ecriter

[ecriter]

Dangerous Pursuit // Chapter Eight

Captain John Price x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): swearing, kissing, suggestive themes, teasing

Word Count: 5k

Price takes you to the first safehouse.

Chapter Seven // Chapter Nine

ao3 // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

Dead people pale rather quickly.

Price is sensitive about it, shielding you from the two motionless men as he helps you toward the door.

“Don’t look,” he murmurs.

But you do.

Sick curiosity is like a sponge absorbing a spill. Even with Price’s arm around your waist and his verbal instruction prompting you not to, you still glance down, still gaze into milky, soulless eyes. It’s such a human thing to go against the grain, to do the opposite of a given warning when you know that it’s best to do as you’re told.

Blank expressions and sagging skin. Bloodless.

Why is it such a shock? Why do you gasp, stepping to the side as if the dead man will reach out to snag your ankle?

“I said to not look,” chastises Price, but there is no irritation in it. There is sadness, and a defeated sort of tone that draws up memory.

A memory of rattling pops. Drops of red on concrete. A splintered, downed door. Unmoving limbs all piled together. Reaching. Reaching and clawing toward the exit.

“You’re fine,” continues Price, squeezing your hand. “You’re safe.”

Are you? Are you safe?

Shakings hands indicate otherwise. A tremble in your lip and the stinging burn of tears are a story all its own.

It is betrayal. A sharpened axe of the executioner.

The bucket is full, contains a head, and it is this man’s face staring back at you.

It could have been you.

It likely would have if Price hadn’t been lurking nearby. That is an issue all its own. One you want an answer for but won’t ask. Not now. It isn’t the time.

You cling to your savior because it’s the only security you have. Who can you turn to? Not Alex. These are his men on the floor. It is his text you saw. Alex’s friends can’t be trusted, and even the few friends you did manage to make might just be Alex’s pawns. It’s possible that you have no one.

Only Price.

But even that is rocky.

Three years and no contact. Did he come on his own? Did someone send him? Does any of that even matter?

Price herds you around the unmoving figure, opening the apartment door, and poking his into the hall. “Clear.” He glances back. Grimaces. “Sorry.”

“For what?” you whisper.

Price shakes his head, gaze momentarily dropping to the floor before returning to your face. “Nothing.”

The hand grasping yours tightens, fingers intertwining as he tugs you out into the empty hall. Price’s warmth is refreshing yet so familiar. You remember him—at least your body does—because it instinctually sinks closer to him, keeping pace without effort.

And Price doesn’t let go of your hand, and you do not dare break the connection. Walking hand-in-hand down the hallway like a couple on their way to the grocery store, you briefly forget where you are and what has happened. That is what you tell yourself, what you picture in your mind. If you don’t, you might burst into tears.

This is Thirst all over again.

This is Dimitri. Nikola. The safehouse.

All of it.

Didn’t Laswell say that this move, that this “fresh start,” is a chance to forget and begin again with no shadow hanging over your shoulder? Where is she? Why is she not keeping tabs? Or maybe she did and Price is the one sent to deal with you like he did three years ago.

Price comes to a stop at the elevators and glances around. Frowning, he twists to look over his shoulder.

“What are you looking for?” you ask softly.

“Stairs.”

“They’re at the opposite end.”

“Fuck,” mutters Price. Still, he doesn’t release your hand.

Pressing the down arrow, Price slides a little closer to you, shoulders nearly touching. When the doors open, revealing a few people inside, his fingers stiffen. The pause lasts only a second before he steps on, tugging you along with him.

Using his height and large, muscular upper body to his advantage, Price guides you to the very back of the elevator. Instead of leaving the two of you to loiter at the back, Price pins you into one of the corners, creating a cocoon with his body. Moving in close like a lover, Price places one large hand above and to the right of your head. He leans in, lips dangerously close to yours.

“Play along,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, before closing the distance.

Price’s lips play a dangerous game. There is no stagnant gentleness but full pursuit. There is no reason for Price to be kissing you like this, for his tongue to slip inside, or for him to lightly suck and nip at your bottom lip.

Everything in you responds, coiling tight, hands reaching to grasp the front of his jacket, to pull him closer until his need rubs against your lower belly. That one touch is enough to break the kiss, for you to pull back and inhale.

Price’s hand not on the elevator wall comes to rest at the left-side of your throat. His fingers turn inward to grasp, to pull you back to his mouth. You open for him in the quiet. You open for him as the elevator stops and dings. You open for him as the doors surrender to passenger demands and more people pile in.

“Giggle.” Price is nearly voiceless. In sudden embarrassment, you do giggle. Once it’s out of your mouth, Price is on you again. Tasting. Tasting so much more than he’s ever taken.

You shift to the left, glancing over his shoulder, questioning whether anyone is looking. Everyone else in the elevator is purposefully keeping their gaze averted.

“Eyes on me.”

Your gaze snaps back to Price, and you’re met with a heated stare. The space between your legs immediately warms and you squeeze your thighs together instantly, silently denying the connection.

The elevator dings, and the people standing just beyond Price’s back begin to exit. He waits until they’re all off before grabbing your hand and guiding you away from the wall of the elevator. Rushing toward the entrance to the parking garage, Price keeps you hidden from view, his massive shoulders and upper torso a shield from outside eyes.

Near a dark corner of the second level of the parking garage, Price approaches a black SUV with tinted windows. The sight of it there instantly draws forth the need to escape. It is a biting dog that won’t quit. Digging your feet into the concrete does nothing. Price drags you along without even glancing back.

Approaching the front passenger door, Price opens it, pulling you in front of him. With one hand on your waist, Price helps you slide into the seat. His fingers linger too long, and when he finally removes them, their phantoms remain. Hopping in the driver’s seat, Price starts the vehicle, backing out of the parking spot quickly, and heading for the exit.

Briefly, just before the two of you turn onto the street, the voice inside your head tells you to open the car door and toss yourself onto the pavement. It insists that you should run and run and run until everything is behind you again.

With the thought comes an itch in the tips of your fingers, a sudden internal jolt to do as it says.

But where would you go? What would you do?

Someone will come after you. Someone will find you.

Might be Alex. Might be Price. Or someone far worse.

“You did that on purpose.”

Price turns a corner. “Did what on purpose?”

You turn your head in his direction, frowning. “In the elevator.”

Price’s mouth is still a brand on your lips. They’re slightly tender, perhaps even a bit swollen, and there is no doubt that Price meant every kiss. People pretending don’t come together like that. They don’t engage with such passionate need.

Price stares out the windshield, but you catch the smug smile. “Was I better than your boyfriend?”

Yes, is what you want to say. Because it’s true. Alex never kissed you the way Price did.

“That’s not the point,” you snap.

“Lying to me about liking it?” Price tilts his head enough for his gaze to momentarily sweep in your direction.

“Eyes on the road,” you mutter, deliberately staring out the windshield.

Price makes several more turns before turning onto a highway. “I’m taking you to a transfer location before we move on to a safehouse.”

“The same one?” you ask, unsure of how that would work exactly. That safehouse is on the other side of the country.

“No,” answers Price. “Different.”

You lick your lips. Swallow. Saliva sticks in your throat. “What if I don’t want to go?”

Price laughs in disbelief. “You’d rather face Obolensky?”

“Alex,” you correct, automatically,

“Still sweet on him after all that, love?”

“John. Stop.” This time you turn to him, redness coiling between your ribs.

There is no denying the connection you and Price have. Three years later and it’s still fucking there. It’s still sitting in the crevices like seeds in the concrete seeking the sun.

“No ‘Captain’ this time? When you’re mad with me, you usually call me by my title.” Price says it with a bit of rough sweetness. He’s teasing but he’s also pushing like a disgruntled boyfriend.

“You’re changing the subject.”

Price shrugs and signals, taking an exit ramp into one of the nearby neighborhoods. When he doesn’t answer right away, you give up, leaning back in the chair to watch the houses go by. Some of them are clearly well loved and looked after while others have boarded up windows and overgrown lawns.

“Laswell wanted to send someone else,” says Price, cutting through the silence. “I told her that would scare you. Volunteered to do it myself.”

“Is that the only reason?” you ask, hoping that he’ll answer truthfully.

“No,” is all he says, leaving it at that.

Price pulls up to a house at the end of a street. The white paint on the side of the house is starting to peel and there are bars over the windows on the first level. He turns onto the long driveway that ropes to the back and ends at a carport. Price comes to a stop beneath it. The enclosed side faces the other houses and the open side faces the house itself.

The car is off and Price is at your door before you even have a chance to place your hand on the interior handle. There isn’t any conversation. Price offers you his hand and you take it, sliding your fingers over his palm. As he helps you out of the SUV, his other hand lightly hovers on your waist.

He’s the one who shuts the SUV door. He’s the one who walk with you up the small steps. He’s the one who punches in a keycode (not a key) and brings you inside into a kitchen. It’s plain. Simple. Minimalist. But clean.

Price heads down the short hallway into what you guess is the living room. You follow, find only a sofa sitting in the empty space. Standing in front of a thermostat, Price makes a few adjustments before turning to you.

“Hungry?”

You shake your head. “No. Thank you.”

“Coffee? Tea?”

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

Price nods and heads into the kitchen. Retrieving an electric kettle from one of the cabinets, Price fills it up with water before plugging it in and hitting the tab. Heading for a different cabinet, Price removes two mugs. You said you didn’t want anything and yet he’s making you some anyway.

“Shower is upstairs,” he says, digging around in the pantry for bagged tea. “Up the stairs. Second to the right. First is the bedroom.”

You nod, tugging on the sleeves of your shirt. Price glances in your direction and frowns. “Something wrong?”

Everything, John.

“No,” you shake your head, stepping out into the hall.

On soft feet, you enter the living room and head for the stairs. Pausing at the base, you glance over your shoulder at the front door. The voice telling you to run comes again, but you squash it, knowing this isn’t the time.

“There are extra clothes in the bedroom,” calls out Price from the kitchen.

You don’t answer him. Instead, you head upstairs, stopping at the first door.

“What the fuck,” you mutter, staring down at the lone mattress on the floor and the worn dresser pushed up against the wall.

It is a “transfer location” so it’s understandable that the amenities of a safehouse might not be extended to a place like this. Sighing, you yank open the dresser. Digging around, you find some black sweatpants that will fit and an oversized Harvard sweatshirt.

Taking them into the bathroom with you, you explore all the cabinets. There is shampoo and conditioner along with razors and body wash. The towels have seen better days but they’re clean and smell fresh.

You don’t need to shower. Price dragged you into the one in your apartment, but you didn’t really bathe. You just stood under the hot water until you couldn’t stand it anymore and your legs didn’t shake. But taking another one is just an excuse to put some distance between the two of you.

It isn’t until you start peeling off your clothes that you notice the blood. Not everything came off. There is blood in places you didn’t notice before. The mirror isn’t much help. It’s old and your reflection is slightly blurry. You check everything. There is dried blood under your nails and on the back of your neck. It’s in your hair too.

Turning on the water, you stand under its spray until it grows cold and runs clear. You take your time removing yourself from the steamy room. You take even longer drying your body and hair, putting on the clothes you picked out.

It isn’t until you open the bathroom door that connects directly with the bedroom that the world suddenly comes to a halt.

Price is standing next to the mattress. It’s no longer bare but covered in multiple blankets and a small pile of pillows. Next to the bed is a small folding table no taller than your knee. On it is a steaming mug of tea. There is another mug of tea but it is in Price’s fist as he brings it up to his mouth to take a sip.

All of this is true, but that isn’t what’s stopped you.

