and even when exhaustion manages to drag him into sleep, you are the only thing he dreams of. He always wakes up hard. His bedcovers all wet, breath heavy, mind clouded, heart pounding. And what he brims with is not lust but yearning, so strong that he’d go to the other side of town on foot if he could get another chance to see you.

But he’s got no address he can come to, and no phone number he can dial just to hear your voice.

So Jack saddles himself with work — however temporary this fix is, he’s got no other in the meantime. He picks up extra hours, covers extra patients. It isn’t nearly enough. And he is mildly annoyed at this predicament he’s stuck in, at the repeating cycle of the same bland days — nothing to challenge him or bring a speckle of relief. Or keep his mind from wandering back to that moment with you — it’s not the filthiest he can remember but the one he wishes to relive the most:

the hair around your face is damp, and you’re a little breathless — he feels your chest heaving, still pressed to his, arms wrapped around his neck, a tight embrace neither of you wants to break. The bedroom’s dark but he forgot to draw the curtains, and the gloaming light traces your curves and sparkles on your skin that’s glistening with sweat, still heated in every place he touched it. And Jack’s completely spent but something’s kindling in his ribcage — a fire breathed into the embers, the warmth he thought he’d never feel again — it’s growing every time he looks at you — and every time you glance right back at him, and smile at him, and kiss him, and—

“Will you stop fidgeting?” Dana snaps at him mid-yawn. “It’s 7 am, and just looking at you gives me a headache.”

“Then look somewhere else,” Jack flings back. He instantly feels guilty and puts the tablet down. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, fingers unwittingly tapping on the table.

“Oh, someone’s snappy,” but she doesn’t take offence — instead she turns her chair to him, eyes slightly narrowed. “You’ve been walking around all tense and brooding these past few weeks, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s nothing,” Jack mumbles. He almost grimaces at his own lie, at how far from reality it is. So he grudgingly sprinkles some truth in: “I guess I’m just bored. Haven’t got much to do. It’s been too qui—”

Dana springs out of her chair and covers his mouth with her palm. “Nope. My shift just started and you already want to jinx it? How about you save that enthusiasm until the night rolls in, and then you can have planes falling from the skies for all I care.”

“I see you finally took matters into your own hands,” Robby strides in with his backpack and takes off the sunglasses, his brown eyes on Dana. “Was he trying to pass on his existential crisis?”

“Can we muzzle him?”

“And put him on a leash? I thought about it. But he will probably escape, and we’ll have an angry dog on the loose and barking,” he grins, gaze darting to Abbot, and Dana laughs.

“You think you’re so fucking funny,” Jack mumbles.

His agitation ebbs a little — enough for him to take a breath as he stretches his back. But your touches must be etched into his muscles because he’s momentarily reminded of your fingertips ghosting his shoulder blades, of your lips trailing for the pulse point on his neck — and what was once a bliss is now a torment he is powerless against. Abbot exhales with exasperation.

The phone rings. Dana loses her smile and gives Jack a glare. “This better not be a mass casualty event,” she whispers before picking it up. But her concerns aren’t brought into existence — her face is only half-focused, mostly apathetic as she informs:

“A shooting at the county court. One victim, GSW to the chest and —” her brows knit together at whatever details she’s receiving. “So it’s two?... Well, it ain’t nuclear physics, just count them. I’d like to know how many people we’re getting... Alrighty, we’ll do the counting ourselves,” she hangs up and clicks her tongue.

McKay runs by to say hi before resuming the heated conversation she is having on the phone. Langdon comes in unhurriedly, hands in his pockets, his eyes drawn to the board. Santos is next, Whitaker trailing after her — he’s always half-asleep, she’s never not excited to get to work.

“Any interesting cases this morning?”

“Waiting for a GSW. Apparently, the main witness on some case — shot in the chest and leg, it’s not looking good. Said they couldn’t use a D-fib on him because he’s coming with a company.”

Robby sends Dana an inquiring glance. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Fuck if I know. I haven’t even gotten my first cup of coffee yet,” she looks at Jack — pensive, stiff, barely listening to her — and snaps her fingers in his face. “Hey, midnight ranger, isn’t it time for you to clock out? We’ve got a whole team, we’ll manage. Go home.”

“I plan on doing that once I finish the paperwork,” he replies flatly, tapping on the screen.

“If that’s what you are into, you can do mine too. Wanna also file my taxes while you’re at it?”

“I’ll gladly tell the IRS to lock you up for tax fraud to get you off my back,” Abbot deadpans, earning a dry laugh from her.

“Gunshot is boring,” Langdon muses.

Dana’s laugh turns into a groan. “Not this again. Why can’t you guys enjoy the peace and quiet?”

“I mean, if he doesn’t die, he’ll go straight to the OR, not much for us to do. I was hoping for something more—” he suddenly stops talking. There is a sound of wheels gliding across the floor, and a pause sweeps over the hall — the conversations die down, the movements halted — and then Jack hears Frank muttering: “What the hell?”

So Abbot absentmindedly follows his gaze. And just like everyone around him, he is left speechless.

The gunshot victim is a man: mid-sixty, stubby-looking, pale-faced and breathing only by some miracle. But he isn’t wheeled in alone — there is a woman sitting right on top of him, her stark white blouse doused with blood, one of her hands pressed to his chest, three of her fingers shoved into his wound. The crimson droplets glisten in her hair, the same color smeared over her hands up to the wrists, but she’s not scared or appalled. There’s not a single crack in her composure, no quiver in her body or her face —

Jack recognizes you in barely a heartbeat.

And he is frozen not out of surprise. He’s marveling at you like you’re under a spotlight and he’s in a daze, and there is no one else left in the hall. Because you look the exact same you did all these days back, the first time that he saw you. The one time he’ll never forget.

Jack met you over three weeks ago (24 days to be exact, not that he’s been counting). It was supposed to be a one-night stand—

No, actually, scratch that.

It was an evening Abbot didn’t plan on spending with anyone but a glass of whiskey. It was the only remedy that he could think of after the shift he had.

A couple was brought in at 4 am: in their early thirties, newlywed — their car swerved off the road, rolled over four times before hitting a tree. The guy died at the scene, his wife crashed twice on the way to the ER. She was three months pregnant. Jack spent oven an hour coding her; she spent twice as much time in the OR. Two blood transfusions, one kidney out, three broken ribs, dozen of stitches on her stomach and her head. He watched her being transferred to the ICU, then he made calls to notify both families: there were heartbreaking cries, prayers he feared would be left unanswered. Jack came up to the roof to catch his breath — the air outside was moist and stifling, the sky draped with the clouds the sun couldn’t plough through. It was his day off but he didn’t leave — instead Jack walked the stairs and halls until his legs ached, until he could do nothing else but pass out in the call room.

He wakes up in the evening, hardly rested — the female patient still hasn’t woken up. And there is a chance she never will. But if she does, he knows that the reality will hurt her worse than broken ribs and bruises.

When he walks out of the ER, the rain is pouring and his head is pounding, and he thinks if he just goes home, the silence would feel too suffocating to let him fall asleep. He’s too distraught to change out of scrubs, he cares not about the cold droplets hitting his face like needles. He wipes them off and runs into the closest bar — he’s met with semi-darkness and cool air, no blaring music and no flashing neon signs. The quiet is comforting, veiled with the faint sounds of jazz, the place smelling of wood and orange peel and liquor. It’s too early for the crowds to swarm it, but Jack pays no attention to the few people that came in. He strides straight to the counter and orders whiskey — double with no ice, then picks a small table in the farthest corner. He’s a few steps away from reaching it when his eye catches on your blouse — silk, silvery, fitted so well around your waist. But he doesn’t allow his gaze to linger. That’s not what he came for, that’s not what he is interested in.

He sits down with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart. He takes the first sip, then the second one. The alcohol spreads slowly through him, wicks up the bitterness of disappointment threatening to clot his blood like poison. Jack breathes a little easier by the time he drinks half of his glass. His gaze sweeps over his surroundings — distractedly, uncaring — before it’s drawn to you again.

You’re sitting on a bar stool with your back to him. You brought your work with you — a small black laptop on the counter, the keyboard soundless under your fingers, eyes on the screen. Occasionally, you reach for the same lowball glass — with ice and lemon, half-full — he guesses it’s a gin tonic. You are too locked in to take notice of what’s going on around you. With each new minute Jack finds it harder to look away.

He tells himself the lighting is to blame — it scatters all over your blouse, drips over every crinkle, making the fabric look like molten metal, like white gold. It’s neatly tucked into the waistband of your pants: dark blue, formal, perfectly tight around your thighs. His eyes snag on them — he feels a flash of hunger, a heat that swiftly spills into his bloodstream.

On the periphery of his vision, Jack sees a guy coming your way. He wears a smirk, eyes roaming over you — he takes a moment to appreciate your curves too, before his gaze lazily moves higher, to your face and to whatever you’re working on —

And then he yelps.

A few heads turn in his direction, but you don’t move a muscle, don’t even send him a half-glance. The guy abruptly loses all his feigned determination. But Jack’s determined like no other.

Because now he is curious. Now he has a better reason to keep looking.

Jack straightens on his seat. He searches eagerly for clues — but you don’t give them out easily: no badge, no uniform, no logo of the company you work for. And there’s confidence in your relaxed pose and posture, a hint of cockiness in the slight curve of your back. Two more guys try to hit on you: the first peeks through your shoulder and retreats with a horrified grimace, the second one manages a word or two before you cut him off, and he has to leave with nothing.

And Jack doesn’t even try to rationalize his actions — the pull he feels is the mere reason he stands up, glass in his hand, eyes fixed on you.

He gets the explanation for everyone’s dismay when your laptop’s screen comes into his view. It’s crime scene photos — bright, brutal, bloody: a dead body, deep and frantic wounds left by a knife. Jack’s seen enough of those in real life to not be bothered. But he thinks it’s impressive how unbothered you are.

He leans on the counter, one stool in between you, his voice nonchalant. “That looks like someone’s getting buried in a closed casket.”

“Yes, 17 stab wounds do that to a person,” you reply curtly, fingers flying over the keys.

His eyes flick down your profile and over every feature of your face — your cool demeanor invites no conversation. His gaze darts back at the stained flesh and scattering of cuts.

“It’s not the stabbing that killed her though.”

“Correct,” you still refuse to spare him a glance.

But Jack’s not used to giving up so fast. And maybe he is champing at the bit to glimpse a part of you no one in here was in luck to see.

“Most wounds are in her stomach area. Was she pregnant?”

Your fingers pause at his remark — for just a moment, yet he notices. A corner of his mouth curls. You keep typing but your voice loses a layer of indifference.

“Careful, you already sound smarter than the entire defense team.”

“Now I am tempted to continue. The suspect is a male, I reckon? A boyfriend or a husband?”

You huff a laugh at his insistence. Jack takes half a step closer. And then you turn to get a look at him, at that man who dared to move into your space.

Your gaze is direct, dissecting — like he is on the operation table, and you’re about to masterfully cut him into parts. It is a gaze that doesn’t make apologies for bluntness, it can effortlessly give warnings and make treats. But you choose to show him mercy.

“She wanted to get married. Naively hoped a baby would encourage him to.”

“And he never wanted kids,” Abbot deduces, not hiding his disapproval. “Did he try an impromptu mix of pills for an abortion?”

“That would require some research and also him having more than one brain cell,” your disapproval sounds like dislike. “He just emptied half a bag of heroin into her tea. She, unsurprisingly, OD’ed. Instead of calling 911, he tried to cover it up.”

“So his one brain cell wasn’t present,” Jack gives a snort of disgust. “And what’s his lawyer’s take?”

“He claims she took the drugs herself, then caused a fight. While being on the brink of death, yes,” there is a furrow in your brow, your tone sharp, simmering. “He wants it classified as a third-degree murder, so in a decade his asshole client can walk out on the promise of good behavior. I want him charged with two counts of first-degree murder. Life sentence with no parole.”

You take your cocktail and finish it in barely two sips, then ask the bartender for a third one. You catch Jack’s gaze, and he notes incredulously: “You seem stone-cold sober.”

“Can say the same about you.”

He looks down at his whiskey like he almost forgot he had it. “It’s actually my first.”

You look at him like you are making an incision and carefully assessing his internal damage. When you get your drink — poured over lemon slices and crushed ice — you swiftly move the glass to him. “You should give mine a try.”

“I’m not sure mixing drinks is a good idea—”

“Trust me on this,” you insist, eyes darting to the badge on his black scrubs, the syllables of his last name softly rolling off your tongue. “Dr. Abbot.”

The sound ripples through his chest, like you just pulled a heartstring that no one’s touched in years. “Jack,” he corrects. “Less formal.”

He asks for your name in return and takes your cocktail, gives it a swirl then has a sip. Jack raises his eyebrow at the taste. He tries some more to get a confirmation.

“This is... plain water?”

You nod with a small smile, without a hint of shame. “I don’t enjoy being drunk. But if I sit here with a bottle of Perrier, that would raise questions.”

“So you ask to make it look fancy, like a cocktail,” Jack figures out, then chuckles. “And you suggest that I stop drinking.”

“You haven’t touched your glass in the last 10 minutes. My guess is that you don’t really want to.”

When your eyes meet, he feels like you can see right through, bypassing all the locks he’s been meticulously putting over his emotions. It’s strange, it’s very new to him. It’s also somewhat thrilling.

Jack finally sits on the bar stool next to you. There is a small space between his legs and yours — he doesn’t cross it. You don’t move away. His hand stays clasped around his glass.

“The first half of it felt nice. Like maybe it could dull things down a little. But I don’t like getting drunk, too.”

“Having trouble at work?” you ask simply, with no pity and no pressure.

He thinks it over like he is looking at the baggage — of his past and present, bad and worse, deciding what bag he can open first. Which one’s less scary. “I work night shifts. The last one was pretty rough.”

But you prefer to start with the worst one — eyes trained on the ring he’s wearing. “So you came here to blow off some steam instead of coming home to your wife?”

The words hit him — not like a punch but like a stream of ice-cold water. He isn’t hurt, he’s startled — by how fast you notice things, how straightforward you are with voicing them. Nothing escapes your eye, no matter how deep it’s been buried. And it’s the grave that he almost laid himself in.

The ring was once a promise, then a wound — after his wife’s death, the metal band only reminded of the pain, of how impossible it seemed to ever heal. He knew the exact time she passed, he counted days and hours he managed to survive alone. It was unbearable and crushing, it felt hopeless. Now he only thinks about her once a year.

Jack doesn’t ponder over his answer for too long. He shares the truth as if he’s offering his palms — so you can read the lines and see the scars he usually keeps hidden.

“I’m a widower. This is just...” he twists the ring slowly with his thumb. “Out of a habit, I suppose.”

You turn your whole body to him, your back straight and hands locked together. Like you are about to interrogate him. “And how long you’ve been a widower?”

Jack doesn’t break eye contact. “Five years.”

“What happened?” you hold his gaze with ease.

“Glioblastoma. She was gone in seven months.”

He sees it flicker across your face — the ache of sympathy for him after what he’s been through. The unexpected understanding of what it feels like.

“That is a tough one. It doesn’t leave much at the end,” your voice softens and so does your gaze. “It’s hard to watch someone die like that. I’m really sorry.”

“Someone you knew also had it?” he takes another guess.

He’s on a lucky streak — you drop your gaze because he’s right again. He wishes that he wasn’t.

“My mentor, the first man I worked for. The best one, I think,” your finger traces the cold rim of your glass. Jack almost reaches out to take your hand. “He was too busy to take care of himself, got diagnosed when it was too late for any treatments. He made it to eight months.”

Jack moves his whiskey to your water, clinks his glass with yours. The look you give him offers an apology. He doesn’t need it — the words he gives you only offer kindness:

“I’m sorry you had to see that too.”

There is a lull in your conversation but it’s not awkward, isn’t heavy. It feels like clearing up the space the grief used to take up. It feels a little bit like hope.

Jack clears his throat and points at the gruesome photos on your screen. “Are you even allowed to open these in public?”

You chuckle dryly and roll your eyes. “The case’s been all over the news because his daddy is some pop music producer. You can find the photos on TMZ.” Then you consider him — a night-shift doctor, a tired man, a stranger who tasted the same pain you did. “Although you are probably too busy for stuff like that.”

You close your laptop with one hand, your sharp attention now all on him. Your knees brush his, and you don’t seem uncomfortable with it.

“What happened to you at work?”

Jack lets out a sigh, twiddles with the black band of his watch. “Got a car crash victim. Not sure she will pull through. She also lost her husband and her baby so waking up won’t be much of a relief either.”

“Was there anything you didn’t do? That could’ve saved any of them?”

“No,” he says without a doubt, although with sadness. “He died on impact. She was three months pregnant, so the baby didn’t have a chance.”

“Which means that none of it is your fault. You didn’t kill anyone, you are actually the reason she did get a chance to live,” you tell him calmly.

Jack shakes his head. “Maybe she won’t.”

“Maybe she will.”

“You are being optimistic,” he argues, a tad glum.

“I’m being rational. Give it a try,” you retort.

“Yes, I’m sure that some good-old rationalizing will make me feel a lot better,” his words don’t bite, but there’s frustration in his gaze, in how he rubs the back of his neck.

“Okay, I’ll do it for you,” and then you lean to him, one knee sliding in between his two, your perfume redolent of bergamot and jasmine, fresh and a tad sweet. Jack is dumbfounded by how close you are, how casually you do it. He makes an effort not to follow the streak of light that sneaks down your neckline. Your eyes are set firmly on him like you’re dead set on changing his whole world. He lets you.

“How many patients did you treat this week? I don’t need the exact number, an approximate will do.”

“I don’t know, over 40. Maybe 50.”

“Let’s say it’s 45. How many of them died? Just those two?” — he gives you a short nod. You move an inch closer so he can hear you over the other voices that already fill the bar. “How many of them were women of fertile age?”

“What?” he blinks with pure puzzlement, his hand going from his neck back to the counter, bumping into yours. “How would I know that, I don’t really—”

“In the US, females outnumber males by less than 1%, and about one-third of them are over 65. Which means around 16 women you treated probably can have kids,” the space between you is shortened by another inch. “Let’s say 10 of them want to and they will. That’s at least 10 babies that will be born because you didn’t fuck up. 10 babies after just one week of you being a good doctor. 40 babies after a month and 480 in one year.”

He doesn’t bother with the counting — instead, he notices: the fragrance you’re wearing also has notes of peach and lilies. And your close presence and your voice make all the noise around him disappear.

“You’re good with numbers,” Jack says with quiet fascination.

“I’m good at recognizing shitty people,” you tell him plainly, your thumb brushing his wrist — on accident, he thinks, but his whole arm warms up. “I’ve dealt with doctors who maimed their patients like it meant nothing. I’ve seen them make the stupidest mistakes they didn’t think twice about. But if you care too much, you need to rewire your brain to make it easier to function,” and when your palm covers his hand — it’s unmistakably intentional, it is a feeling he forgot existed: the comfort of a simple touch. “So next time things don’t work out — not even because of something you did, but because shit happens, — instead of wearing sackcloth and ashes, think of the dozens of chubby babies and dozens of families you gave a chance at happiness because you did everything right.”

You tell it to him like it’s indisputable, the truth that’s carved in stone. Deep down, he is aware that he’s good at what he does and bad at taking credit for it, sometimes downright refusing. But he couldn’t argue with you even if he wanted. Because Jack’s struggling to get his head together — the struggle comes from your hand still being pressed to his. And now that he knows the feeling of your skin, it’s hard to act like just one touch will be enough. Like he isn’t in dire need of more.

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” Jack manages, and it isn’t a lie. The truth lies deeper: he never thought he’d want someone like that, never imagined feeling so touch-starved.

“You should. Maybe you’re single-handedly responsible for keeping this city’s population up,” you smile at him, and it’s sincere. But you’re looking at him like he’s an open book and his feelings are as clear as ink on paper.

And you don’t take your hand away, and Jack can feel the pull again. He welcomes it.

“You keep saying things like that, and it will get to my head,” his voice gets low too — and it’s him who is leaning forward.

Your gaze isn’t wavering from his. “And what’s the worst thing that can happen?”

He doesn’t waver when he says: “I’ll dare to take more risks.”

“What will the first one be?”

“Asking if I can take you home.”

You aren’t surprised and aren’t scandalized. You don’t even take time to think. “Are you suggesting I should wrap up my work session?”

“I think you already did,” a smile ghosts Jack’s lips.

The effect whiskey had on him was fleeting. You are way more intoxicating. Your palm is at his elbow, and his pulse is racing, and for how rational and logic-driven he usually is, this time he doesn’t want to be: he thinks of taking you away from prying eyes, he thinks of kissing you, he thinks he can give one-night stands a go —

There is a sound of sottish laughter, then something splashing and someone cursing. Not much liquid gets on your blouse but Jack gets on his foot like he’s about to get into a fight. The guy who spilled his cocktail on you is too slow-witted to access the threat. You quickly put yourself between them, your hand blindly finding Jack’s, your fingers on his wrist. And instantly his anger goes down by half.

The clumsy partygoer sends you a smirk. “Your man looks like he wants to say somethin'.”

“And you look like someone who doesn’t want to be thrown out of the bar on a random Thursday. Keep walking,” you tell him in a tone so cold, he sobers up, losing his smirk. The guy apologizes incoherently and darts away to blend into the crowd.

When you turn to Jack, he is already looking at you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m pretty sure it was a Mojito, and he mostly spilled the ice. It won’t even leave a stain. I’m just gonna pay a visit to the hand dryer in the bathroom,” you put the laptop in its slim black bag and leave a few bills on the counter. “You probably should wait outside,” and then your hand glides lightly over his chest, like you’re smoothing out his shirt. “Wouldn’t want any drinks spilled on you.”

And as Jack watches you walk — each step with purpose, hips swaying — he surely feels like he needs some air.

By now, the rain has eased, and through the thinned-out clouds he can see wisps of sunset, beads of pink and yellow. And in the chill of the approaching night, his confidence wanes just a little. Isn’t he too old for this? Aren’t you too good for him? How long has it been since he had someone in his bed? The last one he actually knows a clear answer to. It’s hardly reassuring.

Jack catches the sound of your heeled boots before you come out — with no stain on the blouse, no hesitation in your gaze. He knows the more he waits, the less likely he is to go through with it. So he says it — quickly, like ripping off a bandaid:

“My apartment is just around the corner.”

And he thinks you are about to decline. His misperception lasts for barely five seconds — and then your face splits into a smile: not pitying, not forced, but bright like the sunlight he’s been missing. Your words come out a tad pensive:

“You know, I was having such a bad day when I came to the bar.”

“Was?” Jack echoes, eyes on you, all his uncertainty replaced by skin-prickling excitement. He will have you, even if only once. Because you want this, too.

“I think my night might be way better,” you come closer as you give him confirmation: it’s in your mellow gaze, in fingers raring to touch him — they graze his arm, shoulder, base of his neck. The smile never leaves your face. “Your apartment sounds like a good start.”

And Jack wants to kiss you so fucking badly. But not on the steps of some overcrowded bar.

Not while you’re rushing through the drizzle, and your hand catches his, and he holds onto it without thinking. Not at the bus stop where you take a break, and you soak up the fading sunshine with your eyes closed, your skin glowing, his heart skipping a beat, twice. Not in the lobby of his building you walk through hand in hand. Not in the elevator — not even when you press the top button without asking.

“How did you guess?” he wonders, his gaze focused on your lips. He catches you looking at his before you give a reply.

“I just prefer the top floor, too.”

Jack lets you in first and locks the door behind him, not in a hurry but a little bit on edge. He’s trying not to be self-conscious about every part of his apartment. You take your shoes off, your laptop and your phone left on the hinged shelf at the entrance. And then you take it all in, but you aren’t scrutinizing or perplexed or judging. You look around like it’s exactly how you pictured it, like everything about his place makes sense.

The contrast of light walls and dark parquet, a small amount of furniture — minimalistic, spotless, simple. But there is a scattering of things that catch your gaze. A stack of old CDs and a small Sony player, the plastic case already rubbed off at the corners. A tier of books with countless bookmarks tucked between the pages. A pile of med journals and printouts of studies with his jotting in the margins, a dozen multi-colored pens stacked into a whiskey glass. A coffee table that you can tell was made by hand — black walnut wood, coarse-grained, a few tool marks around the apron. You delicately trace them with your finger in silent appreciation of his dedication and his skill. Jack barely can remember why he was even worried.

And then you step into his bedroom, and he can think of nothing else.

It’s half-dark, the floor windows left uncovered because he was in a rush to leave. You keep the lights off. You walk to where the twilight is bleeding through the glass, the hues of red and violet covering the floor. The dim light contours the collar of your blouse, the specks of silver shimmering like moonlight on the water. Jack is so mesmerized, he doesn’t catch it right away — the way your fingers move down to the row of buttons. You turn to face him with the first one carelessly undone.

“I thought you’d want to take this off yourself,” you then unbutton the second one — and look him in the eye. “Do you?”

“You can’t seriously have doubts,” he rasps, his pupils blown wide, mouth craving yours — or any part of you that you can give him.

Your hands stop. And then your voice drops, beckoning. “What are you waiting for?”

Jack crosses the distance in a heartbeat.

It’s not a crash — it feels like it’s a fusion, your body molding perfectly against his as soon as he pulls you closer by the hips. You meet him not with hesitation but with need, your lips sure, soft, searing — he kisses you back so fervently, it makes his head dizzy. It makes him want you more. Your every move sets fire in him, and you tend to it with skill: you grip his shirt with one hand, the other tracing up his spine — until it settles at his nape, your fingers threading through his hair, and his breath hitches. You only pull away to give him air and guide both of his hands up to your blouse. His frail composure barely lasts another minute while he works the buttons — until he sees your bra: thin black lace.

“You wear this on a random Thursday?” Jack groans, then dips his head to leave hot open-mouth kisses down your chest. He tugs at the lace slightly with his teeth, and you tug at his hair.

“Try not to tear it apart,” you tell him, half a joke and half a warning; but your tone suggests that you won’t mind.

His lips find yours again because he can’t stop craving them, hands wandering under your blouse as he walks you blindly to the bed. You’re a step away, and his imagination already paints the picture — your body naked and writhing under his mouth — but then you grab into his clothes, maneuvering him to turn — and in a second he is pushed onto the mattress. Time freezes for the shortest moment as you look him over, your lips parted, your fingertips skating up his cheek, and Jack leans instantly into your touch. With the same hand you bring his mouth back to yours, and now you share the same hunger: you straddle him and tug at the black scrubs and the white t-shirt he wears under, and Jack is fumbling with your bra clasp, too eager and too lost in you —

The pain’s not sharp but sudden. It shoots from his knee up to the hip, and Jack flinches with a hiss, breaking the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” you instantly pull back, studying his face.

Jack feels blood rushing to his cheeks. He shifts uncomfortably in place. “It’s my leg.”

You look down. “Which one?”

He stifles an embarrassed sigh and grudgingly hitches up his right pant leg, revealing the prosthesis. “My muscles cramp up sometimes when I bend the knee,” Jack moves one hand down to help stretch his leg forward, the metal frame catching the light.

You keep your eyes on it as you say musingly: “Oh, you are full of surprises, Dr. Abbot.”

You make a face he can’t match to an emotion — is it regret? Are you disappointed? Will you leave now? But then you reach your hand to where the prosthesis meets the limb and carefully trace the scarred tissue. Your touch is light at first, but slowly you apply more pressure, your thumb and middle finger massaging the sides of his leg.

“Do you need to remove it?” you ask, not bothered in the slightest.

“Not yet,” Jack breathes out in relief, feeling the pain and tension fading — as is his shame.

And when he meets your gaze, you read him once again: his fears, his insecurities, everything he’s used to hide and overthink. And your eyes sparkle with an intent to prove him wrong. You move your fingers up his leg, unhurriedly, unwavering, making a teasing stop to dip your thumb under the waistband of his pants. He almost bucks up his hips. You hitch his shirts up and drag over his head, then throw aside with one quick motion — and when your fingertips skim under his navel, Jack lets out a quivering exhale. Your hands slide up his chest, his every muscle tensing under your touch, your body leaning closer inch by inch, until he feels your breath fanning his face.

Your words are quiet but they burn his mouth: “There isn’t a part of you I don’t find hot.”

Jack can’t think of a time he ever felt so wanted. He also can’t do much thinking when you are kissing him, your tongue darting between his lips, your hips grinding against him, and he is getting harder with each second, with each movement.

“Sorry, should’ve told you sooner,” he mumbles when you break apart. “Didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

Your laughter tickles in the crook between his neck and shoulder, your lips mapping a route to the hollow of his throat. And then your kisses travel higher — the slope of his jaw, the spot behind his ear — and he is aching to get more, and he can never get enough.

“You can’t possibly ruin this,” your eyes are locked on him again so he knows that you mean it. “You barely touched me, and I’m already soaked.”

Jack sucks in a breath. His palm moves to lay flat against your stomach, then glides behind your waistband, to where you’re waiting for his touch. He feels the wetness through the lace — you spread your legs wider — and he pushes the black material aside to find you slick, warm, already throbbing.

His eyes look a shade darker in the amber of the dusk. “This all for me?” Jack asks dazedly, his finger teasing at your entrance.

“Wanna do something about it?” you murmur.

He slips a finger in, drawing a moan from your lips — the sound goes straight to his cock. His other hand moves to your hip, presses you into him so you can feel the bulge beneath his pants. And then Jack starts thrusting into you, precise and fast, his tentativeness melting away like ice on fire.

“How am I doing?” his tone teases.

And he already has his answer — it’s in the sounds you make, in how your hips are moving eagerly to meet his finger. He adds a second one and hears you gasp.

“Good, s-so— fucking good,” you babble. “Didn’t expect— o-ooh anything less.”

It fuels his confidence like nothing else. He leans to you a little, his voice is thick with lust. “Take the blouse off. I don’t want to ruin it.”

Although he sounds pretty ruined himself. And you aren’t shy about reveling in it. Slowly, you let the silver fabric fall halfway down your back — and then your fingers run over your bra and tug roughly at your nipples. Jack watches, spellbound, not blinking, as they harden under the lace.

At last, he yields to his desire since it can no longer be contained. And Jack is nothing if not ravenous for you.

He pulls your bra straps down with his teeth — one then the other — and then his lips are on your skin, leaving a wet trail between your breasts; he pumps his fingers in and out, and they go knuckles-deep. He adds a third, his tongue flickering over your nipple before he gives it a light bite — and you are withering, and struggling for breath, and pleading — yes, please, Jack, d-don’t stop — and he can cum just from you gasping out his name. It doesn’t take much longer: he hits the right spot, not randomly but expertly, his thumb pressed to your clit, his every stroke commanding you to let go — and you do. Your mouth falls slack and your whole body stills, like you are struck by lightning, electric currents rippling through your veins until your blood is sweltering like you’re caught on fire.

Your thighs tremble when he pulls his fingers out. And through the half-closed eyes, you watch as his tongue darts to taste your wetness that his hand is drenched in. You reach for it without warning and lick his fingers clean. Jack groans at the sight — and then you’re swallowing that sound with your mouth. The kiss is messy, tongues and teeth — your blouse and bra join his clothes on the floor before Jack lifts you off him and drops on onto the bed. He gets your pants and panties off, tosses aside and spreads your legs — you are left fully naked, and he drinks you up: your skin the heat is rising off, the parts of you he is desperate to put his mouth on. He readily bends towards you, his kisses climbing higher — from your calf to your knee to the inside of your thigh —

“Come up,” you whisper like an order, and he obeys with bated breath.

Your lips collide, and there is intensity that makes the world around him fade, the vestiges of his old doubts reduced to ashes. You don’t feel like a blaze that scorches and leaves marks — no scratches on his back, no bruises where you touch him — instead, your hands are tender. And he is melting all the same. So when you push him on his side, then on his back, and sit on top of him, Jack voices no complaints.

You aren’t hasty with his remaining clothes — you drag the pants down first, careful around his prosthesis, curios about the traces of his past: your fingers run over the scar on his left knee, over the other on his thigh. And then your eyes move to his briefs, to the sharp outline of his cock. You pull the fabric down to free him — thick, leaking, reddened at the tip. It takes you one — two — three slow strokes — and Jack is trembling all over, his quiet exhale breaking into a low moan.

He points at the bedside table, stumbling over the words. “I forgot to— You should— Top drawer.”

You find them in the bottom one — a couple of condoms shoved into the corner like he thought they’d never be of use. You pick one, sit back on the bed, and tear the wrapper open. And then you put the condom in between your lips and teeth. You purposefully keep eye contact as you get lower — and take him in your mouth, pushing the condom slowly over his cock. Jack flinches, and his head falls back, a loud gasp ripped from his throat.

“F-fucking hell.”

You hollow your cheeks on your way up, then pull off and use your fingers to roll the condom down to the base. He stays still, hands clutching the sheets so hard, the lines of veins pop on his arms, his stomach muscles tense — as is his voice. “Don’t,” Jack pleads through gritted teeth, “I won’t last a minute.”

A grin touches your lips like you already knew he wouldn’t. Your hands go higher so he can take a breath. Your fingertips ghost across his chest, unspooling stiffness from his body and waiting for his reticence to vanish like dew in heat. And when it does, Jack pulls you closer by the arm, pulls you into a kiss that steals the air from your lungs and tastes like pure need. And it’s a need you share.

You promptly grind your hips against his, coating his cock in your arousal, only a few quick moves before you lift your thighs and slip him inside. A shudder travels through your body as he stretches you, as he finally fills you, the pleasure so intense it stuns you both. It takes you a good minute to regain your senses. You roll your hips a couple of times and then start riding him — and almost effortlessly, you find the rhythm that leaves Jack in raptures. It feels electrifying, all-consuming, desire flaring up his every cell, spreading down to his bones. And then you’re both aflame.

Jack sits up, hands roaming over you — his fingers on your hips to help you move, then toying with your nipples to make you gasp. His lips are on your throat where your rugged breath mixes with moans. You try to find the words for it — this feels s-so — fuck, Jack, you are sooo — but you are too overwhelmed to speak, and he is too transfixed on you to care. He feels that you’re getting close — your pace quickens and your voice quavers, hands clinging to his shoulders for support. And he is barrelling toward his orgasm just as fast. He breathes you in and holds you tight, heat trapped between your skin and his as you are arching into him, so soft and pliant and cock-drunk.

It is the friction of your body against his that throws you over the edge — you cry out, face buried in the curve of his neck like you are seeking shelter, unraveling so helplessly and willingly like he’s the only one allowed to have you like this. And in a second the orgasm rips through Jack — euphoric, blinding, emptying, the closest that he’s ever been to ecstasy and to losing his mind.

You are both panting, limbs entangled, your chest still pressed to his.

“I think I need a moment,” you mumble, your fingertips grazing his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, same,” Jack breathes out. “Feeling a little rusty after all these years.”

He doesn’t register the meaning of his words until you slightly pull away. The room is slipping into darkness, but he can see emotions in your eyes, like glints of the sun setting: amazement first, too obvious to hide — was he alone for five whole years? But then there is empathy and an unspoken gratitude — for you being the one that he decided to let in.

You move your hand to cup his face, a smile pulling at the edges of your mouth. “You are very far from rusty, Dr. Abbot.”

Jack leans in first, like he can’t help it — your lips meet his like you want nothing else. And you kiss him so softly, so unhurriedly, it is the kind of fondness that soothes wounds. When he draws back, he is suffused with peace, like all the damage he’s been carrying no longer weighs on him.

Jack puts the blanket over you, up to the very shoulders, and pecks your lips. “Stay right here.”

Begrudgingly, he slides out of you and snaps off the condom, then pulls up his briefs and staggers to his feet. He finds your panties and helps you put them on, his palms following the contours of your thighs like he’s appreciating art. Jack chugs some water in the kitchen, then pours you a glass — and on his way back, he rummages through his wardrobe and drags out a clean t-shirt.

“In case you want something to sleep in,” he offers as you empty the glass. “I don’t know if—”

You take the shirt without question and put it on — and then you take his hand and pull him into bed. He lies down on his back and takes off the prosthesis, letting it slide down to the floor. You drape your arm over his chest and snuggle up to him, already heavy-eyed. You trace his shoulder with your finger, then press a small kiss on it.

“I really like your arms,” you murmur sleepily.

He really likes holding you in these arms, Jack realizes. He is amazed at how easy it comes, of how much he doesn’t want to let you go.

And it feels ridiculous to ask but he can’t help it. “What about my arms?”

He can tell by your slowing breath that you are dozing off. Still, you manage in a whisper: “They are very... steady.”

He thinks about asking for your phone number. And then his mind is flooded by the faded fantasies that promptly take on color: tables for two at restaurants, fresh flowers wrapped in kraft paper, your hands that fit so well in his. Jack gently brushes a stray hair from your forehead when his eye catches on his wedding ring. He looks at it for a few seconds — but the metal band has long lost its meaning. So Jack takes the ring off and carefully turns in bed to put it in the top drawer. And then he tugs you closer, your body warm against his as he falls into the comforting embrace of sleep.

When he wakes up, the warmth’s still there.

His legs are humming, but he isn’t weary, like all the tension’s been unweaved from his sore muscles. Like he’s just had the best sleep in months. But when his hand moves to the side, he finds the bed empty — and instantly he’s overcome with what feels like loss, although he knows it shouldn’t. Because one-night stands aren’t supposed to last. Your scent still lingers on the pillowcase — crisp, clean, raindrops caught in the petals at the sunrise. He turns his head to breathe it in, eyes slowly falling shut —

And then Jack hears it.

The clinking.

The sound usually made by forks, knives, plates. The sound that’s coming from his kitchen.