Price is…hardly wearing anything. It’s just a pair of grey sweatpants. No socks. No shirt. No hat. Just an expanse of bare skin and brown tufts of hair across his broad chest that trickle downward to disappear below the band of his pants. Your eyes follow it down, and when you glance back up, Price is staring at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s what we have to sleep on?” you blurt to try and cover up the heat rising in your cheeks.

“There a problem?” asks Price with such casualness it’s maddening.

“Yes,” you reply instantly.

Price shrugs. “It’ll be a tight fit but we’ll both fit.”

We. Both.

“What?” you stammer.

“Don’t want to sleep with me, love?” Price takes a drink. “It’s just tonight.” The cocky swagger in the way Price says it causes your stomach to flip.

“It’s fine,” you reply sharply, making sure to go to the opposite side of the bed.

Once there, you ease down on it. Price doesn’t hesitate. He moves as you do, grabbing the other mug of tea and presenting it to you.

“Just in case,” he says softly.

You gently take it, making sure not to accidentally burn yourself or Price. Bringing the mug to your mouth, you inhale the rich scents descending upward with the steam.

“Thank you.” You take a sip and your body instantly warms everywhere, the heat of the tea quickly moving through your body.

Price sinks down onto the mattress. Leaning back, all the muscles in his stomach and chest flex and lengthen. You try not to look, to keep your gaze averted, but you completely fail. Price is doing this on purpose, and that is entirely clear when he absently rubs his hand over his stomach muscles. Physically, Price is the epitome of a Greek god who’s never said no to a donut. Muscles mixed with a bit of softness.

It's mouth-watering, and it takes everything in you not to scoot a bit closer.

“Do you always sleep with your captives?”

Price laughs. “You’re not my captive.”

“But I can’t leave,” you counter.

“You want to leave me?” Price’s voice drops. It’s low. Husky. Not a threat but a questioning of intention.

“I enjoy my solitude.”

Price nods. “I know you do.” Stretching, Price sets his mug on the little table and pushes up from the mattress. He switches off the light, returning to the makeshift bed moments later.

“Give it here.” Price goes onto his knees and leans over your body, taking the mug you placed next to the bed from off the floor.

He sets it aside and then holds back the covers. “Get in.”

You do so instantly, not caring that you’re submitting to his command. Maybe it’s how the bit of moonlight cuts through the blinds that do it. The way it shines across Price’s body, highlighting the best bits. He’s careful, keeping some space between, easing in beside you but not grabbing or pulling you close.

Knowing that you’re too weak to fight off your desire for him, you turn over onto your side, silently telling yourself off for even taking this line of thought. The heat under the covers is stifling. It’s warm under all these blankets and Price’s natural body temperature is only making it worse. You keep fidgeting, keep shifting, hating that you can’t really leave but wanting to do so anyway.

Price is silent beside you and you have no idea if he’s asleep or awake. If he’s watching you or if he’s annoyed by your constant twitching. And the heat is only growing worse. Maybe you can convince him to turn the thermostat down or even crack a fucking window.

But if you turn toward him, are you admitting that you want him? If you move toward him in the dark, will he take that as invitation?

Fuck it. You need to get this over with. Sweat is already collecting under your breasts.

Flipping over, you turn your resolve to steel. Pushing up onto your elbow, you reach out with one hand, resting it on his shoulder. Price is turned away from you, and when your hand makes contact, Price turns into the touch, rolling onto his back. The hand on your shoulder slides with him, gliding over his chest to rest near the other shoulder.

“John,” you breathe, suddenly losing your words.

Moonlight from the window slices down his face, highlighting his eyes and full lips. They’re slightly parted and his eyes are half lidded. The look on his face isn’t one you’d give to a good friend. He reaches across his body and wraps his hand around your wrist, resting his forearm against yours. His thumb hovers over your pulse point. You know its pounding because every thought in your head is consumed by the mere idea of Price rolling over to trap you under him.

“It’s—you’re—”

No. No no no no. You’re losing your nerve.

You lick your lips. “You’re…hot.”

Confusion, then surprise drifts across his features before shifting into something sultry. His thumb runs over your pulse point and his mouth curves into a smile.

“Not upset with sleeping with me?”

Price���s hand slides down your arm in a caress. It’s wonderful. Every nerve ending is firing. Singing. It’s the truest intimacy you’ve had in years. Alex is—was—thoughtful and caring in the way he handled you, but it also felt a little hollow, like he never fully wanted it.

And Price is right there. Warm and close and moving closer.

“Like a fire,” you blurt. “Or an oven. I’m overheated.”

Price pauses, immediately pulls back. “Apologies,” he coughs. “I—misunderstood.”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “Could you open the window? Just a bit?”

Price rolls out of bed and you instantly feel the cold. You want to call him back, to recall the words you spoke and shove them down your throat. With a little bit of pressure, Price opens the window slightly. The breeze is lovely. Soothing.

Price slides back under the covers but he keeps his back to you. You do the same, pretending that everything is fine. That everything is okay even as your heart thunders in your chest. You stay like that until you hear Price’s soft snoring. Counting the seconds and minutes is agonizing, but you do it for your safety.

This is your chance to leave.

With extreme slowness, you place one hand flat on the mattress, pushing yourself up to a seated position. Price doesn’t stir. You attune to the silence, waiting until you hear Price’s gentle snore. Shifting your weight away from him is the hardest part. Any sudden movement might startle him awake. You can’t have that.

You are on your knees on the floor and then your feet. Moving. You are moving silently toward the door. So close.

Everything is fine. Everything is good.

Until it’s not.

“What are you doing?” Price’s sleep-laced voice travels across the room.

“I—”

He sighs heavily. “Get away from the door.”

“I’m thirsty,” you say over your shoulder.

“Then I’ll grab you a water.”

In moments, Price is right there, standing behind you, his chest pressed to your back. One hand is on your waist and the other is on your hand that clings to the doorknob.

“Let go,” whispers Price.

“You can’t keep me here,” you murmur, wanting to leave but wanting to stay.

“I am keeping you here. Obolensky can’t have you. Not when you’re under my protection.”

You turn to the left, shoulder bumping into Price’s bare chest as you address him. “Is it only him I need protection from?”

“You think I’d hurt you?”

No. Never. Price has never hurt you.

You glance away, staring at the far wall, not wanting to admit the truth.

“Tell me,” he prompts. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“No.” Your gaze returns to his face. “But I’m not an animal. I don’t belong in a cage.”

Price’s hand on your waist tightens. The force of it is enough to draw your bodies together entirely. “This is not a cage.”

“It feels like one.” You lick your lips. His gaze follows the movement. “Last time you gave me a choice. Why not now?”

“Because no one knew about you then,” answers Price immediately. “Now they do.”

You twist in his grip, facing him fully. You’re pinned between his large, broad chest and the door. “Who is they, Price? Is it Alex? Dimitri?”

“Dimitri is dead,” he growls. “And Obolensky is a pawn.”

“For who?” Price’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t answer. “Who, John?”

He shakes his head. “Dimitri answered to Damien and Damien answered to someone else.”

You scoff. “Yet you won’t say who.”

“Do you understand how much was lost?” asks Price. “Damien’s behavior that afternoon wasn’t over a few guns or a couple hundred dollars. He lost a nuclear arsenal. One that he promised to deliver on.”

“What?”

Price keeps his hand on your waist but the other rests beside your head, trapping you further. “Dimitri is rotting in the dirt and Damien is fish food. Their boss saw to that. He is the target. Has been for years.”

All the pieces are falling into place like raindrops from crying clouds.

“But I never said anything,” you choke out. “You were there, John. You talked with Dimitri. Why didn’t they come after you?”

“We staged it to look like I was taken out. The only possible connection they had was that someone talked at the club.” Price sighs heavily. “How they even found out about the club is up in the air. Never figured that out.”

You sniffle, holding back the phlegm but not the tears. “I was collateral.”

“No—”

“Stop, John. Don’t lie.”

The hand on your waist squeezes before sliding to your back. Price yanks against him, dragging you away from the door. “Nothing was supposed to happen to you. Nothing.”

“Stop,” you murmur, suddenly reading how hard he is and how soft you are. There is nowhere for your hands to go but his bare chest. They rest there, palms flat, fingers sliding through his chest hair as they splay wide.

“I’m sorry,” murmurs Price, and the slight rasp in it melts your resolve. His head lowers, the tip of his nose brushing against the side of your face.

You start to turn into it, to meet him, but pause at the last second. There is a roaring in your ears. A bright light behind the eyes. You are a torn piece of paper. Two sides that cannot come together again unless glued.

You believe him. And it’s not because of his words but because of his actions.

Price rushed to you when Damien had everyone gathered in Thirst’s main room. He didn’t hesitate. He got you out, had you taken care of, only to slip right back in when you needed it the most. Without Price where would you be right now?

Dead, perhaps. Or worse off, lingering in a place where you wish for endless sleep.

“Let me protect you.”

You swallow, lips parting slightly. Price’s gaze is focused in on your lips, missing nothing.

“Alex won’t give up. He’ll look for me.”

“He’ll fucking regret it,” growls Price. “If he touches you, he’s dead. But he won’t even have the chance.”

“You don’t understand. He’s…”

You trail off, unsure of how to proceed. Alex is sweet on you, but there has always been a slight separation, a detachedness you couldn’t quite place. Now you know, but it doesn’t explain everything. There were times when Alex seemed a bit possessive around other men you interacted with. He didn’t like it when they talked to you for too long or showed more interest than he cared for.

But that might not explain that Alex cared for you. He did try to have you killed. He is working for someone who wanted to clean up their loose ends. But why all this work? Did he simply put it off? Why play the long game? Was Alex or anyone else involved sure you were who they thought you were?

“He’s what?” asks Price softly, his tone encouraging you to continue.

“I’m not sure, John. I—I just know he won’t stop looking for me.”

Price nods. “I agree. He has a job to do. But I also think he felt something toward you.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Think I wasn’t watching the two of you in that restaurant?” he laughs. “I saw all of it. Maybe Alex is a good actor but his behavior toward you seemed genuine.”

“And yet he tried to kill me,” you reply dryly.

“He ordered his men to kill you,” corrects Price. “From what I understand, Obolensky likes to do it himself. Thorough. Clean. Doesn’t make sense, unless he couldn’t look you in the face as he did it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, John.”

“No,” he says softly. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Price’s hand on your back rubs gentle circles. It’s a soothing touch and this intimacy is different from all the other times you and Price have been this close. His head is still tilted forward but he’s not as near as before. The two of you can look at each other without brushing noses.

“Still want that water?”

“I wasn’t getting water.”

Price chuckles. “I know.”

“I’d like to go back to bed,” you say.

“And sleep this time? Not wait for me to fall asleep so you can make your escape?”

You smack his chest. “Fuck you.”

Price smiles, and it drips with mischievousness. “Fuck me? Is that right?”

“Control yourself, Captain,” you tease.

His smile widens. “There it is. Knew you’d say it.”

Your head turns upward. This time, your lips align with his. Maybe it’s sleep drawing you to do this, or maybe it’s your heart which won’t slow its rapid beating. Could be the twisty coil in your stomach that is rapidly moving downward, heating the space between your legs, making you ache for him.

You are open for him, presenting yourself, giving Price your lips like an offering. He knows this, because Price’s gaze tracks the movement and his own lips part slightly like he’s just as desperate to form the connection.

“Back to bed,” he rasps, and you hate that he says it.

Price pushes off from the door, his hands falling to his sides. Before you is a rugged man. Bare chested. Running his fingers through his hair absently as he watches you. It’s unfair how close he is, how easy it would be to fall into him, but the distant is a canyon.

You need to accept this. Survival is at stake.

Do you want him? Yes. You’ve wanted him for a while, and this reunion is only drawing up all those old thoughts and feelings. They are being crushed and stretched like damp clothes. You’re hanging on the clothes line, swaying in the breeze.