Jack rubs his eyes and sits up, the remnants of his sleep dissolving in the air. He notices his clothes left neatly folded on the dresser, the prosthesis propped against his side of the bed. And his heart rushes at the thought: you did this for him. And you didn’t leave.

He gets up and gets dressed — but his every move is quiet. Quieter than usual. It is anxiety that turns into anticipation with every step he takes to where the small noises come from. And then he walks into the kitchen like he is walking into a dream he never thought would come to life.

The place is sunlit, the bright rays sprinkling specks of gold on every surface: the metal handles of the cupboards, the scuffed edges of the chairs, the glass table, and the plates on it. And then there’s you, bathing in sunlight, legs bare and hair loose — and his breath catches at the sight. You move around like you’ve already been here, like it’s a habit you just naturally follow: preparing a breakfast for him, in his kitchen, in his clothes. You are still wearing the t-shirt — it hangs loosely around your shoulders but sits tighter at your hips. Jack thinks he’d like to see all of his shirts on you.

“Did I wake you up?” you ask without turning to him, still stirring something in the pan.

“No,” his voice is hoarse from sleep. His nose picks up the smells of sizzling bacon, of something frying, sweet and spicy. “I see, you found the spatula. I genuinely thought I lost it.”

Jack hears the smile in your voice. “It’s not too complicated of a system you’ve got in here.”

Is there a system? He wasn’t aware. He unintentionally says it out loud, and you laugh softly.

“I mean, I see the logic behind it. Knives in the top drawer because you use them the most. Sometimes instead of forks, I’m guessing, because the forks were pushed so deep into the second drawer, like they hadn’t seen the light in weeks. Teaspoons stored in one of your three mugs since you only use them to stir coffee. Two tablespoons were probably left there by accident — and these are all you have, so I suspect you are no fan of soups,” you turn the stove off and move the pan onto the metal trivet, the sun beams skimming up your legs. “I do appreciate that you store all plates and bowls in one place. Although that is the only cupboard that doesn’t creak, so I am a little bit concerned by how often you actually use your dishes. The spatula was in the frying pan, by the way.”

Jack feels his heart swell with a feeling he is yet to name. You look at him over your shoulder as if you didn’t sort through his decades of chaos in a minute. “Come here, try this.”

And you don’t have to ask him twice because he’s always eager to cross the distance.

Jack walks closer, his chest brushing your back, arm circling around your waist. You scoop some food and bring it into his mouth. And almost instantly, involuntarily, he can’t hold back a hum of satisfaction.

“Wait, what is this?”

He sees your lips curling into a smile. “Food, Jack. Eggs and bacon and the two tomatoes that looked edible.”

“That’s not how they usually taste.”

You fully turn to him, another spoonful disappearing into his mouth. “Ever heard of the word flavor? You do know spices exist, right?”

He is a little torn between wanting to kiss you and stealing yet another bite. “I just use salt.”

“I figured. Your salt container is almost empty,” your smile grows wider. You wipe the corner of his mouth with your finger. “But I found a jar of Taco Seasoning in your top cupboard, so I guess you have your moments of enlightenment.”

“Got it for free when I bought a new frying pan. Half a year ago,” and you two move as if you share an instinct: he takes you by the hips, and you step back, ass pressed against the counter — and then you swiftly sit on it, and he stands in between your legs.

You pick a crispy bacon strip — he bites off a half and you eat the rest. His hands stay on your thighs as you give him two more.

“What did you do with the bacon?”

“I baked it,” your phone buzzes nearby but you ignore it, instead reaching for the pan. Jack takes it, and he doesn’t bother with the plates: he feeds you scrambled eggs himself with the utmost diligence. On the fourth spoon you lean to peck his lips, and a smile breaks across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. And suddenly he is so palpably aware of how much he wants more mornings spent like this. With you.

You give him more bacon, and he can’t refuse it, your fingertips brushing his lips as he takes hungry bites. “It feels less greasy. In a good way.”

“Because I didn’t add too much oil. There is already fat in bacon,” you take the spoon from him and scrape the leftovers off the pan, maneuvering the food into his mouth before he can protest. “Just so you know, I think that not having toasted bread at breakfast is a crime. I’m only cutting you some slack because you had a tough shift.”

He’s struggling to hide a grin. Jack drops the dishes in the sink, then moves closer to you, hands clasped around your waist. He leaves a light kiss on your shoulder.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“A lot of my clients are immigrants. They often bring me meals as a thank you, and I always ask what they put in,” you gently comb your fingers through the grey curls framing his forehead. Jack leans in, and you bump your nose into his. “Now, I’m not gonna open a Mexican restaurant anytime soon... But I do know my spices.”

Your phone buzzes again, and when Jack’s gaze falls on the screen, he reads the words out loud without a second thought.

“You just received a file called SA (identified 14/01–20),” and then his smile fades. “Does that mean sexual assault?”

Immediately, your face changes — from relaxed to focused: you quickly get off the counter and grab your phone. Jack manages to catch the names of two more files: 10/21–40, 18/41–60.

“That’s classified,” you don’t sound angry but your tone loses its warmth.

You get another notification, your face tensing with concentration. Jack doesn’t want to interrupt but there’s an inkling tugging at his chest.

“It must be something bad,” he remarks.

“It is,” you tell him matter-of-factly, eyes on the screen. It takes a long moment for you to add. “Involves sex trafficking. That’s all I can say.”

A bad feeling creeps over him like frost. He’s got no explanation for it, no real reason to ask questions. So he keeps them to himself. “Sounds like a difficult case.”

Jack isn’t sure you can hear him, your finger sliding over the screen as you keep reading, mindless of the minutes flying by. In about ten you finally look up, gaze distant, wheels in your head turning, some kind of critical decision taking shape. And then it’s not exactly a relief — but clarity that he sees in your eyes, courage and sharp resolve.

“For almost a year it was an impossible case. Now I think I’ve got a real chance at it,” you share with him, half a confession, half a hope. “I have to go,” you sigh, then put the phone down and move to take the clean plates left forgotten on the table.

Jack catches your hand. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll do it.”

He watches you run toward the bedroom, then he pensively takes the plates away. And the unnerving questions keep swarming his head: how dangerous exactly is your job? Are there any safety measures you should take? Do you? It’s probably not his place to ask. It doesn’t make him any less concerned.

He looks at the jar of Taco Seasoning. He thinks of you folding his clothes, easing his fears. Of your laugh brushing his shoulder. Of how easily you fit everywhere in his life, like you are the only part that he’s been missing. He really should ask for your number.

You run back fully dressed — the pants you look sinfully good in, the blouse glistening like liquid silver. Your collarbones peek through, and Jack wants to place a kiss on each.

“You’re now out of mouthwash, so here’s a reminder,” you place a post-it note on his fridge, a few words you wrote in cursive. “And I almost forgot my phone.”

You rush to take it, you are just about to leave. But then you turn on your heels and quickly walk back to Jack, eyes on his mouth — until your lips are too. The kiss is soft for barely a second — and then it’s hot and deep, and Jack’s mind instantly goes blank.

“Don’t forget you’re the best doctor in town,” you smile against his mouth.

You walk out, and he’s left standing in the kitchen, wrapped up in pure bliss. His lips still tingle from the kiss, his body warm all over, the time melting away under the bright sunlight. But soon the realization cuts through his oblivion like a knife through cotton:

he didn’t get your number.

He has no clue where to find you.

Jack literally facepalms himself. And unsurprisingly, he doesn’t find you outside when he runs out of his flat, out of the building. And there are no crumbs that he can follow. Of course, he goes back to the bar — you paid in cash, no card info, they didn’t even ask for your ID. The bartender assures that you’ve never visited before. When Jack learns there are over 7000 lawyers in Pittsburgh, it feels like a lost cause. But he’s not used to giving up so fast. So he spends his free time searching the web: he googles law firms in the area, looks through the countless photos on their sites. And every time he’s in his kitchen, he stares at the blue note left on the fridge:

Buy a mouthwash (and some bread. Carbs are good for you!)

He buys both. One of his pillows smells like you, and he sleeps on the other; your perfume fades in 11 days. And in two weeks his hope starts fading too. He does attempt to look for the bright side of things — now he has something to remember, a reassurance that he isn’t too old for trying something new — but all the memories inevitably lead to one conclusion: he doesn’t want to try again. He just wants you.

And maybe there is a slim chance that you will come back to the bar, Jack tells himself. He goes there in his free evenings, his order boringly the same: just water, but throw some ice and lemon in. The bartender takes pity on him and doesn’t charge him half the time. And Jack keeps looking through the faces on the streets, in the ER, even while he’s driving down the road.

But never in a million years he expected this.

The people he’s surrounded with also find your current situation unexpected. You look up at them, gaze filled with the same unswerving perseverance. Your tone carries just the right amount of sharpness:

“Doesn’t E in the ER stand for emergency? Can we move?”

You don’t see him yet. Jack still can’t look away.

Langdon comes to his senses first. He grabs fresh gloves and rushes to you. “Okay, what am I looking at?”

You glance at him like he is looking stupid.

“Gunshot wounds. We stopped the bleeding from his leg, about 30 minutes ago. But the other one was worse, blood started spurting everywhere. And you can’t put a tourniquet over the chest. So I improvised.”

Frank quirks a brow. “And your first instinct was to stick your fingers in him?”

“You want me to remove them?”

“Do not!” Robby firmly cuts in. “Dr. Langdon just poorly phrased his appreciation for your quick thinking,” he glowers at him. Then finally, they wheel away the gurney you are on. “Let’s take you to trauma#1.”

Your shoulders fall a little — just enough for Jack to notice, your free hand holding tight to one of the side rails. He reads it in your body language: the tension from the inconvenient position, the stress of not knowing what happens next. As you pass by, for only a brief moment your eyes meet. And it’s pathetic how much he cares what you think. If you remember him. If you’ve been reliving that one night too. He discerns glimmers in your gaze — of recognition and surprise, of what he dares to believe is joy —

but then you break eye contact. And Jack follows you with zero hesitation.

The man’s blood pressure plummets on your way to the room. When you are all in, Robby does his best to navigate the turmoil:

“The bullet must’ve nicked an artery. We might need to open him up.”

“They’ll do that in the OR. If he lives for that long,” Frank says while intubating.

“Shouldn’t you take the bullet out?” Jesse is putting an IV line in.

“What are his chances?” you ask quietly. They don’t hear it, but Jack does. He’s standing at the doors, eyes darting from the patient’s vitals back to you. The one person that he cares for is not the injured man.

“We don’t have time to look for a bullet. Once she takes her hand out, he’ll bleed out within 5 minutes,” Frank notes grimly.

Robby is looking at the ultrasound image on the screen: heart and lungs miraculously unharmed. “Then we have 5 minutes to clamp the artery.”

“It can also be 2. We don’t know how much blood he lost,” Frank glances at the gurney doused with crimson. “My guess is that it’s a lot.”

“Do you have anything to offer apart from your pessimism? We’ll clamp the artery and hook him to another blood bag, that’s the plan.”

“And if he goes into cardiac arrest?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“We can’t use a D-fib while her hand is in.”

“Then she’ll take it out, that’s not exactly a complicated process.”

“Do we know if he’s a donor? Because chances are that —”

“He can’t die!” you snap, and there’s so much emotion in your voice, the room goes quiet for a moment.

Jack steps closer, then grabs a gown and gloves on autopilot, but his gaze is riveted to you. You’re only looking at the man who very much is on the verge of dying.

“He’s got a family. He’s been married since 22, she is the love of his life, they have two kids — both miracle babies, a boy and a girl, and they love them to pieces. And he knew that testifying publicly would be dangerous — but he still agreed. He said what if that was my baby, what if someone did that to her? How can I stay silent?” you recollect ruefully but your words are measured. “He can’t die. Not just because I have my whole case built on his testimony but because he was brave enough to do the right thing when no one else wanted to. I can’t let him die for that. Please, you have to do something.”

“Damn, I wish you were my lawyer,” Frank blurts out.

And you answer in an instant, not even looking at him. “Deal.”

“... Really?”

“Save him, and I’ll help any of you, doesn’t matter what’s it about. I take cases pro bono, so it will be one of those.”

Langdon narrows his eyes as if he doesn’t buy it, his voice a mix of skeptical and wry. “Can I have that in writing?”

If looks could cut, Frank would’ve been hemorrhaging on the floor. You glance at him from under your brows, your stare is withering and sharp, a blade that’s glowing red. His face changes like he’s regretting everything he said. And Jack can’t stop the thought: you can be drenched in blood and fuming — and he still won’t look at anybody else.

“My hands are a little busy at the moment,” you tell Frank dryly. “But you have my word. Now the ball is in your field.”

Jack makes a step to you. “You are into soccer?”

When your gaze darts to him, it isn’t cutting — but more so daring. “I’m into winning.”

“Makes two of us,” Abbot notes smoothly.

Robby’s eyes move from you to Jack, like he can glimpse something he doesn’t know what he should call. Frank looks between you like he’s connecting two big dots barely an inch apart. He bites back a smirk.

The monitors get loud as the man goes into cardiac arrest. Robby immediately pushes the ultrasound machine away. “You need to remove your hand now.”

“I’ll help her down,” Jack rushes up to you, and you watch as the others cut off the man’s clothes, preparing defibrillator pads, an intubation tube, clean cloths.

When they’re ready, Robby grabs a hemostat — and steps close. “Okay, move.”

You take your fingers out — Jack hooks his arm around your waist and swiftly drags you backward. Your legs tingle from the rush of blood, your feet a little bit unsteady when you stand. Jack’s palm lays firmly at your lower back, his voice quiet.

“You alright?”

You freeze for a few seconds, staring straight ahead — at the blood pouring, staining the skin, the metal pads, the gurney — the D-fib is charged once — twice — electric shocks sent to the heart. Then Jesse charges the machine again — and on the third attempt the loud beeping gives way to a more measured sound. The intricacies of dealing with a bleed are left to your imagination because you can’t see anything from behind the doctors' backs.

You slowly turn to Jack, as if you’re still thinking over the answer to his question. You can’t come up with a reply concise enough to fit all of your feelings in. You just nod — he doesn’t push for more, his hand on you drawing small circles.

“The bathroom is down the hall to your left. You can hang out at the nurse station while he’s in here.”

You look down at your blooded shirt, then at your palms. “Do you think he’ll make it?” you ask him in a whisper, unprompted, knowing full well that he won’t lie.

And Jack doesn’t.

“At his age and with how much blood he lost, it is a miracle he’s still alive. Which I think means he’s actually got a chance. If they manage to stabilize him—”

Robby half-turns to look at him. “Jack, we really need an extra pair of hands here!” and there’s an urging in his voice, a red splatter on his gown.

“Guess now I’m a part of the saving team,” Abbot mumbles, changing gloves again, wishing he could give you more — if not a promise then at least some hope.

Surely, Jack’s had his fair share of cases more unhopeful — he’s usually good at keeping a cool head, he’s skilled enough to keep his nerves in check. And yet, he feels a pinprick of anxiety: this case is different because he can’t allow himself to fail you.

But when Jack glances at you, the look you give him is not expectant — it’s encouraging. “Seems like his chances just got better,” you manage a small smile. “I’ll let you get to work.”

Him being able to shift focus to the patient is actually another miracle. And work he does: there is more blood because the artery’s too fragile — they change the clamps, they try the wound packing; it’s equally unhelpful. Jack ends up sticking his own fingers in while Robby calls Garcia. She shows up not only quickly but also uncharacteristically excited.

Yolanda flips open an instrument container she brought in. “Aortic hydragrip clamps, they’re gentler. Should work,” then she sees Jack and chuckles. “Of course, you’d be the one to clamp it with your hand. Just like in the good old military days?”

“Can’t say I’ve missed those,” Abbot remarks, and he is void of bitterness: the military did give him plenty of experience so it’s not something he regrets. But he is honest when he says he doesn’t want to go back.

And neither does he want any memories to pop up, so Jack’s mind hooks on the task that calls for his attention. They move with coordination honed over the years: he takes his hand out — Robby goes in with the clamp — Jack takes the second one — the ruptured artery is occluded in barely 20 seconds. They watch it for 10 more to make sure no more blood is coming out.

Robby allows himself a sigh of relief while Jesse suctions the excessive blood. Langdon inspects the leg wound: the bullet went right through, the bone’s intact. He checks the tourniquet — good placement, tight enough, so he just leaves it on.

Garcia comes closer, with an unbothered kind of curiosity, like a cat’s. “I heard the man made quite an entrance.”

Frank huffs. “You should’ve seen his lawyer.”

“The one in the blooded shirt? Oh, yeah, she’s hard to miss,” Yolanda smirks, dark eyes darting to you.

Jack can’t stop himself from looking in the same direction. You’re in the hall talking to Dana, your hands folded over your chest. The blood on you dried up; still, it strikes the eye — a big splotch of dark maroon on the white fabric, and every time Jack looks at you, it startles him a little.

“What now?” he asks. Mostly to make Garcia stop staring at you.

She does, her gaze on the unconscious man again. And her decision-making process is rather quick. “Suture the origin of the artery with pledgets on the aortic wall, then do a bypass between the ascending aorta and the subclavian. For the anastomosis, I’m thinking a termino-lateral type would do the job.”

It’s rare for Frank to be impressed by someone, yet his tone suggests that he most definitely is. “You can do all that?”

She stares him down silently. Then she looks at Robby. “You shocked him how many times? Twice?”

“Three times. 11 units of blood used so far.”

“This is one hell of a lucky man if I’ve ever seen one,” she notes, then looks down at her pager. “The OR will be ready in 5. Check the clamps again, I don’t want him to bleed out in the elevator. I’ll go talk to the lawyer and bring her up in the ICU. We’ve got a room for him so she can wait there.”

She turns to leave, and Langdon glances after her, then mutters, mostly to himself. “Why does everyone keep giving me weird looks today? Like I’m saying something stupid.”

“It’s because you are,” Garcia snickers before going through the doors.

Robby and Jesse check the vitals and the instruments' position, but Jack only catches bits of their conversation — because he’s watching you again: you listen carefully to Garcia’s explanation, the concern on your face dissolving slowly. But not entirely — it would be too soon for that. Garcia walks you to the elevators and out of Jack’s sight; still, his eyes stay on the spot you stood at.

He wishes that he was the one to talk to you. And he wishes he could do much more.

Jack comes back to reality when he catches movement — the gurney being wheeled out of the room.

“Wait, I can —”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll ride up with him,” Robby assures. “Your shift ended hours ago, just go get some rest, man.”

Jack needs no persuasion — he all but runs out, removes the gown and gloves, then goes to the staff’s kitchen. He’s out in five minutes but he stops at the stairs as an idea lits up in his head. Jack walks back to the lockers, unlocks his and takes out a spare clean shirt. He has to slow down then, imagining the likely steps: it takes a minute to get to the upper floor and get you to the right room; a few more minutes for you to ask more questions while the man is being prepped. The surgery will take at least 2 hours — he doesn’t want to waste a second of that time.

Jack finds you sitting in the hall, typing away at your smartphone, fidgeting slightly in your chair. And his determination is diluted with unease — should he interrupt you? Would you even want to chat? He tells himself that he can manage some small talk, that it’s not a big deal. He’s good at this.