Stepping away from the door, you follow Price back to the blanket covered mattress. He doesn’t slide beneath until you do. There is hesitation in the way he waits, like he wants to draw you close but is desperately needing your signal.

Sighing slightly, you melt into the worn mattress, turning on your side, facing him. Price fully inserts himself beneath the blankets, shifting across the makeshift bed until he’s nearly on top of you. You reach for him the moment he reaches for you.

Hand on chest, arm draped over your shoulders, a closeness of warmth that doesn’t seem to bother you now. Every breath is a number, and you count them until the room dims and you slip into dreamless sleep.

[ecriter]

god i love a forced proximity

snowed in

pt. 2

summary: after a brutal breakup, all you want is a snowy escape in the mountains. what you get is a cabin that's very much occupied, a dangerously attractive roommate, and no exit strategy. you plan to avoid the situation by visiting the town center. often.

such a shame the weather has other ideas.

warnings: 18+, swearing, eventual smut! also potentially misleading descriptions of stowe vermont lol

note: why do i want it to be winter the second summer starts?!?

You’ve had it. After a humiliating breakup, you’re packing up your bags and heading north of the city. You’d felt like you were being suffocated lately, and a little time in isolation sounded perfect. 

No risk of running into your ex or his idiotic friends. Just you, your books, and silence. 

Sliding into the driver’s seat in your rickety car, neglected due to your time in the city, you turn on your music as loud as it can go, and put the old girl in drive. 

It was a few hours away, but honestly, you welcomed the extra time in the car. You’d always loved your old red truck, and some time blasting your breakup playlist to drown out your thoughts was like medicine to your overwhelmed mind. 

Time flew by, and soon, the skyscrapers cutting into the blue of the sky faded to evergreen forest spanning farther than you could see. 

You pass the weathered green sign for Stowe, Vermont- population, 5,261. The roads were already powdered with fresh snow, and your truck fishtailed a little as you turned on a winding road that cut right through the town center.

Mercantiles, country stores, and boutiques dotted the road, wreaths made of pine and red berries drenching each awning. Some doors wore velvet ribbons, windows glinting with the promise of holiday goodies inside. Old-fashioned rainbow lights wrapped around the trees lining the sidewalks, endearingly vintage. Each lamppost held a poster advertising the town’s Winter Festival, sure to impress, that would be taking place on December 18th. In just a few days.  

Charming.

Shame you weren’t very much interested in socializing just yet. 

The road narrowed as you passed through downtown, turning deeper into the forest. You cracked your window just for a second, letting the cold air bite your cheeks. It was crisp and clean, sharp with woodsmoke. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself breathe in all the way. 

Quiet. Peace and quiet. 

The kind that just didn’t exist in the city. Just the sound of snow settling on the branches of trees that probably existed long before you, and would probably exist long after. 

Exactly what you’d been looking for. 

You finally ease your truck into the driveway of your rental cabin, nestled at the edge of the woods. 

It looked like a postcard.

You could see into the front windows- amber light flickering from inside, maybe from a candle or an old lamp. The curtains were the kind of plaid that reminded you of cinnamon, all red and cream. 

 Snow blanketed the sloped roof and porch rails like powdered sugar, icicles catching the morning light like frozen glass. A stack of chopped firewood leaned against one of the beams of the wraparound porch, next to an old rocking chair covered in a heavy wool blanket that looked like it hadn’t been moved all season. Smoke curled gently from the stone chimney, making you smile at the thought of a fire waiting for you when you got inside.

Wait.

A fire?

You frown. The woman you rented from- Lisa, you think her name was- had told you that the cabin would be empty, clean, fully stocked. Locked up until you arrived. Had the previous renters forgotten to put their fire out? Was someone from the company doing a last-minute check?

You slowly make your way up to the porch, snow crunching under your boots. A doormat welcomed you cheerily. “Home Sweet Home.”

The door was unlocked, a bit warm to the touch.

That’s strange.

Then you hear it.

A man’s voice. Just one, gravelly and low, like he’s grumbling to himself.

A deep, mechanical sound is followed by a muffled curse. 

“Damn thing’s loose again…”

You freeze.

The sounds are coming from the other side of the cabin. Not scary, but certainly not pleased.

You glance back at your truck. You’ve watched enough Criminal Minds to consider just hightailing and trying your luck at one of the darling inns you had seen in town.

But curiosity got the best of you. Plus, you’d already paid the deposit. 

You inch around the side of the cabin, following the sounds, and you see him.

A man crouched by what you assume is the generator, sleeves rolled up despite the cold. You catch a glimpse of metal where his left arm should be. A prosthetic, maybe? Regardless, he’s massive. The faded flannel he’s wearing does nothing to hide broad shoulders and thick forearms that tense with every move he makes. There’s a wrench in his hand and a scowl on his face. 

He notices you as soon as you open your mouth.

“Uh…hi?”

He stands slowly. Tall, imposing. He’s got a bit of facial hair you didn’t notice before. His breath fogs the air as he exhales, blue eyes hardening as they meet yours. 

“You’re early.”

“Excuse me?”

“They said you weren’t coming for another two days,” he grunts, “Cabin’s not ready yet.”

“I have an email that said check-in is today.”

He mutters something under his breath, something like “...fucking Airbnb people…”, and pulls out a phone from his back pocket that looks so old, you thought it was a TV remote.

“No signal,” he says, clenching his jaw, “Figures.”

You inhale, steeling yourself.

“Well, I’m really sorry about any inconvenience, but I did kind of drive four hours through the mountains to get here. I’m really not picky, as long as there’s a bed and a bathroom, I swear I’ll stay out of your way. Is that ok?”

He takes a pause. Looks at you. Not really judging, more assessing you.

You brace for rejection, silently cursing yourself for not checking the hosts’ reviews. 

Instead, he puffs out a breath that fogs the air in front of him for just a second. 

“Cabin’s already warm. Your bedroom’s to the left. Bed’s made, there’s extra blankets in the closet.”

The tension in your shoulders lifts. 

“Thank you. I’ll stay out of your way until you finish up, promise.”

He grunts in response. Not rude, really. More a lazy acknowledgement, like he has work to do. 

He does, you suppose.

You move to grab your bags, but he’s quicker, looking at you like it was ridiculous you’d ever assume you’d carry your own luggage and striding toward the door. You follow behind him, dumbly.

And despite it all, despite the mix-up, the random stranger you still haven’t decided isn’t going to kill you, and the fact that you probably won’t be able to use your phone until you’re back in the city, it’s beautiful inside. 

The warmth of the fire kisses your cold skin just like you’d hoped it would, painting the living room in a soft glow, licking the dark wood walls and low timbered ceiling. Your bedroom, as promised, is to the left- simple but cozy, just like the rest of the house. A quilted bedspread, thick knit throw at the foot, and a stack of leather bound books on the windowsill are illuminated by a little reading lamp, already on like it was waiting for you. 

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” he says, dropping your bags unceremoniously on the bed, “Figured you should know my name, y’know, since we’re gonna be roommates.”

You blink.

Hard. 

“Roommates?”

He raises an eyebrow, like you just asked if grass was green.

“Yeah, roommates. Did you not… did you not read the listing?”

“I-” You open your mouth. Close it again. “I thought I did. I skimmed it. There were photos and... rustic charm was mentioned a lot?”

Bucky’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying very hard not to laugh at you.

“There’s a whole paragraph about how the cabin is a shared living space for long-term maintenance,” and he nods outside to the generator, like that explains everything, “it’s right under the ‘mountain views’ section.”

You blink again. 

Your brain is going blank. 

Oh, god. 

You think back. You remember the listing. Cute pictures, great price, not too many reviews. You thought it was just new!

You were in such a hurry to book something and get the hell out of the city that you didn’t think to read the fine print. 

“I swear it looked like a solo rental.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, smirking a little, “looks can be deceiving. Hope you don’t mind early mornings.”

You stare at him. 

Bucky. The handyman, maintenance guy, whatever he was. Who lives here. 

And apparently, now, so do you. 

“You’re kidding.”

Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.

“Nope. Two bedrooms, though. Don’t get your hopes up.” 

And he has the gall to wink. 

You pray he thinks the pink in your cheeks is from the cold.

Thankfully, he doesn’t look at you, his eyes darting to the window.

The snow’s coming down a bit harder than before. 

“News says we’ve got a real one coming in tonight,” he adds, tugging his coat on top of his flannel, “supposed to be two feet of snow. Maybe more.” 

Your stomach sinks.

“Like… stuck-here kind of snow?”

“Like roads-buried, power-lines-down, hope-you-brought-extra-socks kind of snow. So if you want to grab any supplies in town, I’d advise you to go soon.”

So much for your relaxing vacation. 

“You’ll be alright,” he says, with a light smile that tells you your fear is written all over your face, already headed for the door again, “as long as you don’t mind sharing.”

[ecriter]

private show pt.2

summary: what happens in the private showroom, stays in the private showroom...stripper!bucky pt.2

pt. 1

warnings: 18+ language, alcohol, almost smut! i promise theyre gonna fuck like bunnies in the next part of this lmao

note: if this doesnt flow super well im sorry, i didnt proofread and i did rush it a bit! i also dont totally understand how tag lists work so forgive me if i messed that up too haha, small chance i delete this and try to make it a bit cleaner!

taglist!: @sebastians-love @marianastudiesart @bowscale @staley83 @opheliabbarnes @hhyukasworld @unicornqueen05 @defn0tonyourleft <3

If the bouncer noticed your nerves, he didn’t let on. He just pulled back the plush red curtain and waved you in. 

You stepped inside before you could decide against it. 

The door shuts with a soft click.

The room smells like leather and cologne. Dim lights flicker warm over plush velvet seating. Your heart’s pounding in your chest. And you’re frozen where you stand.

Because in the center of the room, the man you’d seen on the stage was leaning against a pole, shirtless now, glistening faintly in the warm, low light. One silver chain resting against his collarbone, made of the same metal that made up his left arm. Tattoos dotted his chest and abs, thin black ink delicately drawing your eyes lower. A dangerous smirk on his lips. 

Bucky, they had said his name was.

Wonder if that was his real name.

“Oh.” You breathed.

His smirk turned wolfish. 

“So you’re the girlfriend,” he said, voice low and deep as he stepped closer. “Didn’t expect you to say yes.”

“...And if I had said no?” 

“Then I guess I would have had to come out there and ask in person,” he said, eyes raking over you. “And that could’ve gotten messy.”

You sputter just for a second before catching yourself.

“I- yeah. Thanks for the rescue. I really appreciate it.”

He tilted his head. “The rescue?” 

“Yeah. Saved me from my asshole boyfriend and his gross friends. I owe you.”

That made him pause for a beat. Considering. Calculating. 

Then he’s back in control like nothing happened.

“Is that what you think this is?” he smiled gently, stepping even closer.

You blink. “Um. Yeah? You got me away from Nick and made him look like a jackass. Not exactly a hard thing to do, but still-credit where credit’s due.”

Bucky laughed-low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. He had a nice laugh, you thought. 

“Sweetheart”- and you do a great job of showing how that nickname doesn’t affect you one bit, you’re sure of it- “I didn’t save you. I picked you.”

Your stomach did something traitorous as he popped the champagne, and you didn’t miss the evil glint in his eyes when the head of the bottle was swallowed by frothy foam before he could capture it with the flutes. 

He handed you a glass. 

You needed it. 

“What does that mean?” 

He leaned in, his voice dropping to something that wrapped around your spine like silk.

“It means I saw you sitting out there, looking like you were five seconds from either crying or setting the place on fire, and I figured you could use a reminder that not everyone in the room is a complete asshole.” 

Great. More pity. Just what you needed.

But then he continued.

“And I could see your thighs squeezing together when you saw me. All the way from up on the stage.”

You let out a soft breath, surprised at how much that hit you.

But he wasn’t done. 

“It also means,” he added, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear, “I wasn’t gonna let some sweaty, insecure little prick keep looking at you like you were an object. Not when I know exactly how a woman should be treated, how you deserve to be treated.”

“Wow,” you breathe, almost to yourself, “you’re like… dangerously good at this.”

He grins. Like he had you right where he wanted you.

And suddenly the room around you felt like it was shrinking. You instinctively go to tug your dress down a bit, feeling overexposed. But he’s quicker, catching your hand in his own. 

“Don’t,” he murmurs, “you’re perfect like this.”

You should laugh it off. You should roll your eyes.

But you don’t.

Because the way he says it- like he means it-makes something deep inside you clench.

“I liked your show.” and it feels like a confession, like something you weren’t allowed to say out loud. 

“I know.” and you roll your eyes playfully before he cuts you off with, “So did your thighs.” 

You choke on your laugh.

“Confident, aren’t we?”

Bucky tilts his head a bit, and you can’t tell if he’s getting a better look at you or analyzing exactly where he needs to touch to make you weak.

“Don’t act shocked. You started it. Squeezing your thighs together while I was on stage? That’s flirting.”

“That’s called crossing my legs.”

“Cross them around my head next time, and we’ll call it even.”

You blink.

“Are you always this subtle?”

“Sweetheart,” he grins, “subtle gets you half the fun. You want subtle, go back to your boyfriend.”

You roll your eyes. “Ex-boyfriend.”

He takes another step forward. Then another. Gently leads you to sit on the red couch, so soft it felt like you were being sucked into it. God, you didn’t even want to think about what this room would look like if you turned on a blacklight- 

He straddles your lap.

And you forget how to breathe.

His knees bracket your legs, not quite touching you. His hands rest on his own thighs, muscles flexing just slightly, forearms thick and inked. 

He’s shirtless. You were clever enough to have noticed that when you first entered, but now, up close, it was all-consuming.

The glow of the lights dances across his chest, down his stomach, and whatever oil he must have used on himself amplifies every divot of his toned body. He must have spent years eating clean and hitting the gym to get this kind of figure. Every inch of him screams control.

He looks like a god. 

“You ever had a dance like this?” he asks softly. 

You shake your head, sure that it’s the last move you’ll make before you become paralyzed forever. 

“Good,” his voice is raspy, like he’s almost whispering, “I want to be your first.”

He leans forward, lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“And your favorite.”

Then he moves.

His hips roll slow and deep, grinding just above your center, close enough to feel the heat of him through your clothes. His hands rest on the couch on either side of your shoulders, caging you in.

“How do you want this to go, doll?” he murmured, voice low and sinful “You want me slow? Gentle?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He was close-too close. You could smell him. Feel the heat coming off his skin.

“Or…” His metal hand gripped the back of the couch behind your head. “You want me to show you what your asshole boyfriend never could?”

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

But he doesn’t need to.

Because the way he watches your reaction-how your lips part in a silent gasp-it’s like he’s memorizing you.

You exhaled shakily.

“That one.” you say before your brain can catch up to your mouth, “That one sounds- sounds good.”

“Good,” he coos, “let’s make your boyfriend nice and jealous. Show him how a woman like you deserves to be treated.”

“God, can we please not talk about my boyfriend right now?” you mutter, doing your best to keep your hands rooted at your sides like you’re cuffed there.

Not a bad idea. 

He chuckles wickedly above you.

“You’re right, pretty girl. Sweet little thing like you, and he’s taking you to a dirty place like this? Doesn’t he know what happens when you don’t take care of your things?” he coos, rolling his hips once more, closer this time, “Someone might take them away. Take better care of them. Someone like me.”

You hear a soft, pathetic whine pass your lips before you can stop yourself.

His mouth curls. 

“That’s my girl, let me hear it. Let me hear how much you want this.”

He’s licking up your neck, biting gently at your shoulder, sucking the sensitive spot where your neck and collarbone meet, nibbling at your earlobe.

“Bet he’s never touched you like this, doll. Never had you whining, begging for him, not like I do. And I haven’t even shown you my best moves.”

“What, the ones that require me to buy two drinks minimum?”

“Mmm. The ones I really want to try on you. The ones that might get me fired.”

Then he moved-really moved.

His hips were flush against yours. His abs brushed your chest as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. And then he finally brought his hips to yours.

Slow. Deep. Grinding down like he already knew exactly where you needed him most.

You gasped.

Your hands shot out on instinct, landing on his thighs, hard muscle under your palms. Just as quickly as you touched him, you pull away, internally cringing at your lack of control. 

“Sorry, I-”

“What are you sorry for, doll? Touch me all you want.” and he’s grabbing your hand in his, the vibranium arm still rooted behind your head. He brings your shaking fingers to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he gives your fingers a soft kiss, and then he’s dragging your hand down his chest, letting you feel every smooth valley and crevice of his delicious body, still rolling his hips into yours. 

Your fingers curled around his legs as he rocked into you again-slower, rougher, the friction making the growing heat between your legs grow more intense, drawing a gasp from you. 

“God, the sounds you’re making,” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours. “You ever been this wet with your clothes still on?”

“Jesus, Bucky-” and he’s back to his attack on your neck.

You’re gonna think about this later, aren’t you?” he said against your skin. “Gonna lie in bed and replay this in your head…fingers between your thighs… wishing it was me.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, rocking your hips up to meet his.

“There she is.”

You’re not even sure when it happens.

One second, Bucky’s hips are rolling slow and smooth against yours, his hands slipping beneath your dress in ways that definitely broke some rules, his voice wrecking you in your ear.

“You feel that, baby?”, he rasps, “That’s all me. For you.”

You’re just about to cave, to beg for him to just take you right there.

Then the door slams open.

“What the fuck?”

[ecriter]

Against the Wind || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Another short series for @jacklesversebingo! This is a canon ending-divergent AU, but still an Omegaverse story within the canon SPN world.

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

JVB Prompt: True Mates

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! A/B/O dynamics, scenting, injuries, angst, smut, fluff and feels. Background Sam Winchester x Eileen (Saileen).

Chapters:

✦ Part 1: In His Hands

✦ Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

✦ Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

✦ Part 4: Running to Live

✦ Epilogue: Shelter

Series Complete!

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

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[ecriter]

Against the Wind || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Another short series for @jacklesversebingo! This is a canon ending-divergent AU, but still an Omegaverse story within the canon SPN world.

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

JVB Prompt: True Mates

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! A/B/O dynamics, scenting, injuries, angst, smut, fluff and feels. Background Sam Winchester x Eileen (Saileen).

Chapters:

✦ Part 1: In His Hands

✦ Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

✦ Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

✦ Part 4: Running to Live

✦ Epilogue: Shelter

Series Complete!

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter. 🧡

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@cookiechipdough

[ecriter]

who you let in

Summary: Jack has a soft spot. He didn't expect you to be the one to find it. (6.9k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, porn with plot (the storyteller within me can't help it), unspecified age gap, hurt/comfort for both of them LOL, canon typical gore? medical stuff? idk, panic attacks, trauma, angst, power dynamics (reader's a med student), suicidal ideation, Jack being flustered, oral (m receiving because he needs it), big dick Jack, fingering, rushed sex despite how long this fic is i'm sorry, unprotected PIV sex, Jack's sort of a soft dom, semi-public sex, praise kink, competency kink, lots of fleshy bodily words in here to describe lust idk

AAAAA i just spent all day writing this yes i'm embarrassed <3 also haven't posted my writing in like actual years at this point.... anyways be nice to me

It’s unlike you, Jack thinks to himself, to look so out of it. 

GSW to the chest. A young girl in her early twenties maybe. She’s lost a lot of blood. Her blonde hair somehow already matted with it, so much so that she could pass as a natural brunette. It’s gone dark with oxygen and coagulation. 

Your team huddles around her, as do the other units around the dozens and dozens of gurneys being brought in one after the other, unrelenting and without promise to end soon. 

All protocols you’ve learned in the last year are out the window. Disregarded for the mass casualty event that was PittFest. None of the residents had ever seen anything like this, you’d never seen anything like this. This was the most action you’d ever witnessed and suddenly you felt like there was a balloon in your own chest, compressing air flow or blood flow or something to your head. 

All the blood, the smell of metal inescapable no matter which section of the ER you were suddenly rushed to. 

Your knees go weak, they shake, your hands shake. Everything’s wrong- 

“She’s going white Abbot pull her out.” 

You hear your attending huff from right behind you before his hand finds your bicep, curling around it and pulling you from where you leaned over the patient. You can hardly protest, your mind elsewhere and your feet blindly follow Dr Abbot who leads you to the family room. 

“Robby I need you to cover over on the GSW to the chest for a sec.” He calls over, his voice ringing in your ears, your mind trying to focus on one single thing but everything’s registering all at once. His hand on your arm, all the beeping, the cries of agony, tubes being intubated and balloons being puffed into chests. It all seems a lot further away when Abbot closes the door. 

You never thought you were particularly his favourite. You’re much younger and typically too upbeat. You clash naturally, he’s not drawn to you and you’re not drawn to him.

Dr Abbot is unafraid of correcting you in front of your peers. After a year now of him being your attending you’ve become familiar with his ways but that doesn’t mean you’re any more appreciative of the public humiliations.

There’s something about these older ex military men, the ones who joined too young and have been in the system ever since, climbing up and up the ranks, hardening at each level to a point where disassociation is expected. Hold it in, hold it together. There’s is no I in team. All for one and one for all. All that bullshit. 

Dr Abbot wasn’t really that guy to a T but hell was he uncrackable, unshakeable, hard as stone. No doubt it’s helped him here in the ER, you’ve never seen someone as laser focused and capable as Dr Abbot. It’s almost effortless for him, it seems. Like he doesn’t have to think twice about anything. His confidence is unmatched and you’d always admired that, no matter how much you thought he disliked you. So yeah it was kind of surprising when he was the one to pull you away for a time out. 

Jack never meant to become so attuned to you. He didn’t do it on purpose. He blames it on being your attending for a while now, he’s worked with you the closet over this past year and he knows how you work, how you operate. He didn’t mean to but it happened. He feels like he can read you like an open book, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, on your face. You’ve never been one to conceal how you were feeling, unlike him. So when you stopped talking, stopped making little remarks and little jokes, nearly frozen and clearly dissociating, he knew what was happening long before the resident called for you to be pulled out. He wanted to give you a moment to bounce back as you usually do. 

Dr Abbot closes the curtain to the family room, shutting the door. He turns around and finds you still awkwardly standing there, eyes far off, elsewhere. He had expected you to take a seat immediately, he doesn’t know what you’re still doing up considering how close you look to collapsing. 

“S-sorry I don’t know what’s happening, I-” You stammer, embarrassed yet not in control of whatever’s taking over your mind and body. 

“Hey, hey stay with me, kid. Don’t go to that place.”

Abbot puts his hand softly on the middle of your back, guiding you to the chair. You sit down reluctantly, unable to move your body in a coordinated way for some reason. He kneels in front of you, groaning as he goes down and his knees cracking. 

“Listen, don’t tell anyone but I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks, okay?”

“Is that- is that what’s happening?” You ask dumbly, squeezing your eyes shut. You suddenly feel dizzy. Not enough oxygen to the brain.

“How does your chest feel? Can you breathe?” 

“I feel like I can’t.” 

“Then yeah, that’s what’s happening.” 