Jack walks toward you, trying not to give away his haste. “So, do you stick your fingers into all of your clients?”

You turn to him, your face swept with confusion.

Oh no. He isn’t good at this at all.

“Fuck, sorry. I don’t why I said that, it was —”

And then you laugh. It’s quiet, more so a sound of relief, a little bit amused by him. But you aren’t irritated or displeased.

“Believe it or not, that was my first time. And hopefully, the last.”

Jack takes your calm voice as a good sign. Almost instinctively, he sits right next to you, as if the very thought of putting any distance in between you is downright absurd.

“Coffee. Figured you’d need it,” he hands you a plastic cup, and your fingers brush his when you take it.

And Jack is painfully aware that the brown-colored drink hardly tastes great. But you take sips with zero fuss.

“A caffeine IV would’ve been great, but this is the next best thing. Thank you so much,” your gaze warms up. Then it drops to the piece of clothing he is holding.

“I thought maybe you’d like to change into something that isn’t drenched in blood? I keep a clean t-shirt in case I get some fluids on me. It’s not the most fashionable choice, I know—”

You take it before he even finishes the sentence — your thumb gently brushing the folded cotton fabric, your face breaking into a grateful smile. Jack’s eyes are drawn to it, and he remembers so distinctly how your lips taste. And you look like you know he does.

“Wish I could put it on right now. But I’m counting on my blooded shirt to make me look more intimidating to the DA. Once he wakes up and deigns to text me back.”

Jack moves closer, lowering his voice like he’s protective of a secret you are about to let him in on. “What do you need the DA for?”

Your smile widens as if you find his curiosity endearing. “I need to get Bruno into witness protection. DA’s recommendation will help speed up the process.”

“Will the prosecutor back you up on this?”

“He passed out in the court at the sight of blood. He’ll back me up just fine.”

“So what’s the overall plan?” he drapes an arm across the back of your chair. You don’t mind.

“I’m Bruno’s legal representative, I can apply for the program on his behalf. They’ll also need his family to complete an application form. So once the DA gives me the green light, I have to make a beeline for the closest police station, then dash to their apartment, deal with the paperwork, and help his wife pack. Maybe she can visit him once he’s out of surgery.”

“She must be pretty shaken up,” Jack muses.

You reign your feelings well but he still catches hints of them: sadness, disappointment. Guilt. “The worst part is, she didn’t even sound surprised when I called her. Wasn’t upset with me either. She just asked, Will he pull through? And I had to make her believe that he would.”

He moves his hand up, his palm grazing your back, words sitting on the tip of his tongue: it’s not your fault, you aren’t the one to blame. You helped to save his life. But you shake off your misery, so easily like it’s a long-established habit.

“How’s your tough case, by the way? Did she wake up?”

You are deflecting, he can tell. He also has no wish to make you more upset so Jack holds back his consolations.

“She did, got her discharged a week ago. And the rehabilitation seems to be going well.”

Your grin very clearly says I told you so but you don’t say the words out loud. Instead, you place your hand above his knee — the right one, your touch not fleeting but reassuring and warm. The smile leaps out of him before he can stop it. “How’s the asshole with no brain cells?”

You let out a long-drawn sigh. “He fled the state. Which was a violation of the bail conditions. Then his attorney tried to flee, got wasted on the flight to Cincinnati — one of the CBP officers clocked him at the airport because he kept dropping his carry-on. Turns out, he snuck in a hunting knife, a whole-ass 6-inch blade. And then he got into a fight with them. Mind you, he is 5’3 and had a half-bottle of whiskey in him. I can’t even begin to comprehend that level of dumbassery. I had to visit him in jail four times before the court assigned a new lawyer to replace him. I don’t want to board another plane for at least a month.”

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, but his mouth twitches like he’s suppressing laughter. And then he can discern something unlooked-for in your face — the very evident abashment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to vent.”

He leans to you and caresses your back. He wishes he could kiss you — on your forehead and cheeks and corners of your mouth, to smooth out every line of worry on your face. So that you don’t hesitate to open up again.

“Wasn’t a vent,” Jack argues. “I am actually very invested now. How did he manage to bring a knife on board?”

“Bribed a couple of nut heads from the PIT security,” you share gladly. “I asked him, Man, ever heard about checked baggage? Who in their right mind puts knives in a carry-on? And he told me — dead serious — that TSA is infiltrated by a gang of international smugglers, so he can’t trust them.”

“Of course you asked,” Jack notes warmly.

“I mean, he’s absolutely useless as a lawyer, at least I had something to laugh at. Besides, the Boone county jail can easily rank first in the list of the dullest places in the States.”

“So it’s the lack of brightness that’s the main problem, not that it’s packed with criminals,” Jack shakes his head in disbelief. “Worrying about you must be someone’s part-time job.”

You are startled for a moment. And then you’re beaming. “Is this you casually trying to find out if I have a boyfriend?”

“Guilty as charged,” Jack’s hand stops at your back, his gaze a cautious revelation. “But I don’t do casual.”

“Neither do I,” you tell him quietly, resting your chin on his shoulder. “And I would’ve never come to your apartment if I had anyone waiting for me at home.”

Your faces are separated by some minuscule inches. This is your second meeting — and yet, to Jack it comes as second nature: holding you close and leaning in, settling into your space as easily as you do in his, like two stars that fall into each other’s orbit. His hand is on your waist and yours moved to his shoulder; he can smell blood on you but then your scent cuts through — jasmine and bergamot and peaches, things they don’t have in hospitals, the fresh sweetness that makes him think of spring and sun. And everywhere you touch him, he feels lighter. In just a second his lips will be on yours—

Someone blows into the hall — very decisive and walking toward you, by the sound of it — but stops midway, so suddenly you hear screeching of the rubber soles against the floor. Then the footsteps retreat, and everything is quiet again, no other visitors or interferences. And yet, the moment’s gone. Jack can’t hold back a groan. You bring your fingers to his face, your thumb skating over his jaw, your body still so close to his. But your watchful eyes dart behind his back.

“The redhead keeps coming back like she’s looking for an excuse to start a conversation. What does she need a lawyer for?”

“That’s Cassie. She’s in the middle of a custody battle over her son. Her ex-husband is a douchebag with a douchebag girlfriend, so it’s messy.”

You look at Jack again. “And what’s the deal with that other doctor? Dark-haired, overly confident. Mildly annoying.”

“Frank,” he chuckles, his index finger drawing numbers on your lower back. “His marriage is in shambles, been like that for a while. But Abby loves him, and he’s not a bad dad. If it ever gets to a divorce, I don’t think she’ll take the kid away from him.”

You ruminate on this but not for long. “Can you please tell Cassie that I won’t bite her head off?”

Jack doesn’t want to move away from you so he only tilts his head back, not in disbelief but in careful wonder. “You’ll help her?”

And he can tell from your firm gaze that you aren’t doing this to please him — you want that case, you are already going through the strategies and options in your head, you grab at every chance to help people like hungry dogs grab bones. “I have about half an hour before the DA gets out of bed. Plenty of time for her to give me the details. Besides, I really enjoy going against douchebag exes.”

“Why is that?” Jack asks with a grin.

You shamelessly grin back at him. “They usually come with douchebag lawyers. It’s always fun to kick their ass in court.”

And as on cue, there are footsteps again — your face confirms it’s the same visitor, and Jack gives in: it’s for a good cause, after all, and he will get more time with you later today. His palm brushes the side of your waist, one touch replacing all the words he is afraid to say too soon: I’ve missed you, I want to spend many more days with you. He has to get up, holding back a sigh, before his feelings burst out. Jack turns around — and, unsurprisingly, Cassie is standing sheepishly at the end of the hall.

“Sorry, did I interrupt you guys?” she asks him with an awkward smile when he comes closer. “Cause it seemed like—”

“Just go talk to her,” he grumbles. When she doesn’t move, Jack softens his approach. “She’ll be happy to help you out, McKay.”

Cassie’s smile turns grateful, and then she strides across the hall to you. Jack offers you some privacy and takes the stairs to the ER. And even though exhaustion is already nipping at him, he’s in no hurry to go home, he doesn’t even feel the weight of it. He also doesn’t notice Dana’s gaze that lands on him when he comes in. He’s blithely unaware for about 15 minutes — Jack gets himself a cup of coffee, relaxes in the quiet of the empty kitchen, stretches his legs and arms.

Dana walks up to him the second he comes back to the nurse station.

“Now, will look at that. A smile on your face? I must be dreamin',” she teases, always astute in her assumptions. “It’s the hot lawyer, isn’t it?”

He’s battling a smile, indeed. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Well, you see how my mouth’s moving? This means I’m talking, and you are giving me replies. Which does sound like a conversation to me,” Dana playfully bumps his shoulder. “Hey, she ticks all the boxes: smart, brave, stubborn. Did I mention that she’s hot?”

Jack doesn’t meet her gaze as his face gets warm. “Can’t argue with any of that.”

Princess peeks curiously at them from behind the monitor. Dana cackles. “Jesus, are you blushing? That’s so cute. I’m marking this day in my calendar.”

“What are we celebrating?” Perlah swings by.

“Dr. Abbot apparently got himself a date,” Princess reveals, wiggling her brows.

“With the lawyer? And she agreed?” Perlah asks in a doubtful tone.

“Frank said they were flirting in the trauma room,” Dana informs them conspiratorially, earning two hums of approval — and one groan from Jack.

“Are you aware I’m still here? Langdon has no clue what he’s talking about,” but his voice doesn’t sound angry — he’s in too good of a mood for that.

“I hear someone spreading slander behind my back,” Frank stops by.

“It’s hardly slander when you’re an asshole,” Princess glares at him. “Only a senile patient would flirt with you.”

“Is this open hostility at a workplace?” he fakes a gasp. “I don’t need anyone to flirt with me, I’m married. And if you’re talking about the lawyer, she surely seemed thrilled to leave this place.”

Both Jack and Dana look at him. She is the one who asks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just saw her at the parking lot. She ran out and got into a cab so fast, like someone’s chasing her. Or maybe she is chasing someone? Wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Well, no chasing needed for our cowboy,” Dana chuckles with her gaze on Abbot. “Did you choose where you’ll take her? Want me to ask around for recommendations so you can text her a couple of options?”

Jack wants someone to smack him in the head, hard. Because he surely needs to straighten up his mind. Not asking for your number the first time could be blamed on a lapse of sanity, but two times in a row? That’s what you would call a rare level of dumbassery.

As Dana sees his face fall, her own gets visibly confused — then shocked upon realization. “What, you don’t have her number?”

And everyone instantly mirrors her concern.

“You didn’t take it?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Jack is flabbergasted for a second. “Why is this a public discussion?!”

“Man, we were rooting for you!” Langdon throws up his hands.

“They were placing bets on how long it’d take you to get her number,” Dana snorts.

“They,” Frank mimics her. “As if you weren’t!”

Jack wearily covers his face with both palms, not in despair but with disappointment. In himself. There’s still some hope for him to cling to — they’ve got Bruno up in the OR, and you will probably come back to visit him. That was your plan, right? And what will his be if you never show up?

“What are we mourning over?” Robby nonchalantly comes by.

“My loss of 100 bucks,” Frank walks away, disgruntled.

“I only bet 15, you’re real bad at counting!” Dana shouts after him. Then she gives a joyless explanation. “No one won, though.”

Jack looks at Robby through his fingers. “Were you involved in this too?”

“Nah. I said you’d probably need a third chance.”

Abbot lowers his hands, brows furrowed in incomprehension.

“One of the ICU nurses saw you two getting all cozy with each other,” Robby keeps his voice down but still elicits a few giggles. He stares at Perlah and Princess, and they pretend to get back to work. “I figured you wouldn’t do that on day one. So there must be some history between you. And you know what they say, third time’s the charm,” he pats Jack’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do you at least know the name of her law firm?”

He is already taking lungfuls of air for a heavy sigh — because of course he didn’t ask about the firm, he is the top contender for the dumbass of the month award — but then the elevator dings. And Cassie walks into the hall, cheery as she hasn’t been in months.

Abbot gets an idea. And now he has more than a delusive hope.

“I know where I can find it out.”

McKay doesn’t take much convincing. She tells him that you gave her your assistant’s number — it’s not the answer he expected, but Jack’s grasping for straws. He makes the call with no delays, and the assistant picks up almost instantly. She’s got a thick accent that isn’t American, the vowels in her speech sound a little shorter. But her English is pretty good and so are her manners — because no one before has told Jack to fuck off so courteously. Whatever arguments he brings to get your number, she just refuses to relent: yes, sir, I understand the urgency. But you must know it’s private information, and I cannot verify your identity over the phone. Yes-yes, I’ll check the hospital website. But your photo doesn’t come with a voice recording, does it? That is unfortunate. You see, we really value our attorneys' privacy and safety. And there’s been a disturbing accident... Which I can’t talk to you about. Yes, I will let her know you called. I promise, sir. Yes, I’ll tell her that you called four times, that is an important detail, indeed.

And Jack is back to square one — still no clue where to find you, no last name and no address he can look up on Google. Bruno stays in their ICU for just one afternoon, and then Jack comes to work to learn he was transported to the other hospital — by helicopter and with a police escort that was too tight-lipped and fast to bother. Which robs Jack of the only hope he had, and he is too worn out to drown himself in work. So he takes two days off, gets eight hours of sleep, gets busy with mundane chores that make for a poor distraction.

His doorbell rings around 6 pm. He’s not expecting anyone — Robby is still at work, and a few other friends he’s got would’ve announced their visit. So Jack thinks someone must’ve gotten the wrong door, and he opens it without even looking in the peephole.

Instead of seeing some unbidden stranger, he sees you.

You’re standing at the door of his apartment. Wearing his shirt. The dark material is tucked carefully into your jeans, your hair undone. You greet Jack with a smile, a little tired and leaning on his doorframe.

“You made a lasting impression on my secretary.”

He has to take a breath and blink — once, twice — to make sure this is happening. There is a trace of a smile already on his face, he just can’t stop it. “You mean she was planning on filing a police report because she thinks I’m stalking you?”

“Actually, she liked you from the moment she figured you’re a doctor. Keeps asking if you are married or not.”

Jack puts his right hand up to show you — readily, happily, like he removed the curse that’s been tormenting him for years. “I’m not.”

And you see that he isn’t wearing the ring. He never put it back on — by now, there’s no mark left where it used to be, the white line faded with no trace. You watch his face for any hints of doubt or regret but he has none. The hint he gives you suggests the opposite: Jack steps back in a silent invitation, makes space for you to come in. To come back to.

You don’t rush in although it does look like you want to. Instead, you’ve got a suggestion of your own.

“I feel like I know more about you than you know about me. So ask me something. Anything, whatever you want to know,” your gaze is locked with his. “Before I come in.”

Because after you do, there will not be much talking. Not for the first few hours, Jack thinks. And he will gladly take ten times as long as to find out everything there is to know about you — he’ll take days, weeks, months, years. He is already sure there is nothing that can scare him away.

So what he asks about is not a deal-breaker — more so a mystery Jack can’t wrap his head around.

“How the hell are you still single?”

It’s not a hard question, and it’s the truth that you don’t shy away from — as easily as he once did, you open up to him, with honesty that he can read in your voice, eyes, face.

“I work a lot. There are always extra hours, sleepless nights, late calls from my clients who have no one else to talk to. I’m bad at taking breaks. I am... not good at asking for help. And I guess I’m used to prioritizing work because that’s what I’m left with when people leave. Not everyone will have the patience for that,” you try for your smile not to look sad but it’s the first thing that you fail at. “So I’m a handful.”

He’s quiet for barely two seconds. Then his lips curl into a grin.

“Well, I’ve got two hands. And some say that my arms look very steady,” he takes a step to you, and now instead of sadness, there’s glee — in your soft laugh and in your eyes that stay on him. “I will need one thing from you, though. Before you come in,” another step, so that he’s standing right in front of you. “I need your number.”

“Give me your phone.”

He does — you add the number to his contacts, then dial it so you can have his too. You hand his phone back, still smiling. “There you have it.”

“I plan on memorizing it,” Jack takes a quick look at the screen and then puts the device away.

He needs his hands free, he has no other words to add. He cannot tear his gaze away from you.

“Any other questions or requests?” you ask him quietly.

Jack shakes his head. And then it’s you who finally crosses the distance.

He reaches out a hand behind your back to close the door. As soon as you hear the locker click, that same hand pulls you into him. And then he kisses you — so ardently and deeply like he’s famished, like in your absence he struggled to survive. You let him take the lead — it’s your quiet surrender, it’s his most rewarding win; he savors it until you’re out of breath. Then you kick off your shoes, and Jack yanks off your t-shirt — you stop his hands and fold the piece of clothing and leave it on the first flat surface you can find — you aren’t sure if it’s a table or a shelf because he’s kissing you again, all the while you are stumbling your way through his apartment.

Jack does pause when you reach the bedroom — the city skyline stretched out behind the windows, the light already darkening from gold to copper as the evening comes. The rays cascade across the floor and walls — you are admiring the view, and he’s admiring you. It’s soft before it’s sexual: he lowers his head and drags his lips over your collarbone, then over another one. Then he moves higher — your throat, your jaw, your cheek.

“You’re staying,” he murmurs.

And even though it’s not really a question, you nod, fingers grazing the back of his neck. “Sorry for coming empty-handed. I should’ve brought some take-out.”

Jack moves one of his hands down to the button on your jeans, undoes it, two of his fingers slipping in, tracing the line of your lace panties. He didn’t get a chance to taste you last time, and now he’s twice as eager. “You brought me dessert.”

You laugh against his mouth and take his shirt off, your touches gentle but leaving goosebumps on his skin, making his heart race. He lays you down on his bed to get rid of your jeans, his voice muffled when he leaves a kiss on your hipbone.

“And breakfast is on me this time. It’s non-negotiable.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “You are saying there’s actual food in your fridge?”

“A terribly big amount of food. Also picked a bunch of spices from the Mexican aisle, and I have no clue how to use half of them,” his mouth comes back to yours, back to his new favorite flavors: of your lips, your smile, your moans he knows how to draw out. And you are both left breathless and desirous of more.

“So you were counting on us meeting again?” you tease.

“I was hoping for it,” Jack says truthfully. “Got pretty close to praying, actually.”

Pads of your fingers glide across his cheekbone. “You don’t strike me as a religious type.”

He doesn’t answer right away — but not out of hesitation or the lack of words. He doesn’t need many. He’s known the answer ever since he saw you in his kitchen, he’s been carrying his feelings for so long that now he’s threaded with them like the night sky with bright stars.

Jack tells you with raw candor, with a faint smile. “I’m not. But I believe you are a godsend.”

You trace the freckles under his left eye, your whisper and your gaze are filled with tenderness. “I kept thinking of an excuse to show up at your apartment.”

He lowers his face closer to yours and turns to place a soft kiss on your wrist, his hazel eyes with hints of green spilling more of his secrets: they say that he’s been looking for you everywhere. Then Jack speaks with words.