Your lip wobbles despite how much you’re still trying to hold it together, that much Abbot can tell. You’re fighting like hell against this panic attack which might only threaten to make things worse. He grabs your hand in his, squeezing lightly. You’re barely able to return it. 

“What are five things you can see?”

“W-What?” You sniffle.

“Tell me five things you can see, come on.” He squeezes your hand again, reassuringly. 

You try to take a deep breath but your diaphragm spasms and it comes in all shaky, causing you to hiccup like a child. 

“Y-you.”

Against all odds, Dr Abbot smiles. Incredibly small but you see it. 

“That’s right. What else?”

You try to take a deep breath again. “Uh, the paintings on the wall.”

Abbot nods. You continue. 

“The curtains. The chairs. The door.”

“Good. That’s good. What about four things you can touch?”

“Your hand.” You say most obviously, since he’s still holding your clammy hand in his. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so shaken up. 

Dr Abbot squeezes your hand again and this time you squeeze back, a silent thank you of sorts. 

“Um, my scrubs, my hair on my neck, the wind from the fan.” 

“Okay, now three things you can hear.” 

“Your voice.” Dr Abbot chuckles, like he was expecting it. 

“Sure.” He nods.

“You’re breathing.” You take a deep breath now, as if it reminded you. Abbot breathes deeply with you. 

You try to motion lazily to the door, “The doctors outside, I can hear them talking.”

“That’s right, and they’re being pretty loud, aren't they?” He tries to joke, to lighten the mood. 

You nod your head, yeah. 

“What about two things you can smell?”

You go to open your mouth but Abbot cuts you off again. 

“And don’t say me, we’re about an hour into this shift and I know I’m not smelling too pretty right now.” 

You laugh, you actually giggle a bit, albeit a bit breathless, your body still trying to catch up to your more relaxed mind. Jack smiles. 

“I can smell metal and disinfectant.” 

“Okay and one thing you can taste.” 

Your cheeks burn a bit. You know it doesn’t mean anything but when you started each sentence with something relating to him… You can’t help but think. 

“My stale gum.” 

Jack chuckles a bit, shaking his head. What were you doing with mouth in your gum. It’s not allowed on shift but everything had started so suddenly you hadn’t had a moment to toss it and you got scared on choking on it if you swallowed it. 

Abbot clicks his tongue at you in disapproval, holding out his open hand near your mouth. You look at him confused, but he just gestures to his outreached hand. 

“Spit it out, let’s go get you a new one, hmm?” 

Your face burns again, but you do what he says for some reason. 

Because he asked. 

He closes his palm around your gum for a moment before easily tossing it into the trash can in the corner of the room. 

Dr Abbot stands back up, knees cracking again. He helps you up, holding your elbows in each of his hands. You’re still a little wobbly, weak in the knees from your body’s sudden breakdown. You haven’t yet regained all your strength. 

You try to steady yourself, your hands gripping his forearms, trying to concentrate on the strength of him holding you up. 

You suddenly feel oddly close to him. Not just physically seeing as how close you two are standing but in the air, it feels like something’s shifted, like something’s irreparably been changed between you two. He’s just seen you at your most vulnerable, talked you through your first panic attack and even admitted to having experienced them himself. How many people in the ER can say they know that much about Dr Jack Abbot. 

Maybe you’re just over analyzing what’s transpired. 

“How you feeling?” His voice sounds out and you realize you had your eyes squeezed shut, when you open them Jack’s peering down at you, trying to give you the softest look he can muster. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Yeah? You don’t have to be.” You shake your head no. 

“No, no I’m good. Promise.”

“I’ve got my best med student back?”

You can’t help but look at him quizzically, laughing a little. 

“I don’t think I’m your best med student but sure, I’m back.” 

“Come on, take the compliment.” He quips and it surprises you. You didn’t think he’d press your objections. 

“I actually thought you-” Hated me, you want to say.

“I know.”

Oh. 

“I know I’m hard on you. But I only do it because I know you can take it. I think it makes you better.”

Your lips go into a hard line, you nod. Right….

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt to be told I’m doing good every now and then. I do think I’m tough, you’re right, but I don’t know… I like this side of you.” You admit before you can stop yourself. 

Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush. His cheeks go red in that boyish way and it blossoms all the way to the tips of his ears. Your heart leaps a bit. 

If you weren’t back to yourself before, you were now. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing even though you’ve both let go of each other. It was sobering. 

“Alright kid, as long as you don’t tell anyone.” He winks. 

You burn. 

“Promise.”

/

Things did, in fact, change after that.

Dr Abbot pulls you for huddles, just you and him now for feedback, no longer doing it in front of the other med students, doctors or attendees.

You stand closer to him, he stands closer to you in general. 

He’s not afraid to grab your hand and stop you from doing something. Or start something. The amount of times he’s guided you through a procedure you’d never done before with his steady hadn’t engulfing yours, guiding a blade smoothly through a patients skin or a thin tube through an incredibly small incision. 

You wondered if anyone noticed. If anyone had become attune to the fact that you followed each other around like each other’s shadows. Never one without the other. You could see Princess and Perlah whispering to each other whenever you stood close to Dr Abbot, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that at least someone noticed how he’d picked you as his favourite and warmed up to you. It made you feel special, all girlish and giggly even though it absolutely shouldn’t. 

A new unusual sound had started to fill the ER. Jack Abbot’s laughter, even quiet giggles fuelled by none other than you. Not even Robby, once his rival now best friend in the ER, could get that sound out of him as often as you do. 

Jack gets you sandwiches, juice boxes from the cafeteria when you look particularly out of it or if the moment granted a quick escape for food. He’d find a chocolate bar or anything to perk you up on days where you weren’t doing so hot, or had a particularly anguishing patient. Death was inescapable in the ER, everyone knew that but not everyone handled it well, it didn’t matter how well versed or experienced you were in the medical industry. 

Not even Jack himself. 

The night shift was now coming to a close, meaning the clock was close to striking 7am. That awkward time before the day shift shows up and the night team goes home to sleep through the day, all to start again in 12 hours. 

It was weird working in the off hours, you felt like a vampire or a bat, you thought to yourself as you climbed the steps to the roof, trying to find Jack. You knew him well now, and you know where he goes to run away when he can’t handle the weight of the shift anymore. 

You open the door, it creaked open annoyingly loud, announcing you rather ungraciously. 

Jack drops his head low at the sound of the door opening. He knew it was you coming to find him. He leans back against the railing behind him. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, calling out to you without turning his head. The wind carries the sound of his voice to you. 

The sun is threatening to come up over the city line, light only beginning to spill upwards into the sky, painting the clouds all pretty shades of light blue, pink and orange. You struggle to take in the beauty due to the night that just transpired. 

The vet hit and run. It was a hard one on Jack. He’d known guys like that in the military. They seemed untouchable, surviving tour after tour. It was never easy to watch one go, especially the ones that made it home and get taken out in some seemingly avoidable way. 

Some church bell tolls in the distance. You approach him, unsure how to answer what you’re doing up here. Checking on you, wanting to make sure you’re okay, everyone’s worried but the reality was no one batted an eye at him escaping after spending the last two hours coding this guy into the system. This was how Jack operated. Disassociate, dissociate until he couldn’t anymore and his feet carried him up to the roof. Contemplating. 

So you don’t say anything, you just stand behind him. 

Jack’s skin looks golden up here. The light passing through his curls, catching the greys. Your heart tightens. 

“It’s always a rough way to end the night.” You offer, unsure of what else to say. 

“I must’ve had a reason at one time to keep coming back but… I can’t think of it right now.” Jack grips onto the railing, leaning forward and looking down below him. 

You instinctively reach out to him, your hand going for his bicep, it’s closest to you. Despite the cool early morning air, his skin was still hot to the touch, still coming down from what had just gone down in the ER room. 

“Jack…” You can’t help but sigh, silently pleading with him to stop. 

His head turns, dark eyes meeting yours. God he looks so sad, a man worn down. 

And you realize you’ve never called him by just his name. Just Jack. 

“D-Dr Abbot, I mean- sorry.” 

He doesn’t correct you. He doesn’t particularly care right now. And the way you said it makes his heart tight like your hand is on his arm. Palms clammy with being so high up and so close to a ledge. You never liked heights and you hate that he’s always flirted with them. 

He clicks his tongue, sighing before crouching down and reeling himself back over to your side of the railing. You sigh in relief, you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. 

Jack is completely distraught. He looks wrecked, broken. 

Your hand still on his arm, he comes to face you, standing so close but you can’t find it in you to step away from him, not when he’s like this. 

Jack drops his forehead to your shoulder, you try not to freeze up at the sudden extreme closeness.

“Are you okay?” You ask dumbly, voice gone quiet because of how close he is. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear, plush flesh on soft cartilage. Jack shivers, turning his head slightly and his nose pushes into your neck. 

What else is there to say to such a quiet man, lost in his own solitude of reflection. 

“No.” He says simply, plainly. 

Your heart aches for him. 

Your hand is still on his arm, you flatten it and trail it up to his shoulder, squeezing him there. 

He presses himself closer to you. You hold your breath, your heart threatening to leap up out of your throat. You swear he must feel it beating through his own chest. You think you can feel his. 

He trails his nose along your neck, up your ear. You can feel that subtle white beard that carves the angles of his face so sharply, so perfectly, colour so soft and white it nearly blends into his skin seamlessly. They catch at your skin in that scratchy way and its almost too much. 

His hands, they move and suddenly they’re on your waist, sliding around the circumference of you until he’s enveloped you in his strong arms. You can feel how sturdy he is, how solid and strong from years of exertion and force and yet you feel like you could blow away at any moment. This cannot be real. You can smell his hair, the remnants of his cologne peaking through the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant. You can smell him. 

He knows this shouldn’t really be happening. You both do. You’re both very much aware of that fact. Even though its just a hug its just a hug. Jack had been aware of it ever since that day in the family room when he first worried about you. Because that’s what friends do… they worry about each other, right? Friends….

Jack lets his nose travel higher, along your hairline behind your ear, relishing in the closeness of  another living, breathing human being. Warm flesh against flesh, closeness of muscles and organs. Hearts, beating. When was the last time this happened? When was the last time he let his walls down like this? You both wondered. 

“I’m sorry.” He offers lamely, voice quiet and matching yours. He tries to pull away from you but his body doesn’t get the memo, he stills clings to you. He’s afraid of what would happen if he were to let go now. Surely he’d crumble into nothing off this roof. 

He moves his head, nose against your cheek as your hands move to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in your palms. You don’t want him away either. You need him close, suddenly very close. Despite your breathlessness at the closeness, you think you’d stop breathing if he were to pull away now. You wouldn’t bear it. 

You shake your head no, “Don’t be.” You reassure him, voice still quiet. 

Something posses you and you nudge your nose with his, Jack sighs loudly, arms tightening around you and you sigh too. Your mouth opens in an innocent way, trying to get more oxygen to your brain. But you can feel his breath on yours, feel it fanning against your lips and you lean closer, pushing your nose into his again and he has to use every iota of strength within him to not lunge into you. 

This shouldn’t be happening, he reiterates to himself. All the alarms are going off in his head. He shouldn’t be touching you like this, he shouldn’t have grabbed you, you shouldn’t be letting him. You could both get in serious trouble for this. 

But you fist at his shirt, hands trembling against his chest, feeling him, muscles under supple flesh. Your lips part, small breath fanning against his lips and he breaks. He’s just a man. 

Jack presses his open mouth to yours, and you let him again for a reason he doesn’t quite understand. It’s sloppy in a desperate way, passionate and sad. You could cry if you weren’t so wrapped up in the feel of being completely encompassed by him, his soft lips on yours. 

You open your mouth wider, your hands moving from his chest to wrap your arms completely around his neck, hauling his body into yours as if you couldn’t get any closer. You wanted to meld into him. Bone fusing to bone. You let your tongue poke out and suddenly he’s right there with you, his tongue going as far into your mouth as it possibly can, trying to get to every inch of you. Jack whines and you burn at the pathetic sound. A grown man, whimpering for you. Your knees threaten to buckle. 

His body flush with yours, you can’t help but feel how his body reacts to you. Hard and solid against your hip, your leg as your bodies writhe against the other, pleading to get closer. 

“Jack,” you whimper into his mouth, unsure, testing. 

Jack lets his lips travel to the corner of your mouth, kissing every inch of you that he possibly can, your teeth as you say his name, your cheek, earlobe, the spot underneath your ear. 

“Tell me to stop.” He groans, hands moving back to their spot on your waist, trailing down to your hips where he grinds you against him, making that aching part of him known. 

You whimper again, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head like the sun threatens to come over that edge and catch you both where you ought not to be. 

“I don’t want you to stop.” You admit, face burning even though you’re both as debauched and pathetic sounding as the other.

Boldly, you let one hand travel down from his neck, down his body to softly touch in between his legs, feeling where he’s hard, aching between his legs. He groans again, this time absolutely pained, his forehead dropping to yours. 

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” He admits, like you both don’t know that already. He’s practically begging you to give him a reason to stop this now, even though he knows he’s already too far gone to do anything at this point. You’re too warm, too welcoming and soft and willing. Salvation. 

“Especially not here.” You manage to laugh a little. Suddenly you pull away from Jack and he thinks that’s it, you’re calling it. His instincts propel him to check his watch to check the time. T.O.D. Time of death. He’s being dramatic. 

You pull him to the opening of the stairwell, creaking open that squeaky door once again and you lightly press him against the wall furthest away from the stairs.

It’s an enclosed space, a room up on the roof. You have to open another door to get to the stairs which lead all the way down to the ER, blocked by another set of doors. If someone were to go into the stairway, you’d hear them from a mile away. At least that’s what you hoped.

Jack let’s you move him, lets you press your body against his and kiss his tanned, freckled neck. Your hand finds its spot on his crotch, feeling him through his pants. God he hasn’t gone down an inch. He feels huge, painfully hard. You can’t believe you’re feeling him like this. You can’t believe The Jack Abbot is letting this happen, you can’t believe he wants it. With you. 

“Can I?” You ask, already lowering yourself to your knees. 

Jack just looks at you in complete and utter disbelief, mouth agape as he watches you get down on your knees, pressing your face to his clothed dick, kissing him through the fabric. Kill me now, he thinks. If anyone were to find you both like this… 

He feels like a dirty old man as you pull his cock from his pants, watching it spring up and slap his belly with wide eyes, like you need it, like you’re suddenly starving. 

His cock is huge. You don’t know what you expected but it wasn’t this. You try not to look frightened by it, by the prospect of shoving it into your mouth and hopefully, your cunt. 

He’s your attendee, you try not to think about that. Try not to think about how you’re his subordinate and he’s so much older than you, experienced, well versed. This is all completely wrong, incredibly fucked up but fuck if it doesn’t turn the both of you on just a little more in the worst way. 

His dick is hot in your hand, skin like silk and you salivate at the pure sight of it. You look up at him, his face flushed all the way up to his ears and down to what you can see of his chest poking out through the small v in his shirt. Skin on fire. 

You give him a sort of inquisitive look and he realizes he never answered you. You looking up at him with those big, needy eyes. He can only bring himself to nod his head, at a lost for words. 

You smile up at him, hand already gliding up and down his thick length. Jack hisses at the near foreign sensation, in this moment he can’t bring himself to remember the last time this happened, let alone a time when it wasn’t his own hand. Yours is much smaller, more delicate than his, you can barely wrap it around the entirety of him and suddenly he feels dizzy. 

You lean forward, kissing the tip of him and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, they open and close into fists at his sides. God does he want to touch you, to have you let him take what he wants but he’s afraid. Afraid of over stepping, afraid of scaring you. 

Suddenly you’re opening your mouth and kissing at the head of him, licking at his slit, collecting whatever’s pooled there and humming to yourself at the taste. You’re worried you’ll become addicted to this.

More of him slides into your mouth, all the way until he’s hitting the back of your throat. Suddenly his hands are flying to the side of your head, holding you there. His eyes open and he looks down at you, eyes intense, mouth set into a hardline like he’s barely hanging by a thread. You make eye contact with him and he groans, loud. You’ve only ever seen him like this leaned over a patient, intense focus, blinders on to anything except the task at hand. But this time its you. Your pussy throbs. 

Jack let’s himself thrust into your mouth a couple of times, eyes squeezed shut again, head leaned back against the wall behind him in complete surrender to you and your mouth. He says your name so broken, like its the only thing he can remember, the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You wonder if he’ll let you fuck him. 

A few more thrusts and suddenly Jack is pulling you off of him, looking back down at you again and hauling you back up to your feet. You give him the saddest eyes and he swears his heart breaks. 

“I’m- I was gonna cum if you kept that up.” He sort of laughs to himself. Jack’s never felt more out of practice than he does now, pants down around his ankles, cock heavy and begging still in your hand, and a young, pretty girl looking at him with wet eyes, hungry for him. 

What did he do in a past life to deserve this? 

“That was kind of the idea.” You smile, bitting your lip and your hand continues to move up and down on his aching length. 

Back face to face now, Jack can’t believe he has you like this, lips plump and swollen with exertion and slick with spit. Your eyes are dark with greed, hunger for something else. He never though this would happen, not between the two of you. Not that he ever explicitly thought about it but there were moments of weakness. Moments where he let his mind wander as he held your hand in his, guiding you through a procedure, noticing your body and its proximity, its warmth, that girlish smell you carry around you. You’ve always been intoxicating, a temptation just begging to be indulged in. Had he mentioned how wrong he thought all of this was?

“Jack?” You ask, pulling him out of this thoughts. 

“Hmmm?” He basically slurs, distracted by the continuous movements of your hand on his cock, it was on the verge of turning painful. 

“I asked you if you’re gonna fuck me.” You ask, devilish grin plastered on your face like you’re the cat who got the fucking cream. Or is at least trying to.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, voice cracking from your particularly harsh grip on him. 

“Is that- Is that what you came up to the roof for?” He jokes but suddenly you think he’s being serious. 

You worry thats all you thought of him, of this. A quick fuck, a need for release, a need to forget what happened tonight. 

“No, Jack that’s not- I swear-” You struggle to find your words. 

Jack smiles at you, it alleviates some of your worries. His hand moves and finds the waist band of your pants, he shoves it down until he’s cupping your sex. You gasp, his hand hot, feeling your hotter core and whats embarrassingly seeped out of you ever since you pulled him from the railing. 

Jack clicks his tongue at you, like he always does. 

“Yeah, I bet you want me to fuck you, alright. You’re soaking for it.” 

Oh fuck. 

You whimper, leaning easy into his touch, letting him feel you. 

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, his fingers gliding easy through your glossy folds, playing around in the mess you made. Its embarrassing. So much so that you almost miss him calling you baby. 

Jack doesn’t fight the temptation long, no matter how much he wants to tease you about it. His two fingers find your hole and push in steadily, afraid to hurt you. You gasp, body falling into his, letting him hold you with his other arm. Your hand on his cock stutters but is determined to keep pleasuring him. 

You moan when he pushes his fingers all the way in, crooking them to press up against that spongey spot inside of you, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. 

“Fuck-” You choke, head heavy on his shoulder, your lips grazing his neck as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, switching it up between that and toying with that fucking spot inside of you. 

“Jack, I’m-”

“Oh I bet you are.” He chides and you burn. 

This could have been so humiliating if you chose it to be. How quickly you folded for him, how badly and desperately you needed him. As if he hadn’t folded just as quickly, if not faster, for you. 

Suddenly his fingers are ripped from your core and he’s ripping your pants down along with your underwear. You step out of them quickly, letting him manhandle you around to get you were you wants you. 

“Look at you listening to me so easily now.” Jack remarks, turning you around and pushing you up against the wall. 

“I always listen to you.” You admit, voice breathless and breaking and sounding completely debauched. 

You feel him step in to your space, you arch your back instinctively and Jack basically purrs all soft for you. You feel the head of his cock at your entrance, threatening your folds. You whimper, shiver. You try to push into him but his hand flies to your neck, holding you still where you are. 

He leans over your back, rucking your shirt up with the hand that was holding his dick. He hadn’t meant for this to happen like this, all dirty and rushed and in his fucking workplace. He thinks about the rest of you, hidden under your scrubs, how he’d kiss every inch. Maybe that was for another time. Hopefully. 

“I know you do.” He praises, kissing the back of your neck and pushing into cunt in the same breath. You both groan way too loudly, pure relief coming over the both of you. 

Jack breaches you slowly, he knows he’s big. He’s not even being any type of way about it, he just knows its a lot from past…. flings. But God do you take him like a champ. You push your hips back into his, needing him to fill you completely you’re fucking whimpering for it. 

But Jack’s still got his hold on you, pinning you down so he can work you onto his cock slowly, at his own pace. He’s in control here. 

You both moan again once he reaches the end of you, fully seated in your velvety pussy. His head falls onto your back, his arms wrapping around you to hold you to him, anything to get closer. You scramble to gain purchase on anything, the wall, his strong arms, anything. You feel dizzy, you feel full, you feel drunk. 

“Always so good for me. Such a good girl” He moans, hips pulling back to just thrust back in punishingly. It punches a moan out from your gut. 

You nod your head, unable to speak. I try to be good, I try to be.

Jack doesn’t wait, this has to be quick anyways, you both have been gone for far too long, he’s suddenly reminded that the day shift will be showing up in a matter of minutes and God knows Robby will be looking for him up here. His dick throbs at the thought of being caught balls deep inside of you, his little med student. 

He pulls you back by the ass to meet his hips, pumping himself in and out of your creamy pussy at a brutal pace, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. He says your name, you’ve never heard him say a name quite like that and it breaks you. 

“I-Is this good?” He asks, trying to be sexy but it comes out broken, desperate and pathetic.

You nod your head frantically again, trying to turn your head to look at him and Jack’s heart soars at the sight. Your pupils blown black, eyes big and watery from the feel of his cock filling you up to the absolute brim, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. He wants to lick the sweat from you. Next time, next time. 

Jack leans closer, kissing you on the open mouth and you moan debauchedly into him. As he moved closer to you to keep kissing you it pushed his cock that much further into you, his hips grinding into your ass and his cock into the absolute end of you. You can barely keep yourself standing, you’re thankful for Jack’s strength keeping you up, you could’ve had both feet off the ground and you’d have no idea. 

His cock pummels into you, moan after moan being punched from your chest, your gut, the deepest part of you. 

You whimper into his mouth at his sweet kisses in contrast with his harsh thrusts, it was enough to make your head spin, your pussy clench, threatening to burst. 

“Tell me it’s good, need you to say it for me.” 

“S-So good, Jack. You feel-”

“Yeah?” 

You cry, you think a lone tear falls from your eye and maybe Jack kisses it away or licks it but his cock doesn’t stop and suddenly you’re cumming, completely surrendering your body to his. You shudder and twitch and your pussy squeezes his dick so tight he nearly sees stars, it takes everything in him to not blow his load inside of you in that instant. 

That would be bad, that would be really bad, that would be messy and irresponsible and fuck he’s not wearing a condom how could you both have been so stupid and drunk off each other to not grab a condom. It’s not like you have them in your scrubs but theres a dispenser in the bathroom and - 

“Jack please,” You beg, voice so small and worn out. Your hand reaches out behind you, grabbing for him and suddenly he’s pulled back to the very real reality where he is fucking the shit out of you and he’s about to cum about it. 