“I kept thinking I was a fucking idiot for not getting your number,” and his mouth hovers over yours before he adds, his voice hushed as if he’s still not fully convinced he has you. “I want to take you out.”

Jack looks at the specks of gold caught in your lashes and your eyes, the sunlight streaming through the glass, your bodies and his bedroom bathing in it. He feels his heart pounding.

“Am I being too old-school for aski—”

You close the gap between you, and this kiss is better than a dream: it feels like finding gravity and oxygen, like summer coming after years of winter, like now instead of hope there’s certainty, a future that is bright with possibilities. When Jack opens his eyes, he finds you smiling, and you’re brimming with it — the undeterred fondness, the warmth that says that you’ve been looking for him too.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Jack Abbot.”

And he knows it will be just the first of many.

you’d never be able to tell but this was supposed to be porn with no plot... which I am apparently fcking incapable of. I want to write part 2 because I love them!

two gifsets that inspired this fic: x, x ♡

I have a mini-series about Jack x resident!reader that is very dear to me (I’ll make a masterlist for my Jack’s fics soon. there aren’t many but it will be easier to just add a link instead of me yapping);

SHOCKINGLY, I’m almost done with another Jack one-shot, and oh my god, I love it to pieces. reading it feels like a gut punch but in the best way possible. I can’t wait to share it ♡

dividers by @/cafekitsune, @/saradika-graphics & me.

♡ English is not my first language, so feel free to tell me if you spot any mistakes. comments and reblogs are very appreciated! let me know if you want to be tagged ♡

[ncutii-gatwa]

really makes me laugh seeing some people complain doctor who is gay now. babe THIS aired in 2005. doctor who has been gay a long damn time get with the program

[shippingmyworld]

Guess who's back with another Tigerghost brainrot fluff fic for ya'll.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65290348

[kaprisvn]

Doodle of this first OC you'll meet in Chasing Stars! Miriam :3

(Please click for better quality wow)

And no, she is not just the punchbag of a character that's there to be robophobic and/or bigoted. Despite her rather... rocky relationship with the Daycare Attendant, Miriam is a woman with her own story and motivations. Perhaps the two could get along better someday :)

Some bitchy Sun as a treat :3

[pompillar]

"You wanna know what I think?"

Sequel to "I've had it up to here with you!"

After a certain point it starts to get a little risque so minors shoo!

As the time got closer to 6 she fiddled with making her room look nice, making sure there was enough space for multiple ghouls to be, and that anything incriminating or embarrassing was put away. She knew it would be crowded no matter what. Thankfully her quick clean up found her with more chairs than she remembered the cathedral having. Maybe she should receive her guests in the actual chapel? There's enough pews... but there's still a massive gaping hole in the floor and who knows how many more waiting to be uncovered.

6 on the dot came around and there was a gentle knocking on her door. Luna stood quickly and walked over, unsure what she would find. Pulling the door open she was met with a few ghouls, Haku the one who knocked at the front.

"Hey, mind letting us in?" He smiled at her, the look in his eyes soothing her nerves.

"Uh yeah..." She stepped back and out of the way and was still shocked despite knowing how many of them were there.

Sho led Leo and Alan into the small kitchen on the other side of the room, all three men carrying large containers through the door.

Subaru and Kaito weren't far behind, bringing smaller containers with them.

Haku sat a small box by the bathroom door, shifting away as Leo reappeared and placed one of his own beside it.

Lucas stood off to the side awkwardly, Tohma beside him.

Ritsu filed in and made a beeline towards her, holding out a contract with a full set of 20 signatures. "Proof that we will all be civil while here."

She took the contract and started to read over it, having learned enough jargon from Ritsu after being dubbed his business partner that she could parse it easily enough. "Wow... this is impressive. And incredibly thought out. Thank you..."

Jiro and Yuri entered next, the doctor locating the Frostheimers and finding the furthest spot from them. Jiro gave her a robotic looking wave from his spot beside Yuri.

Haru, sans Peekaboo, was followed by Towa and a very annoyed Ren. Towa's arms were full of flowers and he nudged Ren with his foot. The first year grumbling as he put out the vases he had been carrying on every surface he could find. Towa went to work arranging immediately. And while many of them had no idea Zenji was following Towa around the room, suggesting which flowers would be better with each other.

Rui, Ed and Lyca came next, Rui carrying what looked like a luggage case. Lyca had a sketchbook in hand, looking determined. Edward found the comfiest looking chair and took a seat.

Glancing around she frowned, "We're missing a few..."

"Get your ass in there, you already agreed!" She knew that shrill tone anywhere.

"It's cramped! I'm going back!"

Ritsu leaned out the door, "Captain you signed the contract. Do you go back on your word so easily? Didn't you want to apologize to our inspector?"

The grumbling became a frustrated shout, "Fine! Move!" Taiga slunk into the room, hands stuffed in his pockets, followed by Romeo who looked irate.

Her eyes flickered to Tohma.

"You know how he is," The blond spoke softly and suddenly a blue portal opened, "Always wants to make a special entrance."

Jin stepped through and the portal closed behind him. But not before he brought a large box with him. Bringing it straight to her bed he sat it at the foot and looked into her eyes, "Well... we're all here it seems."

She nodded, "Yeah. I didn't think this place could fit so many people." Looking around she saw some tension thick enough it could be tangible. She inhaled softly, "Alright. If anyone gets too heated or irritated you can go through that door and hang out in the chapel for a bit to cool off."

Ren tried to make a quick exit only for Haru to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

"So you've read our letters." Rui stepped up to the front, "It took us a lot to put this together so I hope it's up to your standards. We're planning to pamper you tonight. You have all the control here."

Haku added on, "Anything you don't like you can tell us to leave. We already figured at least one of us would get kicked out. You have the right to kick anybody out at any time."

Jin sighed, "And now the part we're all dreading..."

Tohma took over, "We collectively decided that it would be beneficial to clear the air so to speak. So please, tell us your grievances with us. I know you said we were all to blame, but we want to know what we've done. If you don't tell us how will we fix it?"

Luna stared in shock, "You... you want to hear what I have to say about each of you? As in what bothers me about you guys? Are you sure you want that?"

"We're big boys. We can handle it!" Haru laughed, "You can start anywhere. We're all ears for you."

She bit her lip and glanced at Taiga, then to Jin, then over to Ren, to Towa, and then Yuri when he spoke.

"If you're concerned about your safety don't be. No one brought their artifacts. We made sure certain people didn't bring auxiliary weapons as well..."

Jiro continued, "Any stigma use, aside from those activated unconsciously, is prohibited during this evening. We all signed the paper."

Nodding she took a deep breath, "Okay. Alright, just... try not to get too mad at me? Or sad... that's another thing I really don't wanna see. You can feel your feelings but when you give me certain looks it feels like you're trying to guilt me." Letting out a sigh she pointed around the room, “Remember what you signed. I read the details. You can’t hold anything I say tonight against me later!”

The room was quiet as most of them nodded, all eyes on her, waiting for what she had to say.

"Jin," She watched a slight tick in his jaw. "I hate being called a servant. It makes me feel like you don't actually want me around, like you could replace me easily. You make it so hard to get to you, and when I do get there you're dismissive. I always feel like you don't even like me because you hide your own feelings so deep you can't connect with people. The errands and chores you send me on are so bullshit. I don't have time to wash your shirts. I have better things I could be doing with my time. Like finding a way to break my curse. I understand you've been hurt before, but if you don't show me that you trust me even a little bit I won't be able to trust you. I just want... some respect I guess. Some type of acknowledgment that I'm not just the dirt beneath your feet."

He looked gutted, eyes wide for a moment as he gaped.

"Tohma," Not giving him a chance to respond she moved on. "You're difficult to read, and it's hard for me to have to decipher your mind games. I get that you have a lot to do, more than you'll ever show or admit. You make me feel like I can't be trusted with how much you tend to quiz me or play games with me. When we've played chess I almost feel like it's the most genuine you've ever been with me. And maybe your games make you feel smart, above people, or something like that. But I want to know that who I'm talking to is actually who you are. Be more genuine with me, be vulnerable. I am here to help you, not just the academy."

His eyes were equally wide at her admissions. Schooling his face he nodded.

"Lucas," There was a smile to her face. "You give everything you do 110 percent. But you tend to lose sight of things. You want to protect and defend so badly that sometimes you don't notice yourself getting hurt. And sometimes that hurts more than if I got hurt. It feels like you're reckless and you don't care enough about yourself to care when you're injured. I want you to try and remove those blinders that give you tunnel vision. Because I think you'll be so much stronger once you do."

He touched a hand to his chest, mulling her words over.

"Kaito," Another soft smile. "You're so sweet and energetic. The only issue is how much you don't believe in yourself. You constantly try to flirt with me, take me on dates, shoo other people away even though it never works. You're a coward, but you're aware of it at least. What I want for you, what I want from you, is to try and be more confident. How am I supposed to feel when the guy trying to show me how he feels thinks poorly of himself? Take some responsibility and try to unlearn this self loathing you have. I promise it's much easier when you do... I know from experience."

His eyes watered as he nodded, trying to stifle his sobs.

"Alan," Looking over to the man she sighed, "You're standoffish, you're a little hardheaded, you can't quite figure out how things work if you can't take them apart and put them back together. You take so much burden onto yourself that it's hard to get anything from you that's not never ending work. I want you to rely on me more. Yeah, I can't fight or really defend myself, and you always say it's dangerous to be around you. But I rarely feel safer on a mission than when I'm by your side. Please stop pushing me away. I want to be around you."

Looking shaken by the admission he stared daggers into the floor boards.

"Sho," Her eyes landed on him. "There's so many things you're good at. I have fun around you. I almost forget where we are. But at the same time you feel distant. Like you're only letting me into the first room and the rest of the house is locked. I'm sure you've had hardships too. But despite those I want to be able to see you, the Sho beneath the funny, creative, smart man that rides a motorcycle and cooks better than established chefs. I want you to show me the rest of you. I promise I can handle it."

Staring at her with his mouth agape there was a good few minutes he didn't seem to breath.

"Leo," She paused as she met those golden eyes daring her to go on. "I can't lie. You've been one of the hardest ghouls to deal with. Every step I take around you feels like the wrong one. You even tricked me into doubting myself. That my ability didn’t work all the time. You lied to so many people to get me away from you. There were times I wanted so badly to tell you to go fuck yourself. Actually, you know what, go fuck yourself Leo. All the times I thought I made progress and you just bulldozed my confidence. Or used my abilities without any regard for me. Or pushing me away while calling me stupid or useless. You have nerve but do you deserve to? What I want is for you to think about how your actions affect other people. Be kinder, hell, just be kind. Stop being so fake to me. If you wanna say you hate me just fucking say it instead of stringing me along and pretending to be my friend. The worst part is that I still can't find it in myself to hate you. Because somehow I can tell there's a glimpse of someone under all that bullshit that isn't a total asshole and actually cares about people."

He hissed under his breath and murmured, "Why is mine twice as long..." Alan cut his eyes at the vice captain and shut him up instantly.

"Haru," Taking in his confident pose she smiled, "Before I go into this can I ask who's taking care of Jabberwock right now? Especially Peekaboo."

"Oh don't you worry your pretty head about that. I have someone who's real good with the animals there and had a free evening who agreed to help out for no charge!" He added on quietly, "Mostly no charge... I'm gonna have to haul ass to finish all those assignments for her class."

Nodding she started again, "Haru. You're always so busy. No matter what you've got your hands full, your pockets empty and a lot of hope. It's inspiring really. But you have a few issues... you ignore your own health and safety for the sake of others. Going so far as to use your stigma to the point you break. And you're not free of blame here. If you could talk to another house nicely you might be able to get food scraps delivered and not have me make a trip out of my way. I don't mind helping sometimes. It just becomes so much with everything else. I feel like you some days with how thinly I'm stretched. I want... I want you to trust people enough to take a break. Not just one night off and then busting your ass again the next day. A real break. You're not the only one who can do it."

He bit his bottom lip and looked away.

"Towa," She chuckled at the shocked look on his face. "You're not free from this either. You always try to be so cute and innocent looking. But you have your own problems. Waiting until someone begs you to help when you know you can is so irritating. Yes, we need you to help. Not when it's already desperate times, when you know you can do it. And you always go straight to intimidating and using lightening on things when you're upset. I want you to work on communicating better. Not everything can be solved with violence. Learn to regulate your emotions internally and maybe you can solve things peacefully."

Pouting he made a sad little humming sound.

"Ren," Seeing him flinch when multiple eyes turned on him she sighed, "What can I say? You're difficult for a different reason. Everything is a negative with you. I know you hate things that are hard, or require you to do things, or use your brain for more than crunching numbers and game strategies. But sometimes I need you to lock in. You check out so easily that trying to get you to even talk to me is a chore. I want you to do the same as Towa, work on communicating better. Stop complaining when it doesn't go the easy way. Swallow your pride and step up when you know it's something you can do. Work and play go hand in hand, one without the other is unbalanced. I know you can do it, I believe in you."

His face was red as he looked at his feet.

"Taiga," She paused as they made eye contact, his green eyes dull in color but sharp in attention. "There's not enough time in a day for me to go over everything here. So let's start with the first one, stop pointing guns and pulling knives on me. I get that you don't always remember me, and that's irritating but I can work with that. I don't know if you really can't remember or if you just have facial blindness some days. And I can't say I understand you because no one is willing to go into the details of the clash with me, but I know it affected a lot of you negatively. One day I hope you'll trust me enough to tell me what happened." She bit her lip, "Your emotional state flips like a switch and becomes hard to manage, I never know how you'll react to what I say. And when you do react amicably and remember me it's still not great. You ask me to carry your bag, or be a pillow, or just call me a dumbass. I know you'll hate this but it's a lot like Jin. What I want is for you to try to work on what's going on inside your head. Maybe seeing Yuri about it, if he's comfortable with that. Be less argumentative and more willing to help out. You're the captain around Sinostra but I've seen Romeo do more in that aspect than you. I just want you to be more stable. Not in a way that I want to control you, more like I want to see you grow to be a better version of you."

He raised a brow at her, foot tapping against the floor.

"Romeo," There was another sigh. "I can try to keep yours short but let's face it... You and Leo are on the same wave length. If you're not running me ragged with silly little courier jobs you're berating me to my face. Calling me stupid, calling me plain, saying I have no fashion sense, which is rude there's a uniform to follow here you don't even know what my fashion sense is like because my wardrobe is back home. Your temper is so explosive that no matter what anyone says you can find something to be mad about. I get that you're stressed but taking it out on people who are trying to help you is going to push them away. I need you to try and relax more, work on what to do when you get angry, that's not yelling at people or threatening them. Maybe I'd be more interested in helping you if you weren't a landmine I can step on with one wrong word."

His face was turning red from the force of holding in the outburst that boiled under his skin.

"Ritsu," She laughed when he looked surprised. "Yes you're in this too. You're always prepared for anything we run into. And you quite literally use yourself as a shield to protect me. But there's a time and place to do your job and to play. You're the opposite of Ren, work play balance is important. Stop trying to charge people for wanting to hang out with you under the guise of consultation. Making friends is scary yes, it's hard to know if they'll like you, but you have to give them a chance. What I want from you is to try and unwind sometimes. Remember that you're at school, not an office, and try to have fun. Not everything has to be work all the time. You could burn yourself out if you keep this up for too long."

His eyes were comically wide and a hand was placed over his chest.

"Subaru," Seeing how nervous he was she gave him a smile. "Relax, I can tell you're grinding your teeth again. There we go, that's better. You tend to be one of the easiest ghouls to work with. Always hospitable and never rude to me. That's not where your problem lies. You have low self confidence, you're constantly apologizing for things you don't need to, you keep up a mask to hide your true feelings. You don't think people can handle the real you beneath the actor, or that people won't like you. But if you never open up how can they even try? I want you to work on being more honest with yourself and with others. Don't apologize for enjoying yourself, indulge every once in a while. Life is too short to avoid doing all the things you like."

He glanced at the floor nervously, gripping one of his arms tight.

"Haku," She watched the amused smirk on his face slowly disappear. "I could leave it at you're a terrible flirt and move on but that would be mean. You've helped me since I first got here, guided me, given me advice. And through all of that I don't think I've really gotten to know you. Everything is about someone or something else. You turn the focus away from yourself every time. I want to know you Haku, I want to know about you, what you like, what you don't like, what makes you mad, what makes you happy. Open up to me so I can see who you are under the helpful tease you masquerade as."

Wide yellow eyes locked onto her, clearly a bit shaken.

She paused for a second and stared into the empty air.

Zenji floated beside Haku and Subaru, "It's alright my dear. I'll hear your words later when it's only those privy to my existence around."

Snapping back to her task she stared at the cozy chair in the corner. "Edward, just because you're a centuries old powerful vampire does not give you immunity." She rolled her eyes at the mirth in his, "You're a problem ghoul for so many reasons. Constantly keeping information to yourself, not doing your job as captain, making Rui do basically everything for you. Not to mention all the passes you make at me after our first interaction where you called me plain and lacking sensuality. Rude. What I want from you is harder than most because you're older and not as open to change. You need to give me and the other ghouls something, the benefit of treating us like equals and not like funny little ants in a jar. You're so easily amused watching others struggle and it sucks. Take some responsibility, quit using being an old man as an excuse, and step the hell up when you're needed. You can't just rot away in bed every day and expect things to be okay."

He hummed softly and nodded, still looking amused.

"Rui," She smiled at the sudden nervous look on his face. "I really wish you weren't cursed so I could hold your hand while I tell you this. You're so helpful, sweet even though you're super flirty, I know I can talk to you when I'm stuck feeling down. Though you have your own issues. You're complacent, like you've given up on your own curse but you're still trying to help me break mine. And it hurts to see you so defeated, I've seen behind your little persona before, and I saw you for you. It made me want to help you more, and despite that you still take on any task that comes your way. I know you can't sleep and you need to do things but sometimes I wanna see you relax. You're so busy doing things for other people when was the last time you did something for yourself? I want you to be more selfish. Don't ignore your own needs for others."

Taking in a shaky breath he looked down, hiding his face behind his bangs.

"Lyca," Watching him flinch she pouted. "I'm not angry at you. Just let me say some things. You're trying so hard to catch up with everyone else. This is a very strange place to you and you've done so well trying to adapt to it. To learn about human society and coexist, it's hard even for humans sometimes. But there's always things we can do to improve. You're a little rough around the edges, and you tend to scare people off when you're too rough. You pick fights really easily because you have strong opinions and morals. Those aren't bad things, but you have to learn to control it a little more. I have strong opinions but you don't see me growling and baring my teeth at people who oppose them. Maybe I should with some of you though... Anyway I want you to work on your emotions. Try to find healthy ways to release your anger that aren't fighting. Maybe look into more free form art? Your sketches are great, maybe you could find a way to vent some feelings into it."

He pouted, glaring at a spot on the wall.