“Please what?” He asks, needing to hear you say it. 

“Need you- need you to cum for me. Please Jack.” 

Fuck, he doesn’t want this to be over, he needs this to go on forever, needs you to suddenly be his salvation, he’s not quite sure how he’s gone on this long without you but he knows he can’t go forward without it. 

Jack’s body tenses, his cock somehow gets impossibly harder, you feel it thicken inside of you and you moan again, another orgasm threatening to rip through you. 

But suddenly he’s pulling himself out of your greedy hole, his voice breaking as he spills himself onto the concrete floor beneath the both of you. Your cunt pulses, desperate to have him fill you again. Before you can protest his fingers lunge up into your abused hole again and he grating at that spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars. 

“Need another one, yeah?”

“Jack- fuck!” It complete takes over you. 

Somehow without having to even tell him, he felt the way your pussy spasmed and cried around him right before he pulled out, he knew you were close to cumming again. And ever the gentleman he is, he’s going to give you another one. 

He’s unrelenting, just like he was with his cock. His two fingers crook up against that spot again and suddenly you’re seeing stars. 

Jack’s arm wraps around the front of your shoulders, hauling your back straight against his chest, holding your trembling body to his. You can feel his slowly softening cock against your lower back, cum still dripping from it onto your ass. 

“Do it, please.” He begs of you this time, the muscles in both arms trembling from his own orgasm. 

Jack feels your pussy spasm again, feels the way your chest quickens its breathes, the way your feet nearly kick out from under you with the strength of it all and your cumming on his hand, your eyes going black and blind from the force of it. 

You slump back against him, letting him hold you once again. Jack wraps both his arms around you, swinging you around so that his back is pressed against the wall so he can lean on something. You both try to catch your breath, clinging to each other with leftover desperation. 

Greedily, he lets a hand swipe through your abused folds, collecting what you’ve given him. You whimper, leaning your head back to hide it in his neck, embarrassed. 

“Jack,” you whine in a pathetic attempt at protesting. 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Let me.” He tells you, plainly. 

His fingers linger, scooping up what he can and bringing it to his lips. He licks everything, groaning at the taste and letting his eyes close. You whine, pushing your face further into his neck, smelling him. He smells manly, like sweat, cologne and sex. You let it envelop you. 

Jack holds you like that for as long as he humanly can. Before the thoughts of getting caught inevitably come crashing down upon him again. 

“We have to move, kid. Can’t stay like this forever.” He tells you in a sad tone. You press a final kiss to his neck, breathing him in before pulling away. 

“I know.” 

You both pull yourselves back together. Jack puts his own pants back on as he watches you pull your underwear on slowly. Mindlessly, he reaches for your pants and holds them out for you. You put your hands on his shoulders while you step into them. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, voice gone quiet again, like you already have to be hush hush about this. 

Jack kisses the top of your head sweetly. You wonder what’s to come after this. You look up at him and he gives you that slick side smile you’ve only seen him throw Robby or Dana. 

“Didn’t know you could make noises like that.” He smiles and you push him back against the wall you were both just fucking up against, your face absolutely burning. This motherfucker likes making fun of you. 

“Jack I swear to God-”

He grabs you and kisses you again, holding your face to his. You let him kiss you, fighting the want to just melt back into him and stay here. 

Jack pulls away first. His anxiety getting the best of him. 

“Can I drive you home?” He asks, unsure of what else to say. He needs to get you out of the workplace and have a normal fucking conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around grief and dying kids and elderly on life support. 

And besides he knows you take the bus. 

“Yes please.” 

/

okayyy i literally had to cut it short because this shit was getting too long LOL, i had a full final act outlined but maybe that could be a shorter part two if anyone's interested..... lmk <3

[ecriter]

YEAH BABYYYYYY

Day After Tomorrow - Part Three

a/n: this is the final part!! i really loved writing this story and i love jack so pls send in some ideas for him. hope u love it baiii

pt 1 pt 2

18+!!!!!! MDNI

content warning: age gap, awkward reader a little. oral (r!receiving), nipple sucking, p in v sex, i really don't know what else but this is pretty filthy LOL. i didn't have a lot of time to proofread so forgive me pls <3

Saying you were nervous for your date was an understatement. You’ve had your share of first dates, but you were certainly rusty at the moment. You’ve always been too busy to really deal with your love life. Between school, and your absurd hours at work, it only really left you about two hours a day of free time to yourself. And God, you were not gonna let some random person get in the way of those two hours.

But Jack wasn’t a boy. He was a man. He was a grown man. With a stable job, and a 401k, and real insurance, definitely not his parents. And at this point, you were quite scared the age gap was going to be a problem. You were mostly scared you were going to say something stupid in front of him. You knew you were far from unintelligent. You excelled in your degree, you had a lot of common sense, and humor! Which is proven to show intelligence. But in all honesty, you haven’t taken a science class since your freshman year of undergrad. The information from anatomy class had fallen so far out of your brain you’re pretty sure it still haunted your first dorm room. You didn’t know how to talk about his line of work with him, you didn’t know anything about emergency medicine. And that scared you, deeply. You have been so wrapped up in your philosophy groups, where everyone always knew what the other was talking about, that you weren’t sure how to learn something brand new anymore.

Maybe that was the most exciting part, though. The idea of opposites attract, like the movies. Yeah, it was exciting, not nerveraking. You had read recently that anxiousness and excitement caused the same physical symptoms, so you tried to trick your brain into being excited. You were excited. You had been looking forward to seeing him since he sent the first text. 

You texted back right away, of course, telling him that you’d be delighted to accompany him to dinner. He asked for your address, and said he’d pick you up, which was the most gentleman-like act you’ve experienced in years. Or so you thought, because before you know it, there’s three small raps at your door. You check your phone, seeing the time is 5:47. There’s also a text from Jack saying that he was on his way, you had missed it in your whirlwind of getting ready. You move towards the door quickly, turning the creaky knob. 

He looks good— unreasonably good. He has on a tight fitted black henley, a pair of nice, fitted jeans, and some black tennis shoes. You don’t know how casual attire makes him look so sexy, but it does.  A silver chain glints in the light, and you think you may faint. You’re so taken aback by his attractiveness, you don’t even see the bouquet of tulips that he’s holding out to you.

Jack stands there, letting you take him in. He's got a smug little smile on his face. “Hi there. These are for you. I was hoping you would just have a vase?” 

You nod, words not forming quite yet. “Can I come in?” he asks softly.

“Yes! Sorry, yes, yes, come in. Excuse the mess.” your apartment was spotless, but it just felt like the right thing to say. It’s what people said when they had guests, and your dialogue was being reduced to factory settings. 

“Nice apartment,”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad.” you grab a vase from under the sink, filling it up halfway with water. You make quick work of cutting the stems off the tulips before plopping them in the water.

“Are you ready to go after that?”

Your heart thumps in your chest, so hard you can feel it in your throat. “Yeah, I am.”

“You’re less talkative today,” he says. Not prying, just observing. He looks at you like he’s assessing you for symptoms.

“Honestly, I can’t really believe you’re standing in my apartment.”

He smiles, “Still think you’re dreaming me up?”

“Maybe a little,”

“That’s okay. I’ll show you how real I am tonight.”

You gulp at the innuendo, unsure if it was even supposed to be an innuendo, but that's definitely the way you were taking it.

Jack catches your eyes and nods his head towards the door before walking over, leading the way. You follow his suit instinctively. 

His car is a nice, black truck, and the inside is spotless. Not that you thought it would be dirty, but it’s unrealistically clean. Almost like he just bought it. You hear a soft talking over the radio, no, it’s something else.

He sees you trying to locate the noise, “It’s a police scanner, if there’s an emergency coming into the hospital I like to know so I can go help.” he blinks at you, recognizes the words coming out of his mouth, “Does that make me a crazy workaholic?”

You belly laugh, “God, no, I mean if people need help, it’s good you want to help.”

“I do like to help.”

“You really love it, don’t you?”

“I do, I think what I do is some of the most important work in the world, and I’m good at it. And I like being good at things.”

You hum in response, “Definitely very important work,”

“What do you like about philosophy?”

“I just think it’s an interesting study on human nature. I like applying philosophies I agree with to my personal life, or putting them on other people. I like sharing how to think one way instead of another. I just like to think, maybe.” you say, frazzled. No one really asks you why philosophy. They just hear that it’s your degree, and move on.

“I like that. The world needs more people who fucking think.” he says. His eyes are glued to the road, he has one hand on the wheel, and one resting on the gear shift. His fingers softly tap to their own rhythm.

“How many stupid people do you deal with in a day?” 

“More than I would like to admit. I’m sure you get your fair share.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to treat them for six hours while they tell me I’m wrong about life saving practices.”

He nods sharply, “This period of time is certainly an interesting one. I don’t know why half of them even come in, they just sit there and refuse treatment.”

You shake your head, “I change my answer. I’m getting a philosophy degree so I don’t have to deal with the general public.” 

It’s his turn to belly laugh, “I don’t blame you, kid.”

You get dizzy from the nickname. The car settles into a comfortable silence. You continue your drive until you pull into a small, nice Italian restaurant.

Jack puts the car in park. You go to reach for the handle and he scoffs, “Stay in.”

He gets out of the car and comes around to your side, opening the door for you. You want to cry, you still think he’s fake. You get out, try to pretend like your hands aren’t shaking. He closes the door behind you, then grabs your hand. The contact sends sparks right up your arm, just like the first time he grabbed the coffee up from you. You thought shit like that was fake, but it was real, this was real.

The dinner goes perfectly. The conversation flows. Jack is a lot less abrupt when he’s not in the middle of a shift. He tells you stuff about his personal life, about his parents, and even a little bit about the war. He talks to you about medical supplies he thinks are changing the future. And he lets you talk. He genuinely cares what you have to say. He never looks at you like your degree is anything less than his. He even looks blown away at some things. The owner of the restaurant comes over at one point. You learn that he and Jack served together. You feel honored to meet someone Jack knows already. The date is all you could have wished for– it was better than a dream. Jack was real, and he enjoyed your company. You could tell on his face. The creases between his eyebrows went away, and his smile lines got deeper. He was mysterious when you met him, but now, you felt like you already knew him, and how to read him.

The drive home is equally perfect. Jack cracks the windows a little, letting in fresh air. You feel the wind hit your hair lightly. He won’t stop looking over at you. His hand twitches towards you on the gear shift, and you reach out for it without thinking. He glances down, and then back up at you. He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. You rest your sewn together hands on your lap, studying his rough hand. 

Of course, he walks you to your door. You lead the way, and you can hear him trailing behind you, slowly, cautiously. 

You unlock the door and turn to look at him, “Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” he smiles.

You linger in the doorway, not wanting the night to end. “Did you have a good time?”

His eyes soften at you, “Yeah, I had a real good time. Best time in a while.” Your breathing falters. “I’d really like to kiss you.” Jack says.

You still, then nod, you can tell your eyes are wide and glazed over. 

“I’m gonna need some words, sweetheart.” 

“I would like that.” you say, barely above a whisper. 

He approaches you. Grabs your cheek, gives it a gentle rub with his thumb before leaning down. He lets his nose rest on yours for a second, taking you in. He’s so close, his chest bumps yours when he breathes in. He closes his eyes and closes the space between you. It’s soft at first, it’s kind. It’s– alert. You can’t help yourself. You need more. You make the move to deepen it and that’s all he needs. He presses into you, so hard that you enter your apartment. He’s so fucking smooth, you can’t stand it. You try not to think about all the practice he’s had, probably before you were even a concept in your parents head. He closes the door with his back before spinning you around and pushing you against the wooden entrance. You grab his face, pulling away from him. Jack chases your lips, but when you turn away, he starts placing soft kisses on your neck instead. 