"Yuri," He jumped as she laid eyes on him. "You're brilliant. You know how to save lives and make them better. I'm not just saying it to make you feel better before I go in on you. I do believe that. That being said you have some flaws to work on. You have a freeze response to panic and trauma. And it can cause problems. You're abrasive when questioned because you see it as being challenged. The bravado you have is just a mask to hide the shy, kind man underneath and protect him from being hurt again. And thank you for being brave enough to come here even when you have so many reasons not to want to be in this room with certain people. I'd like to ask the brilliant doctor Yuri Isami to work not only on being more humble but not insulting people to make himself feel better. You can be confident without putting people down in the same breath, let your actions speak for themselves and not need to use others as pedestals to rise higher. You're enough."

There was a hiccup that he tried to stifle, hiding his red face and teary eyes in Jiro's arm.

"And Jiro," She smiled as his face didn't change at all. "One of the ghouls I see most often, but feel like I know the least about. You're clinical and come off as apathetic. And you've been through a lot, people don't realize how much, I don't think Yuri even knows all of it. But you show no signs of distress. And that worries me sometimes. While I do see little cracks here and there, like a tiny smile or a chuckle when I get scared of something you find mundane, or when you startle yourself laughing at stag beetles fighting, I see Jiro in those moments. I want to see more, maybe that's selfish when you should be working on recovering from your illness and injuries, but those little moments are so precious to me because I see the Jiro who enjoys life underneath it all. I want you to work on trying to open up more, be a little more vulnerable with me at least? I want to know who you are on the inside."

He blinked slowly, eyes a fraction wider. A shudder went down his back and he glanced around.

Zenji had floated towards him and hovered there, trying not to let his tears overwhelm him. "That was beautiful my dear! You truly reached out to him with everything you had!"

Her smile was fond as she sat back on her nicely made bed. "So... now that I've said my piece, what's next? I'm open to hearing you out or just listening if-" Startled by the sudden movement she held herself still as Jin fucking Kamurai approached her bed and kneeled before her like a knight. "Huh?" Her eyes were wide as he spoke.

"I can't... can't apologize enough for how I made you feel." He looked pained as he forced himself to make eye contact, "If you're willing to forgive me... I'll make it up to you however you want. I won't call you that again. It was never supposed to be more than a joke, and I know that my jokes are... not as easy to read anymore. I'm sorry for the distress I've caused you. But," He stood slowly, making himself the king once more. "Don't ever feel like I could easily replace you, or that I don't like you, or that I think you're beneath me. Don't push your own misconceptions onto me like that. You don't get to decide how I feel."

She swallowed roughly, "I... thank you... you don't know how much that means to me."

Tohma appeared at his side and held out his hand, taking Luna's gently. "I should apologize as well. I never knew it felt like I was being so closed off. Please tell me whenever you feel that way. I'll rectify it immediately. There's just no way I'd ever want you to think that you're less than I."

Her smile softened and she gave his hand a squeeze, "Thank you."

Lucas and Kaito made their way over, the sudden growing crowd pushing Jin to leave her side. The white haired man gestured with a jerk of his head to the window. Tohma picking up on it quickly followed him, the window was opened and the two stepped out onto the roof and closed it behind themselves.

“Luna…” He took her hand and his amethyst eyes bore into her own. “I swear to you that I will try with everything in me to be better. But I cannot promise that I won’t continue to throw myself in front of you when danger is near. I would make another pact just to defend you if it came down to it.”

Her eyes widened, “Luca you really don’t need to do that. In fact please don’t. I don’t want to know what happens if you make a pact with more than one demon…” She frowned, “And I feel like you missed my whole point…”

The blond sat down beside her and looked at his feet, his eyes still watery, “Even when you’re telling us to get our shit together you’re still so nice. It’s not fair.” He leaned against her arm subconsciously, “I want to be better for you. I wanna break this stupid curse so you never have to worry about it again. I’m going to try harder… so please keep believing in me. Even if I am a coward.”

She reached up and stroked Kaito’s head soothingly, “Shh. It’s okay. I know you will. Whenever you put your mind to something you do great things.”

Lucas also reached for Kaito, but mostly in concern as he noticed the small group that approached from behind. He pulled his friend up and shifted to the side, “Come on. Let’s go get her a plate of those sweets you made.”

Looking up she met Alan’s unflinching steel eyes. She waited, nearly holding her breath from the intensity of his gaze.

“I… am not good with words. But… if you really want to be near me even with what you know I can do… I can’t tell you no. I’ll do whatever I can to protect you. So… please don’t take anything you said back.” He stood before her in that same awkward stance, arms to his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them, hands clenched into fists, almost as if he was prepared to fight.

She smiled and stood up, taking one of his hands and holding it gently between her own. “Thank you Alan. That means a lot to me. And trust me, there’s no way I’ll be taking it back.”

Sho cleared his throat, “So… you think you can handle all of me?” His brow quirked up as he watched her start to turn red. “I’m kidding, chill. Jeez… you probably should have worded that better Senpai. You’ll make guys think some crazy things if you aren’t careful…”

Luna released Alan’s hand and pouted, “I wasn’t expecting you to be dirty about it… how come it feels like you aren’t taking it seriously?”

He grinned, “Well most of what you said was praise anyway. So I don’t have as much homework as some of these guys do.”

“Typical Sho…” With a sigh she waited, her eyes landing on a very irritated Leo. The wait was long and silent, he didn’t move, and she didn’t ask him to. What felt like ten minutes had passed before Alan turned and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him to stand before her.

“It’s your turn. Don’t be rude.”

“Let go of me you fucking gorilla! I don’t owe her shit!” He wrenched his arm from Alan and glared at him, then turned the same heated daggers on her. “I’m not apologizing.”

“You don’t have to. You just have to listen.” Shrugging she looked away, clearly a bit let down by his answer.

Leo snarled, “I don’t have to listen to you! You’re just a normie who got cursed and dropped into something way out of their league. You’re not my problem.”

Sho cleared his throat again to get their attention, “Leo. You keep saying all that shit but you were helping orchestrate this whole plan right from the start. Just give it up, just for tonight at least.”

He glared at Sho, “Traitor…” Turning back to her he refused to make eye contact. “Whatever. I guess you don’t suck as much as I first thought. I mean, you did manage to bring a Kamurai to their knees. You must be able to do something right.”

“Leo…” Alan grumbled behind him.

“Uuuugh! Fine! I’m sorry!” His cheeks were pink from either embarrassment or rage she didn’t know. “You look so normal that having all this power was pissing me off okay? You shouldn’t be able to do what you do so easily! But you do it anyway. And maybe I just didn’t like that okay? You assholes happy now?” He crossed his arms and stomped towards the chapel, disappearing into the other room.

Luna chuckled softly and shouted after him, “Thanks Leo! I guess that’s the best I’m getting out of you!” Looking back she sat on the edge of her bed and shook her head.

Sho and Alan both sighed and muttered apologies as they move towards the kitchen area.

Before Haru could take a step forward Kaito and Luca reappeared with a small plate of cookies and mini brownies. The blond handed it to her, “I hope you like these. I remember you said you liked matcha so I tried a recipe for matcha cookies.”

“Oh these look awesome. Thank you Kaito!” She took the plate and smiled, watching him walk over and take a seat by her desk.

“Enjoying your personal show?” Haru stepped up to her, Towa not far behind.

She smiled and bit into a cookie, “Mhm. I have to say it’s a little bit of a power trip… it might not be good to give me this much free reign. I might start telling you guys off more often if this is what I get for it.”

The captain of Jabberwock laughed and sat to her right on the bed, “So it’s my turn to own up. I’m sorry I worry you. I’m just so used to being up at the front that not using my powers is just beyond me. And yeah I get the whole break thing… it’s just hard to imagine these two being able to handle it without me.”

“Like I said, interhouse relationships should be stronger. I know you guys won’t tell me what happened and that this night is an exception. But if you can try to be more amicable towards each other you can lessen the burdens on all of you. Maybe you’ll be able to convince someone to be a courier for food scraps, or a helping hand with the animals, or someone to safe guard Peekaboo while you’re away. There’s options. You just have to find a way to work with them.”

He gave her a soft smile, “I wish it was as easy as you make it sound. Maybe the second years and first years will be able to pull it off but I think us third years are beyond reconciling.”

“Haru Sagara, that’s quitter talk. You better fix that.” She nudged him playfully, “But thank you, even though you didn’t actually say you’d work on your problems…”

They were both surprised as Towa flopped across their laps with a whine.

“Wh- Towaaaa! What are you doing?” Haru floundered a bit, trying to make sure his friend didn’t roll off the bed.

“Dandelion~” He looked up from where his head was resting on her lap, “I’m sorry for making you mad. I’ll try to be better. But you know it’s hard when Wolfsbane is so lazy.”

She smiled down at him and pet his hair, “You have to try harder. And maybe try to be a little more gentle with things? You’re like an untamed animal sometimes, and it can be a little scary.”

Pale eyes widened, “I don’t ever want to scare you Dandelion!”

There was shock and intrigue around the room as most had never heard the ghoul speak until now.

“I know. And that’s why you’ll try.” She continued stroking his fluffy hair as another ghoul stepped up. His stature and bad posture gave him away before she looked up.

“Hey…” Ren rubbed the back of his neck, a scowl on his face as he fought to find words with so many eyes on him.

“Hey yourself.” She continued to pet Towa’s hair, feeding him one of the cookies from the plate when he showed interest.

Ren swallowed around a lump in his throat, “...Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to say?” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

“Maybe start with an apology? That’s how the best reactions have started so far.” Haru chuckled at the annoyance on Ren’s face at his comment.

He grunted, “I’m sorry you’re wasting your faith by believing in me.” As Luna tried to interupt he continued, “I’m lazy, I hate doing things, I hate talking to people, I hate physical interactions. But it sucks less when it’s you… so I guess I’m saying thanks? For you know… trusting me even though I’m not really that great? God this is stupid. I can’t promise you anything! I’ll do what I can but if you aren’t there to bug me then I won’t try as hard!” His face was turning red as he rambled, “Not because I like your company or anything just because you’re annoying in a way I can’t ignore! An- why are you laughing?!” Ren was bristled like a scared cat.

She put a hand to her mouth trying to stifle the giggles. “So-sorry… you just… it’s just so Ren! Everything you said… it’s so on brand for you…” Calming herself she kept going, “Just know the next time you accuse me of being on my period when I’m irritated with you is the first time I try to make a man feel what a period actually feels like.”

Ren suppressed the shiver that ran down his spine at that, “Yeah… got it… but how-”

“You do know how close I am to the ghouls at Mortkranken right? I’m sure Yuri could make something that would simulate the pain very accurately.”

“Ren Shiranami did you really say that to her?!” Haru looked at him appalled.

“Wh-why are you getting mad at me?! She just threatened me!”

“And you said something rude and misogynistic to her! You’re a ghoul, you can handle whatever punishment she dishes out.” He frowned and stood up, taking Ren’s ear and dragging him by it.

“Owww! Hey! Let go of me you clown!”

Towa stood up and quickly hugged her, “I’ll make sure he does what he should Dandelion. And I promise I won’t use lightening on him.” Turning he smiled and followed Haru and Ren over to the corner where it seemed like Haru was already lecturing him.

Taking another mini brownie she popped it into her mouth and watched Taiga stalk to the side of her bed, stopping right in front of her, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared her down. The typical lazy lean in his posture was missing, as was the signature grin. He turned and plopped down beside her, still silent. The other two Sinostra ghouls were close by, watching their captain like hawks.

The man let out a heavy sigh and flopped onto his back, grabbing her hand and tugging her down beside him. You could hear a pen drop as the room went quiet, watching in fear, jealously, anger, and intrigue.

“You coulda just yelled at me. That woulda been easier to deal with.”

Unbothered by his antics she hummed, “That’s what Romeo does. How often do you listen to him?”

He chuckled, “Got a point there.” Turning his head he met her eyes, really taking in the vibrant pink and reds in her irises. “I’m serious. I don’t care what I say after this. If I ever piss you off or make you think I’m actually gonna hurt you just tell me to go fuck myself. If I get annoyed when you say it then tell me you have permission. I should get the hint by then.” Taiga stared at her wide eyes and leaned in to press his forehead against hers, speaking softly. “I don’t trust any quacks enough to go let em poke around in my head. So sorry I won’t be doing that part. But I’ll try to be better for you… do I get anything in return if I improve?” His eyes lit up with that usual mischief.

Luna laughed and shook her head, a smile brightening her face, “Maybe. But it depends on how good you get. I might make you something nice. Like a sweater since you’re always so cold.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, “Fuck that. Just be my personal heater instead. Way less effort.”

“Ahem!” Romeo shouted instead of actually clearing his throat, magenta eyes silently ripping into Taiga. There were several ghouls around the room glaring as well, some being held back by others. “You might want to rethink where you are before you start getting handsy you TGA!”

Taiga groaned and rolled towards the other side of her bed, facing away from them, “And you might wanna read the mood sometimes Lulu.”

The vice captain clearly had a hard time not blowing his lid at the comment but he stuffed his insults down and stepped up to the bed. “Now that he’s got his dirty claws out of you I can start.”

She giggled and sat up, smoothing her hair back, “Yeah. So Romeo, what do you have to say?”

“Maybe you have a point with the wardrobe comment. It seems like Darkwick didn’t even bother giving you more than the most basic plain clothes. So the next time you’re free and find yourself around Sinostra let me know. I can take your measurements and get you actual decent clothes to wear besides your uniform.”

Rui interjected, “As long as you keep the measurement taking professional!”

The man flustered and whirled around to point at him, “Mickey you shut your mouth! I didn’t mean it the way you would!”

“Romeo… this right here is the other thing I was talking about…” She drew his attention away from the smug ghoul standing in a corner by himself. “The ease at which you get angry is concerning.”

He inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly, “I am trying! To not get as angry that is.” Looking back at her he avoided meeting her gaze, “It’s not that I don’t take breaks or relax sometimes. It’s that I have to do everything if I want it done right. And-”

“Stop,” She watched him for a second, seeing the rage build from being cut off. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I get that you’re a perfectionist. But nothing is perfect, and nothing is forever, so sometimes you’re going to have to deal with good enough as your finish line.” Reaching out she took his gloved hand and held it gently, “Give a little more power to those around you to take the weight off your own shoulders. You have a captain and a first year to share responsibilities with. You know he’s capable, let Ritsu take something off your plate to lessen the burden.”

His face was red but this time it was clearly not anger. Coughing into his other fist he looked away, “I’ll think about it.”

Letting his hand free she smiled and held out the small plate to him, “Take a cookie and relax. The sugar might help you.”

Making a face he took one of the sweets from the plate and stood to the side taking a bite as Ritsu walked briskly up to Luna.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting any of that.” He paused to collect his thoughts, “I am a paralegal. And I’m doing my job. So while I see your points I’m still undecided on how I will apply them. Perhaps you’re right, I am at school and not an office environment. But I must use my time wisely to prepare for my future.”

Watching him spin his wheels she propped her chin in her hand. “Ritsu… do you mind listening to me again?”

“Wh- why would I need to do that? I’ve re-”

“I know you recorded it. Replay it real quick and really listen to it.”

Doing as she said he brought the recorder to his ear and played that section back. His face went on a trip between his usual self assured smile to a flustered confused mess. “I… I have listened.”

“Mhm… and are you processing the words now?”

He nodded slowly and gave her a timid glance, “I… was unaware that people were merely trying to befriend me. I believe I’ll need to do some research to better understand where I’m making mistakes.”

She smiled in return, “There we go. Sometimes going over it again is useful right? You find things you missed the first time around.” Watching him stumble over her using his own words back at him she giggled, “Thank you Ritsu. I know you’ll work on it.”

As he retreated to Romeo’s side he was passed by Subaru and Haku, Zenji floating above them.

Subaru upon reaching her side instantly bowed low, “I’m saying sorry now so I can try to avoid saying it again. I’m so sorry Luna.”

Holding back a sigh she leaned forward, “Please get up Subaru. I hate seeing you bow like that.”

Sitting up he stared into her eyes, “...I’m so…” Biting his lip he inhaled sharply, “I’m already messing up…”

“Try again.”

He took a few breaths to try and clear his head. “Thank you. I want to give you an answer you’ll like. But I’m worried I’ll fall short of your expectations. So… instead of worrying about that… I’m going to say what I honestly want to say to you.”

Smiling she watched him with bated breath.

“You’re so many things I want people to see me as. You’re kind, you’re compassionate, you’re incredibly strong willed, you’re compelling, you’re humble about all of it, and at the end of the day you’re still a joy to be around like you haven’t been giving your all for the sake of others. And it’s all natural to you… and I think sometimes I’m jealous of that. That you don’t have to try to be any of those things. You just are. I’m so grateful that you care enough about me and everyone here that despite everything you’ve been through that you still want to even be near us.” He stopped himself and cleared his throat, “Was that self deprecating?”

Her cheeks had turned pink at how enthralled he’d seemed as he spoke, “A… a little bit yes.”

“I can’t promise you that I’ll be the same person if I listen to your request. And it will take time… but I hope that when you do see the me behind the mask that you’ll still want to be around me.” His eyes were distant by the time he finished his sentence.

She smiled, “Subaru… I’m still going to like you. Because you may think you’re not any of those things or that I do it effortlessly but both of those things are wrong. I’ve had to make myself be kind, make myself humble, make myself the person you see. There’s been effort, you just haven’t seen it because you didn’t know me then.”

“Thank you… uh… are you still hungry? I have some sweets and tea I can prepare for you.” Standing he barely dodged Haku moving closer.

“I’d love that.” As she went to speak suddenly Haku’s hand planted itself beside her on the bed and he leaned in, his face inches away from hers. She made a flustered noise and turned red, “H-H-Haku?!”

“You caught me huh Princess?” He smirked, “You’re right of course. I don’t really offer a lot of information about me. Maybe you think I’m hiding something but the truth is I’m just not all that interesting.” His eyes told a different story from how the slit pupil focused on her eyes like if they looked away it would wound him.

Zenji almost went into a fit but before he could even raise his voice Subaru cut in, “Haku. You’re too close,” A fan was opened with a flourish between their faces and the Hotarubi captain pushed the paper fan closer and closer until Haku was forced to step back. “Try to have a little more decorum.” There was a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth as he eyed the green haired ghoul.

“You took the words right out of my mouth Subaru! What on earth would possess you to invade a lady’s personal space like that?!” Zenji stood on Haku’s other side nagging him, “I know you’re a lout but you don’t have to show everyone in attendance that you are!”

Haku sighed, “My bad. I tripped on this huge box here,” Nudging the box Jin had brought with his foot he glanced over his shoulder to see the Kamurai heir give him an aggravated stare from his place by the window. When he and Tohma had gotten back he didn’t know.

Luna frowned, “Here we go again. Another cover up. Haku… I respect you and enjoy your company. But please, please stop going back on your advances. I’m so tired of you saying just kidding when I know you’re serious. I think everyone in this room knows you’re serious.”

Taken aback by the statement he cleared his throat, “Damn Princess… watch what you say. A guy might take it the wrong way.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“Just say you mean you already Hakucchi!” Rui shouted from where he was trying to wait his turn to get into the kitchen area while avoiding contact.

“Oh don’t worry Rui I’m going to revisit that when you come up here in a minute!” Luna gave the blond a look and smirked at the flicker of fear on his face.

Haku knelt down beside her and took one of her hands, “I’ll try… to be more open about myself. Just don’t expect it to be easy for either of us.”

“Something about the ghouls? Easy? For me or them? Never!” She laughed at the wry smile he broke into before kissing her hand and following Subaru.

Luna stared at Zenji for a minute, wanting nothing more than to address him.

“I know dear, I know.” He bowed his head to her, “We’ll have a chance later.” Floating after the other Hotarubi ghouls he settled beside them.

She startled when another body dropped onto the bed beside her, “Whoa!”

“Hmm… it’s not quite as soft as mine. But it’s definitely better than sitting in that chair over there.” Edward had taken it upon himself to flop unceremoniously onto her bed.

“Glad you could join me instead of being stuck in bed rot mode.”

“I could never turn away when I know you’re suffering in agony in here all by your lonesome.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk about your letter later by the way. Next time give me a warning for what I’m about to be reading.” She turned her body to face him. “So… go on. I know you’re going to spin some pretty words together.”

He smiled softly at her, “Perhaps you’re right dear. I have been cooped up for quite some time. Darkwick makes it so easy to be comfortable here. As for my age, I assure you it’s no ploy. I truly do have aches and pains from the years I’ve lived. But I will do my best to try and achieve these lofty tasks you’ve set for me. I may have been a bit too jaded about you and these ghouls. Though there’s definitely still some surprises in store…”

“Cryptic bastard.” She reached out and fluffed his hair, “If you don’t try hard then I’m going to steal Rui and Lyca away from you for a whole week and make you deal with your own mess.”

“Darling you’re so cruel.” Despite his words the smile never left his face, leaning into her touch. “But if you ask me the cruelty only makes you that much sweeter.”

Rui could be heard asking people to move so as to avoid touch. “Okay that’s enough time for you Ed.” He walked up and winked at Luna, “You should roll him off your bed since you’ve already got one that won’t get up. Isn’t that right Tai?”

The redhead was currently curled against her pillows, not showing any sign of hearing them or if he did that he cared at all.

She sighed, “I would but I’m pretty sure Ed would be more annoying if I pushed him off.”

“Rui you shouldn’t joke like that, she might start to think you actually mean it.” The vampire pouted at him.

“I do.” The blond sighed and smiled at her again, “So… you really think all that?” When she nodded and returned his smile he continued, “Well… maybe I am complacent. I’ve tried and tried and hunted down everything that could possibly help me with this curse of mine. I’ve come to accept it as what I’ll have to live with. And being selfish? Now that doesn’t sound like a good thing to tell a guy who’s been trying to take you on a date since the first day he met you!”

“Do it.”

He faltered at the bold statement, “Uh come again?”

“I said do it. If you want to so badly then ask me outright and take me on a date. You and Haku both have no follow through and it’s been a little frustrating to be honest.”

His face was red as he tried to ignore the stares and bewildered looks from around the room. “Ah… I mean… you can’t put me on the spot here in front of all these other guys! I have to plan it and make sure everything is perfect first!”

She stared fondly at him, “Anything you do is going to be great Rui. You make sure of it.”

The blond groaned, “God… I wanna take your hand and lead you to the garden and pick flowers with you and make breakfast for you and-”

“Breathe Rui,” Her laugh was a chiming bell in his ears.

“Princess put him out of his misery already.” Haku chirped from where he was still being eyed warily by Subaru.

The reaper cursed ghoul sighed, “I wish more than anything I could just take your hand and hold it to my chest so you could feel how hard my heart is beating right now.”

“That’s the honest Rui I’ve seen before. Not the silly flirt. The genuine article.” She reached for him and smiled sadly as she let her hand drop. “I wish I could hold your face in my hands and tell you that everything is going to be okay.”

Lyca huffed loudly and moved around the blond, “You’re taking up too much time! The food is gonna get cold if you don’t hurry it up!” Stopping in front of Luna he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Hi Lyca,” She watched Rui step aside to try and calm himself.

“Hey…” He glanced away, looking surprisingly shy for someone who just butted into a conversation vying for his turn.

“So about what I said…”

“I’ll do my best. It’s hard… you don’t get it because you’re human. People here… they don’t like me. They’re scared of me. They don’t think I should be walking around out here. But I’m not dangerous!” His tone and volume lowered as he lost the bite to his words, “You know that… right?” If his ears were out they would be drooping.

Luna reached out for him, “Come here.”

He stepped closer and let out a shocked yelp as she tugged him down into a hug, pressing his face to her neck. “I know you aren’t. The only reason I was scared when you transformed was because I’d never seen you like that before and you looked like you were in pain. You could be dangerous if you wanted to be, but you choose not to be. And that’s what people aren’t seeing.” She stroked his hair softly, “I really want you to be able to make more friends. I’m sure Hotarubi has some type of art gathering sometimes right guys?”

Subaru perked up, “Oh, yes actually there’s a get together for the arts twice a month. We all share our current works and teach each other new techniques for our own crafts. It’s a very rewarding tradition that’s been in effect for years before I became a part of it. I could invite you sometime Lyca. I’m sure they’d all be in awe of your sketches.”

The werewolf was silent but nodded as he relaxed into Luna’s hold. “...You’re warm. Feels nice…” Was all he said after a minute of silence.

Giggling softly she took her hands back, “I’ll give you hugs whenever you want then.”

He nodded and stood back up, unbothered by the stares from around the room as he went over to Subaru.

A throat was cleared as one of the shorter ghouls stepped to her now. Yuri was trying to keep his usual demeanor but his face was already flushed and his gloves felt far too sweaty and restrictive. “Well… you were definitely right about some of what you said. Mostly the first part…”

“Mhm?” Watching him closely she tried to not grin at how hard he avoided eye contact.

“I suppose calling you a worm is… not quite appropriate. I believe you may be onto something as far as how I should address my patients…” He stumbled over his words, “H-however! I am not going to let you sit there and say I freeze or panic in hard situations!” Holding a finger up he pointed at her, “I have acted quite quickly in those moments!”

“Except for the Oui-cest-bon case.” Jiro added in a deadpan.

Flustered by his assistant he held back an undignified squawk, “I- there were circumstances at play!”

“Mhm. And this is what I’m talking about Yuri. You’re trying to play off the issues you caused. And while you weren’t trying to you still did freeze and it almost cost you Jiro.” She took his sleeve and tugged him closer, “And I know more than anyone that you wouldn’t be able to take that loss. He’s more than your vice captain, more than your patient, he’s your closest friend. The one that you trust more than anyone else. So if not for me, then try to be better for him okay?”

His face scrunched up and turned red again as he tugged his arm away from her, “I-I don’t need you to say all that! I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t try! It’s just… difficult.”

“I understand. You’re a very proud person. It’s hard to accept that you’ve made a mistake or caused problems. But the sooner you accept it the sooner you get to be a better doctor, a better friend, and a better person in general.” Luna smiled, “I meant what I said Yuri, you’re enough.”

Looking away he blinked hard and croaked, “I heard you the first time you… you…”

“Come on… say something that’s not an insult.”

“You… lady.” He finished with no bite and all the wind taken out of his sails.

She chuckled, “That’s a start. Okay, Jiro, it’s your turn before Yuri combusts.”

He stepped forward and leaned over to check Yuri’s face, “I don’t think he’s going to spontaneously combust but if that’s a possibility I should go get a med kit.”

“Why are you so close?!” Yuri shrilled and backed away to go back to his corner.

There was a tiny smile tugging at Jiro’s lips as he turned back to her.

“Alright, tell me what you think about what I said.”

“Well, it’s difficult to describe.” His eyes shifted up as he thought about it, “My heart rate increased, and my mouth became slightly dry. I finished my medication almost exactly before we arrived so it shouldn’t be an attack. Maybe something about being in here with all these other ghouls is affecting me?” Touching his thumb and forefinger to his chin he glanced at the unamused look on her face and that hint of a smirk was seen again.

“Jiro… the non medical opinion please.” Luna had to crane her neck to look up at him from where she sat.

He surprised her as he suddenly crouched down as if checking her vitals, “I want to make you happy by completing these goals you’re giving me. But I’m not sure if they’re realistic. The real me is someone I don’t remember. I lost a lot of myself in the coma. Yuri thinks there’s a link between my recent attacks and memory triggers that I’ve run into but it’s not easy to recreate so it’s just a theory. But if it makes you happy then I can try to be more… vulnerable? At least to you or Yuri. I can’t leave myself vulnerable to any germs though. My immune system is still shot.” Looking up at her he saw the telltale quirk of a smile, “Oh? Did I say something funny?”

“Yeah. Your sense of humor may be broken in Yuri’s standards but I find it refreshing.” She giggled and reached out to play with his hair, “Oh did you shower?”

“Mhm, Yuri insisted I clean myself up before getting here.”

“Your hair feels so soft.”

He leaned into her hand, “I’m glad you like it.”

As everyone settled she sat back again, “Okay. So that’s everyone. Now can I please ask a group question? About that last letter… I’ve been on enough missions with all of you to know your different hand writing so none of you can deny who wrote what. But what was that about ‘Your Ghouls’ at the end there?” Watching the crowd for any kind of tells she could see several flushed faces, a few turning their heads to avoid her gaze, and some ghouls staring into her eyes with purpose.

Jin answered first, “Isn’t it obvious? You’re mine. And that means I’m yours. It’s as simple as that.”

His vice captain turned to look at him with absolutely unfiltered disbelief on his face, “...Did you really just say that to a woman? Are you serious? Did you learn how to speak to women from bodice rippers?”

“What the hell is a bodice ripper?” He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

Edward laughed softly, “Hmm the little prince is bold. But can he back up what he says?” Sitting up he put an arm around Luna’s waist and spoke in a deep hushed tone in her ear, “I signed that knowing full well what I meant. I’m yours if only you’ll let me have you as well. And I think we both know what I’m willing to offer you. After all, I can tell by your scent alone that you’re still thinking about my personal letter to you.”

She squirmed a bit, eyes focused on the floor, “Ed…”

“Back off moth eaten casanova!” Lyca growled at the display and Ed released her.

Haku sighed, “Princess, you aren’t that naive, right? You know what we meant. At least I know I did. You want me to stop backing down right? I like you. More than just a normal infatuation. And I’m prepared to wait for an answer for however long it takes. I’ll be yours no matter who you choose, even if I can’t stand who it is.” His face was more serious than she thought she’d ever seen it when not on a mission.

Rui chuckled, “Hakucchi quit stealing my lines. Luna, I think I might honestly be head over heels for you. No flirty playboy thing, no pick up lines, just straight up. And even if we can’t touch, and it kills me to not be able to hold you, I’ll want you forever.”

She covered her face and peeked through her fingers, “Oh my god you guys are unfair going back to back like that. Stupid smooth talking pretty boys…”

Taiga shifted now, dragging her back to his side, “Hey Kitty Cat. I’m not letting these guys take you for themselves. Not when I’m willing to let you have anything you want from me. Hell, I barely sign papers for anyone but you. You realize how special that makes you to me right?”

“BTH quit touching her so casually!” Romeo fussed as he approached, “The priest boy is right. I think it’s quite obvious what we all meant. God knows some of these desperate fools aren’t subtle about it.” He glared over his shoulder at a certain blond.

Kaito flinched under Romeo’s gaze and grabbed hold of Luca’s sleeve. Causing the other to carefully push Kaito behind himself.

“Alright! Enough of you guys simping!” Sho pushed the kitchen door open, “Food’s done! Cap, bring that out here first, I’m getting the next set.”

Luna stared in shock at the amount of food that was brought out, all of it what she’d checked on the list. Rui had opened the case he’d brought in and set up his on the road mixology equipment. He got to work making both his usual drinks and mocktails for the less inclined to anomalous alcohol. Sho and Alan had set two folding tables out with all the food and plates and silverware. The light haired first year plated her food and brought it straight to her. “Here ya go Senpai.”

Taking the plate she looked up and blinked owlishly, “That’s… this is incredible. You made all this today?”

“Had some help. But yeah most of this was already cooked before we got here. Just had to reheat some stuff in your kitchen. Don’t worry, we’ll handle the dishes too.” He winked and stepped back to the table, “Alright you guys, go ahead and line up! I made enough for everyone cause I know some of us haven’t eaten since we got that text this morning. That means you Leo!” He shouted at the door to the chapel.

It opened slowly and the still very aggravated man stepped back into the room, phone in hand. “You know you don’t have to yell you asshole.” He held a hand over one of his ears as if he’d been listening the entire time. Of course he was who are we kidding?

As drinks and food were passed around and people started to eat the atmosphere became less heavy. They were starting to get more comfortable around each other, which of course some of the drinks helped a few of them.

Lyca found his way back to her side after finishing his food. The sketchbook was in his hands again, “Luna.”

She looked up to him, “Hey Lyca, what’s up?”

Sitting beside her he inhaled softly, “I have something for you. The blond gigolo helped me figure out what to give you but it’s all my stuff.” He looked nervous as he held the book out to her.

Luna raised a brow as she took it into her hand, noting that it wasn’t quite a sketchbook. It was actually a book of pages from one bound together with ribbon and metal rings. Opening it she stared, each page more beautiful than the last. Some of the pages were just her, rendered so well it was almost scary, other pages were filled with places around campus, and some off campus like the mansion they’d gone to for that mission. She got through to the last page and smiled, it was a drawing of her and Lyca sitting side by side on their favorite bench.

“Suba gave me the photo he took of us, I didn’t know he took one actually, but I used it to draw this.” Watching her he swallowed, “Do you like it?”

“Lyca, I love this. Your art is so wonderful. I’m keeping this forever!” She smiled, “But are these the originals? I feel like you should keep those.”

He shook his head, “Blond gigolo is ahead of you. He took the original ones and made these copies of them.”

“Good. I’d hate for something to happen and you not have them.” Luna stared at the book, a solemn smile taking over her face.

“Nothing’s gonna happen. You’re not gonna go anywhere. And if for some reason you do, nobody is allowed to take those away from you.” His eyes made it feel like there were no exceptions to what he said.

“Thank you Lyca. I love them.” She patted his head and laughed when he stood up and shook it like a dog.

“Don’t do that. It’s weird…” Wandering off towards the others he tried to keep his red face hidden.

Taking the book she tucked it into her nightstand drawer and sat back on her bed, watching the ghouls with a smile.

As soon as Taiga was finished with whatever he could stomach he came over and flopped back onto the bed, aiming for her lap as a pillow.

She snorted and ran a hand through his hair, “Not even asking?”

“Don’t have to.”

“It’s polite to ask.”

“When have I ever given a fuck about being polite?” He gave a toothy grin.

“Fair enough.”

Leo had disappeared again and she scanned the room for him.

“Looking for someone honor roll?” Apparently he had snuck up to her side without being seen at all.

Jumping she nearly clawed Taiga’s scalp and he hissed in return, “Leo what the hell?!”

He laughed, “Jeez, jumpy much? Anyway, get up. Follow me.”

“But I’m-”

“Leave the overgrown cat. He’ll find a different pillow.”

Taiga sat up and growled, “Where ya taking her brat?”

Leo held up his hands that were suspiciously wet and free of all jewelry. “To the bath. The one I had her fill out a list for. Are you seriously saying you forgot that part?”

“Oh I already took a shower-”

“That isn’t a bath. Get your ass up and follow me.” He took her hand and pulled her up, dragging her towards her bathroom. “Go in there. There’s a robe from Romeo you can change into. Once you’re changed tap on the counter three times and I’ll come in.”

Her face turned red, “Excuse me?! You’re not planning to take a bath with me right?!”

Making a face he scoffed, “No. I’m not done setting it up but it’s better if you’re in there and ready to get in the tub. You really are lucky you know? You got that nice big garden tub and it doesn’t look like you’ve ever used it.”

“Can’t take that many baths when I’m as busy as I usually am.” She frowned and slipped into the bathroom. As the door shut she hanged the nice clean clothes she’d been wearing and stopped short, eyes on the full length gorgeous red bath robe. Running her fingers over it she felt the material and could tell it was way more expensive than it had any right to be. She made fast work of her undergarments and tucked them into the hamper, shoving it into the closet to deter any possible thefts. Not a chance was one of these guys leaving with any panties. After pulling the robe on she sighed happily at how wonderful it felt and tied it tight. Luna almost spoke out loud but remembered his words and tapped her knuckles on the counter three times.

Leo wasted no time coming in and shutting the door behind him. “Took you long enough.” He took in the image of her in the robe and clicked his tongue, “I told him not to give you red. It’s too bright of a color for you.” Rolling his eyes he went over to the already drawn bath. The water was nearly opaque with a soft lilac tint to the milky surface. He pointed to some bottles he lined up on the side of the tub, “Shampoo, let it sit in your hair after you wash it for at least five minutes or it’s a waste. Conditioner, rinse it out with cool water and leave just a little in your hair. This face wash has the instructions on it. That’s a scrub for your feet. And this body wash is meant for your level of oil. Yeah, I asked that weirdo at Mortkranken to tell me what your skin type was. You can keep these by the way. Anything you don’t want you can just toss.” He shrugged and added a handful of some bottled salt.

“Wow… that’s a lot… what’s in the water?” She peered at the steamy inviting bath.

“Lavender milk bath with exfoliants, this is some rose scented epsom salt to help your muscles relax, and then,” He took one last glass container and scattered a small handful of petals over the water, “Those are hibiscus petals. They help re energize you.”

“You really know your stuff huh?”

“Of course I do. How else do you think I look this flawless?” He smirked and stepped back, “Anyway don’t take longer than an hour in here. You don’t want to prune yourself. And who knows what everyone out there is getting up to with you not there to stop them?” Laughing he slipped out of the room.

“Hey! Wait a minute!”

“Oh my god what?” Leo dragged the words out with a groan.

“Put your headphones on. I don’t want you listening to me while I’m taking a bath.”

“Ugh, why would I do that?!”

“I’m serious!”

A different voice answered, “Don’t worry Senpai. I’ll make sure he’s behaving.”

“Thank you Sho!”

She sighed and put the robe to the side, slipping into the water with a moan. “Fuck… that’s nice.” Settling into the water she leaned her head back on the pillow he’d attached there. Relaxing in the bliss of her bath she closed her eyes for a while. Then a knock came, but not from the door, the wall beside her. Luna turned her head and fixed it with a worried look.

“Doll? Are you decent in there? I was wondering if now would be a good time for our chat?” His voice was muffled and sounded insanely nervous.

She smiled and leaned back again, “Yeah. You can come in. I’m assuming there’s a biwa in here because you and Haku planned this part?” She had noticed the ‘anomalous’ biwa in the corner but had assumed it was just for a later part of this pampering fest they were planning and they had wanted to hide it.

Zenji passed through the wall by the counter and averted his eyes, “Yes. I knew there would be a good time for it at some point. But Haku being the smart fellow he is found a way to ensure it.” Going to the biwa sat in the corner he knelt down and began to play it. “You can tell me at any time my dear.”

“Hmm, okay. Don’t mind me if my eyes are closed. This bath is just really nice…” She sighed softly, “Zenij. You haven’t done much to upset me if I’m honest. Though I will say that message you left me one night was terrifying. And I enjoy your company so much. Too much sometimes.” Her eyes opened as she gave him a sad look, “I wish you hadn’t died so, so much. I want to hug you and hold hands with you and brush your hair. You’re such a nice person.”

Leaning forward she rested her arms on the edge of the tub and watched him, “But you know a lot of things that I really want to know. About the clash, about whatever the hell was happening last year, about Jiro, about a lot of people because I’m sure you’ve been able to see a lot of things in this form that you wouldn’t have otherwise. But most of all, I just want you to trust me and open up to me. You get this look sometimes, like you’re debating whether or not to say something. And I just really want you to say it. Whatever’s bothering you or giving you a hard time, tell me. I want to be there for you too. Not just the ghouls who are alive.”

The biwa stopped for a moment as he tried to wipe his eyes. “I’m sorry dear… give me a second.” His glasses were skewed as he attempted to dry his tears.

Waiting for him to get himself together she watched the man with a sad smile.

“Thank you doll, you’re so kind. I really can’t thank you enough for being there for Jiro. And for Subaru and Haku as well. They all seem so much better with you around. And I would love nothing more than to be among the living again for those reasons and much more. But my time was cut short and there’s not anything to be done to change that.” His fingers moved slowly over the strings now, the tune a bit more sorrowful. “I truly wish I could tell you what I know about our previous year… but there’s nothing good to tell. It was… it was nothing short of awful. I don’t know if I could even get through a retelling of it. It holds so many of the deep scars we ghouls carry today. Some deeper than others. I’m sure one day we’ll be able to tell you. But now is not the time. Not when we’re here to help you relax and to take care you.”

Finishing the tune he stood and floated to her side, “I thank you for being so wonderful for us. Even those who seem undeserving and difficult have needed every bit of your light.” He reached out and tried to place a hand on her cheek, it passed through the skin and sent a shiver through her. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” She shifted her head so it looked like he was cupping her cheek. “See? It can still work.” Smiling at his soft laugh she held a hand up as if to hold his in place and a new chill went down her spine as it felt, well, corporeal. Her eyes darted to his equally wide ones. “Zenji?”

“What…” He ran his thumb back and forth across the apple of her cheek, “I can… I can feel that.”

“Oh my god… your hand is huge.” She giggled, “But so gentle…”

He shuddered, “Your hand is so soft and warm… I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel that again… darling you truly are the most incredible woman.” Slowly, so, so slowly he took his hand back and tried to hold hers. When he made contact he let out a shaky breath. “Amazing.”

Luna smiled and squeezed his hand, “There’s so many callouses. This is… this is honestly one of the best gifts I’ve gotten today.”

Zenji’s face flushed and he cleared his throat, “I should really let you get back to your relaxing bath. After all it’s still quite unsightly for a man to be in here while you’re… in this state of undress.”

“I wouldn’t mind if it was someone as well mannered as you Zenji.”

“Luna…” He bit his lip, “I really insist. But you shouldn’t worry. I’ll still be waiting for you outside.” Turning he phased through the door.

She sighed and leaned back again, “Dammit. These ghouls are going to be the death of me.” Holding a hand over her heart she sat back up to start the act of actually cleaning herself.

After the bath she pulled the beautiful robe back on and headed for the door. As she did a knock sounded, “Uh yes?”

“Are you decent?” It was a sharp voice, one used to barking orders.

“I have the robe on.”

No sooner had she said that had the door opened and Romeo stepped through with a small designer bag. He took in her appearance and placed the bag down, “Hmm… maybe I’ll order one in rose gold instead. It would suit you better.”

“Huh?” She stared at him as he took out several skin care products and tools for applying them. “Wait are you-”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He huffed and nearly shouted as the door opened again, “Who the he- are you serious?”

“Yeah, just scoot over Ro-ro.” Leo walked in and went to open the window and turned on the vent, “It’s a sauna in here. That’s no good for most of those creams you have.” Handing her a towel from Romeo’s bag he hummed, “Dry your face gently with this. Just pat it dry basically. God did you dry your hair off at all? You’re hopeless.” He sighed and found her a towel, then pointed at the closed toilet, “Sit here.”

Luna was swept into the whirlwind of Leo and Romeo, The first year drying her hair so tenderly as the third year continued setting up the routine they had clearly decided on for her. Each one so comfortable as they went about their own designated task. Leo focused on her hair, brushing it and using a hair mask Romeo handed to him. Romeo applying some cream to her face and rubbing it in with his own bare fingers. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen his bare hands before. He was insanely soft with his touch too.

Going through serums and creams and whatever else she couldn’t really keep up with it was like a full spa trip. And the best part was how beautiful both of the men doing this were. Leo was so much prettier when he was quiet and focused. His eyes gleaming as he made sure every inch of hair was clean from the hair mask so he could apply the last spray treatment. He had tiny dimples to the sides of his mouth, and his lips looked so soft and sleek, the way his long lashes brushed the top of his round cheeks made her heart flutter in time with his blinking.

And Romeo, god Romeo was such a good name for him. He was working with her face so closely she was able to see him in a new light. His striking foreign features, the curve of his nose, the well groomed eyebrows, the gorgeous gem colored eyes, the prominent angle of his jaw. Focused, unbothered, in one of his many elements, and looking so picture perfect she could just grab him and kis-

No. Luna behave. Not right now. Not another one… she was spiraling as she realized just how many of the ghouls she could see herself being involved with romantically. So very many… thinking about it… oh god it was all of them. Fuck… this couldn’t be happening right now. It wasn’t the time for a new dilemma. She barely had a grasp on any of the old dilemmas.

“Hey, earth to honor roll. You still alive in there or did your brain get steamed?” Leo snapped his fingers in front of her face, “We’re done- agh!”

She reached out and grabbed his shirt in a death grip, “Quiet. I’m thinking about something important and I can’t listen to your mouth right now.”

He was flustered as he pried her fingers off. “Don’t wrinkle my shirt over it!”

Romeo stood back appraising her with his gaze, “...Hmm. Good. I think getting that information from the PMS actually did help. Her skin wouldn’t take well to my usual routine after all. Or yours for that matter. I guess dermatology isn’t as useless as people say it is.”

“Anyway, you get her dressed. I’m going back out.” Leo smoothed his shirt and left.

“Did he say get me dressed?” Her eyes widened as she looked up at Romeo.

Seeing the look on her face he flushed slightly, “Don’t get any weird ideas you SP!”

“Oh no it’s a new one… Romeo please tell me what that one means…” She couldn’t stop herself from whining it.

“...Spoiled Princess.”

Luna blushed, “S-spoiled? And who’s fault is that?!”

“Shut up!” He opened the door a crack, “Bag!”

There were loud footfalls, stomping she realized as a pale hand came into view. “Don’t fucking talk to me like I’m one of your lackeys.”

Jin, she noted by his voice, handed the bag off and Romeo quickly opened it. Taking out a few pieces of clothing. Fairly small pieces… “Um… what is that?”

“Huh? Have you never seen what people wear for massages?”

“Oh that was… that was actually a thing and not just another dirty joke.”

He scoffed and tossed them at her. “Put those on and then the robe over it. We don’t want to have too many gawking virgins staring at you.”

She blushed again and caught the fabric. “Are you included in that?”

His head turned so fast she thought he snapped something in his neck, “Excuse you?! HDY think I’m one of those mouth breathing lowlifes!” Leaving the bathroom he shut the door far too loudly.

Luna counted that as a win for her, dressing quickly and then putting the robe on again she finally left the bathroom. What was waiting for her was a very different vibe than what she’d left.

There were a lot fewer bodies in the room now. Rui and Haku finishing the prep work for their impromptu massage parlor, Taiga and Ed, both lounging on either a couch or a chair, Subaru who was setting the now cleared table up with tea and sweets. And then Jiro who came back in through the front door with a small box in his hands and looked a bit surprised that she was already out of the bath. All the lights were either off or dimmed. Candles had been lit and placed around strategically. Her bed now had a mat laying over it with a soft cloth over that. Haku sat on the side of it, placing a few different bottles on her nightstand. He looked up and smiled, “Welcome back Princess. Hope you enjoyed your bath.”

“Yeah… uh where did everyone else go?” She walked towards the bed, noticing the incense burning that filled the room with a lovely fragrance she recalled picking on one of the lists. Seeing Jiro place the box over by the couch he found a seat and kept his eyes on her, which felt odd, it was like he was watching an experiment.

“Ah don’t worry,” It was Rui who spoke, “Most of them wanted to head to the chapel to put some distance between themselves. Some are washing dishes and cleaning up in the kitchen, and others needed to take a little walk to go to the restroom. And of course there’s a couple of ghouls on another smoke break.” He was currently checking a speaker he set up, getting the volume right as a soothing track played in the background.

She nodded, “It’s getting a little late so I guess I was just wondering if people needed to get to sleep.” Standing awkwardly beside her own bed she watched Haku roll his sleeves up and swallowed.

Subaru smiled, “Ah, well it’s still only about eight. Most of us can handle staying up past that.”

“You ready for your massage?” Haku smirked as he eyed her appreciatively.

“Oh uh… yeah.” Noting the pairs of eyes on her she slowly let the robe drop, leaving her in the tiny wrap around top and shorts so short they were practically underwear. And then Rui caught the robe with a wink as he hanged it over a coat rack. She knelt onto the mat and waited, “You want me on my front or?”

Haku’s voice dropped an octave, eyes going half lidded. “I want you plenty of ways Princess. But let’s start with that.”

She shivered and laid flat on her stomach, surprised as Haku moved her arms and legs to however he pleased. He shifted a pillow up for her head and situated her properly.

“Alright, relax, I’ll let you know before I touch you okay?”

“Mhm.” She closed her eyes but definitely didn’t miss the movement around the room or the opening and closing of doors as time passed.

Haku spent some time warming the oil between his hands before swinging a leg over and straddling her, making her feel much smaller than before. “I’m starting with your shoulders.” As soon as his hands made contact she trembled and shifted a bit under the firm pressure being rubbed into her muscles. “Hey… relax.” His voice was so close to her ear and it had a slight husky under tone.

Luna couldn’t hold back a moan as he worked out a knot in her shoulder blade. The sound of shuffling and a few intakes of breath were heard over the music. Of course they were watching. Some of these perverts were probably getting off on it. A devious thought entered her mind but she held off. No, let Haku give her this massage. She’ll have more time to rile them up later. Wait, later? God her thoughts were going straight to the gutter. What was wrong with her tonight?

He kept working down her back, and as he wrung out the muscles and the tense feelings she forgot all about holding back for her clearly captivated audience. Her sighs and grunts and moans filling the room as Haku’s hands molded her like putty. She heard someone hiss at another ghoul. It sounded like Romeo berating Taiga but she couldn’t be sure with how muddled her brain was. Was Haku working that out of her too?

A groan from her side sent her eyes flying open at the closeness. It was Subaru, eyeing her longingly as Haku massaged her upper arms. “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t trying to alarm you…” The captain’s voice was lower than usual, a bit strained as he held something out for his vice captain. “I was just bringing Haku something.”

She tried to speak but feeling the throb of stiff muscles loosening she whined and shut her eyes again.

A stifled growl was her only answer, did that noise really come from Subaru?

There were voices in the background chatting, but god she didn’t care as the ghoul above her made it to her waist and then her thighs. He was so good at this… why was he so good at this? Did all shinto priests learn this? Fuck, his hands were so firm and slightly rough from callouses. The long fingers helping him dig deeper into the tissues and sinew that was still tight from all her errand running.

“Oh this was a bad idea after all.” Haku took in a shaky breath.

“Hm?” Luna whined softly.

“The sounds you’re making Princess…” He leaned in and spoke against the shell of her ear, his breath sending goosebumps down her arms. “You’re getting all of them so hot and bothered. Already seen one of those second years run to the bathroom. Poor guy looked like a tomato.”

“Keep talking…” She breathed out the words, “What’s happening…?”

He smirked and moved his hands back up to her arms so he could keep up the charade of massaging her. “Mm, Taiga is eye fucking you right now.” He reveled in the gasp she let out, “Romeo is trying to keep him in check but he’s ready to pounce on you the second I move away. Jin isn’t doing much better than Taiga. If it weren’t for Tohma he’d have already knocked me off and taken you for himself. You’d think Haru would be the behaved one but he’s fidgeting so much right now.”

She sighed, “Unngh. Fuck…” His voice was a wicked melody in her head, driving her further into the deep need that was threatening to make itself well known.

“Subaru’s gonna break. He wants you so bad. He needs permission before he can touch and it’s driving him insane. Rui wishes he could do anything right now. Even if it’s taking his cock out just to relieve some pressure. If you called anybody’s name right now they might just cream their pants. That’s how much power you have over us Princess.”

“What about you… Haku.” His name came out in a shudder of air.

He inhaled sharply, “Fuck… I’m not done with your massage yet you greedy girl. But if we didn’t have an audience like this I would have already pinned you and had you screaming my name for the rest of the night.”

“Nnn, follow through on your stupid empty promises.” The sentence was strained but she heard a chair scrape the floor.

He paused, his head spinning at what she’d said, hands on either side of her, gripping the sheet like a life line. “You don’t mean that… you can’t mean that.” Sitting back he looked around the room again. “Ah… seems like a certain someone heard you.”

Leo hissed as he stood, “Oh absolutely fucking not! I’m not sitting here in the 19th cuck chair for this. You guys can do whatever you want but I don’t want any p- wah!”

Luna sat up to see what had happened, and her eyes widened, Sho had gripped Leo’s hair and pulled him back down. His other hand grabbing the front of Leo’s pants as he tugged him into his lap to face him. Sho grunted, “Shut up. I’m not letting you fuck this up for us.” His voice was low and it definitely scratched something nice in her brain to hear it like that.

The smaller man whined and tried to shift away, “Get your paws off my dick you dirty bastard.” He glared at Sho, gold meeting deep blue.

“Oh like you don’t beg for it most nights.” Sho pulled him forward and delivered a harsh bite to Leo’s ear, causing him to go limp in his arms with a deliciously strained whimper.

She bit her lip, surveying the absolutely wrecked ghouls staring at her, some had turned their attention to Sho and Leo but she couldn’t blame them. It was insanely hot watching Sho handle the demon like he was nothing but hot air.

Alan cleared his throat and leaned in to say something to the two. And as soon as he did Leo tilted his head and grabbed Alan, tugging his face close enough to land a rough kiss. There was instant panic in those gray eyes, that freeze response causing him not to pull away very fast. If you watched closely you could see the flick of Leo’s tongue on Alan’s now shiny bottom lip.

Their captain turned to march into the other room, far away from his two troublesome first years as Leo licked his lips and started mouthing at Sho’s neck. But Sho reached back and grabbed Alan’s wrist, his grip like steel to keep him from leaving. It felt like that deep tone from before resonated in her blood as he exhaled shakily, “Fucking look at her...”

Alan did as he was told, flushed and trying his best to avoid looking as desperate as the rest of them. Sho didn’t hide it, his eyes were focused on her despite his other hand squeezing Leo’s ass like a stress ball. The other first year looked over his shoulder at her, eyes molten gold as he licked his lips again, hips rutting forward subconsciously. It drew a hiss from Sho and he squeezed harder, causing a feedback loop of the two dry humping on one of her chairs.

Haru was indeed still fidgeting but he had a death grip on Towa’s arm, the vice captain staring into her soul like if he looked away he’d die. Ren was held by Haru’s other hand, he was red to his ears and looking anywhere but her. Except it was obvious that he was stealing glances every so often. It was easy to see the outlines in their pants with how they were sat. All of Jabberwock was quiet as a mouse and still as stone.

Jin was going to bite a hole in his bottom lip, but unlike Tohma he had no decency to hide the raging hard on in his pants. Tohma’s eyes couldn’t be taken away from her form, his legs arranged to discreetly hide the effect she had on him. Luca was standing by the bathroom, face flushed and arms crossed as he tried to not look as affected as his friend. Speaking of, Kaito had only recently re emerged from the bathroom if his sweaty face was anything to go by. But he was a deer in headlights watching her, pulling his hoodie down over his crotch to cover his pants.

Ed was absolutely lounging on his chosen chair, but his eyes were promising so many things he could do to her. True to Haku’s words Rui was posted up by the wall, looking like he wanted to throw himself into a fire to quell his own desires. Lyca, oh poor Lyca was so red, his fingers white knuckle gripped on his own pants, a prominent tent there.

If Taiga had been eye fucking her then Subaru was eye worshiping her, eye vivisecting her, eye immolating her. It felt as if he could see to her bone marrow the way he was devouring her with his gaze. It felt both reverent and diabolic all at once. Haku was still behind her, sounding as bad off as the others looked, his hands straining to stay off her warm skin. Zenji was in a corner, doing his best to look respectful but there was heat in his eyes. Something that made her clench just from making eye contact with him.

And Taiga, fuck that was definitely way past eye fucking. He looked ready to leap over the couch to get at her. Oh this was dangerous. Even Romeo was giving her a half lidded stare, like he was reviewing some fine art in a gallery that he wanted to take home. Ritsu was looking so uncomfortable, similar to Lyca in the way his fists were clenched, but those damn beautiful eyes couldn’t be torn away from her body if they tried. She vaguely hoped his recorder wasn’t on the whole time, but the fuzzy feeling in her head prayed that it was and that it would stay that way.

Jiro appeared mostly unaffected, but the way he crossed his legs was giving it away, paired with the slight flush to his cheeks, parted lips and clouded eyes. That was an ego boost, getting someone like him this worked up without touching him even once? And Yuri was so red. God how could anyone reach that shade of red? His eyes were wide and he looked so out of place, almost more uncomfortable than Ritsu at this point. But he also seemed to be studying her.

Luna shivered, realizing all at once how under dressed she was, how oiled up her body was, and how her nipples were definitely hard enough to show through the tiny wrap around top. She inhaled sharply, “Uh… so… if I were to… maybe say I’m interested in hearing whatever you guys are thinking about… what would you say?” The groans from around the room were enough answer for her, “Alright. There’s going to be some ground rules. So listen closely.”

[unorcadox]

how do you learn to be kind to yourself? / how do you learn to forgive yourself for existing? / how do you just make peace with the conditions that formed you? / how do you coexist with yourself so easily?

[marinette-buginette]

"And here I thought you'd jump at the opportunity to check every single detail of your car and chide me for any mistakes." "Now, now, Sokka. Mistakes? Surely, you aren't implying you made any, that would be so disappointing. And you don't want to disappoint me, now do you?"

Read Off to the Races on AO3

Art by kloartz (check out her work), commissioned by me

[gojosbf]