“I want you to know,” you say panting, “I never do this on the first date.”

He chuckles into you, “This is our third date.”

“What?” you say, breathless, because he’s kissing a tender spot right under your jaw that’s driving you crazy. 

“Those times I saw you at the coffee shop. Those were our first dates.” You know he’s just talking to make you feel better, but it’s definitely working. “Don’t worry about it, no judgement here.” 

“You got it, Doc.” Jack stills. You think you fucked it. You curse yourself for making the corny joke.

He removes himself from your neck. Standing back to his full height. You try to not make eye contact, but his eyes chase yours, forcing you to. “Do you know how fucking crazy it makes me when you call me that.”

“No,” you choke out. 

“I’ve never even been into that. Never cared. But the first time you called me that, I almost broke. I thought about it the rest of the day.”

“And the second time?” you quip, playing into his games.

He shakes his head, places his forehead on your chest, “Killing me, baby.”

You look down, and see how hard he is. His bulge is straining against his jeans. 

He stands up again, “What do you wanna do, huh? Wanna keep playing games, or you wanna let me get you off?” 

The bluntness of his statement– and eagerness– makes you feel like your heart has dropped to the bottom of your stomach. “The latter,”

“Say it,” he says.  You shift on your feet, look straight down into the carpet. “I’m not gonna do it until you say it.”

“I want you to get me off.”

“Yeah, you do.” He kisses you again, deep, and hard. Your tongues clash. “Bedroom?” he asks.

You push off the door and start leading him to the back corner of the apartment. You thank yourself for picking up all the outfit options that you previously had sprawled on the ground. 

You let yourself fall onto the bed, moving back until your head hits the headboard. Jack doesn’t miss a beat, he follows you all the way back, never removing his lips from yours. He settles his hips between yours, and you feel the bulge instead of seeing it. He softly grinds into you, just once, just to make sure you know how you’re making him feel. He has a hand gently resting on your throat, just to stabilize himself. You remove it and lead it down, you put it under the dress you had on. You knew you were soaked through, and this is how you were gonna show him what he was doing to you. 

He groans into your mouth, “I have to taste you.”

You nod eagerly, and he doesn’t ask for words this time, just settles himself onto his stomach. You move down on the bed so your head can rest on the pillows. He doesn’t bother taking off your dress, just bunches it above your hips. He stares for a second, taking in the wet spot on your panties. Your hand moves an inch, going to take them off, but Jack grabs your wrist, presses it into the bed. He leans in and puts his tongue flat on you, through your underwear. 

“Shit!” you squeak. Your ears ring. Fucking doctors, of course he’d be able to find the clit while you had underwear on, while everyone else you’ve been with, you’ve had to show them. 

He grunts into you. Like he’s going crazy himself. Finally, he taps your hips, signalling for you to lift them. Of course, you do. “Already so good at following orders.”

The dominance leaking from his voice sends a wave of arousal through you. You imagined he would want to be in charge in bed, but he was so confident about it. It wasn’t shit he learned from watching too much porn— fake dominance that’s played up for the video. It was natural, it was who he was. 

You can’t find words to answer him, you just keep following his orders, trying to make him proud.

“Y’sure you want this?” Jack triple checks. 

“Please,” you’re breathless, already fucked out just from kissing him. 

He doesn’t say anything, just places his tongue flat on your pussy, licking a long strip all the way to the top.

You moan, louder than your neighbors would prefer. Jack is so good at it, you go back to thinking you’re dreaming. It’s absurd how good it feels. He knows all the right spots to hit, all the places only you could ever find. But he found them, and he’s claiming them. You feel like you’re becoming his. He teases a digit at your entrance and you preen, giving him permission. He sinks it in and curls it. He sets a steady pace that falls in alignment with how vigorously he’s eating you out. 

You already feel yourself getting close. You’ve never come this fast before— ever. Not even when you were doing it yourself. You can’t believe Jack is gonna beat your personal best. 

“You’re close,” he says into you. The vibrations go all the way up from your pussy to your brain. 

“Yes, I don’t know how, but yes. Please, I wanna come.” you ramble.  

“Give it to me, I wanna see you fall apart, honey.” He adds a second finger and your back arches up off the mattress.

You squeeze your eyes closed so hard you see white instead of black. He works you all the way through your orgasm, “That’s it, good girl. Look at me.”

Your eyes shoot open. This man and his need for eye contact. He wants to see everything. He wants to read you. And he does. His brows furrow at your face. He looks down at your body. Still in that dress that drove him crazy when you opened the door. 

He’s still letting his fingers pump inside of you when you come back to Earth. He stills them and pulls them out. You whine a little, he shushes you.

He makes sure you’re watching when he brings his fingers up to his lips, sucking off the juices he just got out of you. “God, you taste so fucking good.”

Your face goes hot, you try to look away but Jack’s too quick, again. It’s like he knows what you’re gonna do before you do it. He grabs your jaw. “Haven’t you figured out I wanna see you?”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Then stop running.”

You huff out a breath. You lean up to kiss him again and he lets you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it’s hotter than you thought it could be. You’re under his spell. Hopefully he really likes you, because you think you might follow him around forever now. 

You give up being coy, “I need you. Please, I need you, Jack.”

“Okay, you’ve got me. Don’t worry, honey,” he says.

You sit up and pull your dress over your head, unclasping your bra after. Jack takes his shirt off too. You lay back down and let your legs fall open. He hesitates before taking off his pants. You can sense he’s nervous. He takes the jeans off, and you see it. He looks at you, like he expects you to run. Like he expects the worst.

“Please,” is all you say. And that’s all it takes. Jack takes off his boxers, and his cock slaps up onto his stomach. It’s so long, the tip hits right below his belly button. 

He climbs up onto the bed, your legs open wider for him. You throw Jack a condom from your bedside table and he puts it on quickly. He lines himself up, the tip kisses your entrance. Jack comes up to where your head is, pressing his forehead against yours. He breathes into the space between you for a second, then, he sinks in.

It’s deep, really deep. So fucking deep you can feel him in your stomach. He strokes so that he hits your g-spot, and he can tell he got it by the way you moan. It was more a sob, really He places his mouth on your nipple, slightly tugging with his teeth. He plays with it for a while before giving the other one the same attention. All while not breaking his pace. It felt so, fucking, good. 

“So good, it feels so good.” you decide to tell him, to talk. You wanted to hear his voice.

“You feel so good. You’re sucking me in, baby. God, this pussy is even better than I imagined.” His chain dangles in your face, and you think you might be getting hypnotized.

“You thought about this?” you ask, trying to conceal your need for praise.

“For the past week, I’ve fucking thought about sinking my cock into you. You’re so beautiful. You’re so funny, and smart. You’ve got it all, baby. You’ve fucking got it all.”

The words send you reeling, “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long.”

“Me neither.” He grunts. 

His head falls into your neck. He places a deep kiss there, leans up to your ear. “Come around my cock, sweetheart.”

You weren’t one to disobey his orders. You come for the second time that night and Jack follows. He groans into you and lets his chin hit your shoulder. “Fuck,”

You both stay there like that for a while. Sweating, panting, coming down from the high of your life. 

“I’m gonna pull out, okay?” 

You nod, let him do whatever he wants. You’re so fucked out you don’t know if you can even open your eyes. 

He tosses the condom into the small trash bin beside your closet and grabs his boxers off the floor, putting them on before laying down beside you. 

You look over and smile at him. You can’t stop smiling actually, or giggling. 

Jack brushes your hair out of your face, “What’s so funny, hm?”

“That was so fucking good.” 

Jack laughs, loudly. The loudest you’ve heard his laugh yet. “Yeah, it was so fucking good.” 

You start to get shy, the highness of your orgasm wearing off, “I’d like to see you again, if you want.”

“Oh, honey. After that? You’re never getting rid of me.”

[ecriter]

I'll Be Your Mirror || Rupert Campbell-Black x Taggie O'Hara

word count: 2.4k

warnings:

18+ minors dni !! public sex, oral f!receiving, first "I love you"s (they're madly in love), Rupert is once again whipped, jam roly-poly makes a comeback (kinda), attempt at using british slang

link to this work on ao3

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Sausage rolls? Check.

Mini sandwiches? Check.

Salad? Check.

Birthday cake? Still cooling off in the fridge, but it should be ready by the time she has to leave.

With fifteen minutes left, Taggie rushes to her room to get ready. She discards her oversized Venturer T-shirt, exchanging it for a forest-green sundress. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she weaves her auburn hair into a simple side braid, tying it with a white ribbon. 

Smoothing her hands down her hips, she glances at herself for a moment longer. This will do, she thinks. She smears on some cherry chapstick before rushing back downstairs, neatly placing all the food she’s made into a straw basket. 

“I’m leaving!” she yells to no one in particular as she laces up her shabby, well-worn boots, heading out. 

The meadow is beautiful this time of day. Basket in hand, she strolls through the golden fields. She marvels at the blooming flowers, at the sunlight shining through the trees, as she walks towards Rupert’s house.  

Her heart is pounding in her chest as she reaches the thick wooden door she’s come to know so well. Her hand hovers inches away from it, hesitating to knock. She takes a deep breath, gathering up the courage– but the door swings open before her knuckles can graze the firm wood. 

Rupert stands leaning on the doorframe, a grin adorning his handsome face, and Taggie can feel her nerves soothe at the mere sight of him. She smiles back as he kisses the crown of her head. 

“Hello, Gorgeous,” he greets her, and her cheeks flush. “What have you got planned for us today?”

She hasn’t told him yet. She wanted it to be a surprise. She’s well aware that this week has been overwhelming for him, constantly in meetings with the most important people in England; she wants this afternoon to be just about him– about them.

But a bloody picnic? She suddenly feels like the whole idea was childish. Christ, what the hell was she thinking? Rupert Campbell-Black on a picnic? Oh God, he’s going to call it all off now, isn’t he? Just when she’s gotten used to calling him her own–

“Tag?” Rupert’s voice cuts through her thoughts. She hesitates for a moment.

“I was thinking we could go on a picnic?” she tells him, unable to mask the slight tremble in her voice. “Only if you’d like to, of course– it’s such a lovely day, and I’ve brought some food, and I know you’ve been stressed, so I thought maybe you’d want to get away from it all–”

His lips are on hers before she can finish, and she melts right into him, nearly dropping the basket to the floor. 

“You’re perfect,” he tells her softly, her pupils blown wide. “Fuck, you’re an angel, Tag. How on earth did I get so lucky,”

She sets the basket on the ground before leaning into him, arms slung around his neck, lips inches away from his.

“Happy birthday, Rupert,” she whispers, before kissing him deeply.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

They walk through the fields with their fingers interlocked, talking and laughing while looking for the perfect spot to lay the gingham blanket.

There’s a tree growing on a small hill, and they decide to settle down in its shade, surrounded by daisies.

Rupert reclines on his back, leaning his weight on his forearms, admiring Taggie as she takes out the food containers one by one, placing them neatly in the space between the two of them. She’s sat on her knees, legs tucked beneath her, and her thighs look absolutely delicious in that dress, Rupert thinks. 

She’s absolutely beautiful, his girl, with the loveliest doe eyes and freckles like specks of gold. He truly is one lucky bastard.

Taggie interrupts his somewhat indecent thoughts, handing him a plate and cutlery, her lips curled into a timid smile.

“Dig in,” she says, and he does, filling his plate with all of the goodness she’s worked so hard on making just for him. 

“Bon appétit,” he says with a cheeky smirk, stuffing his face with the food. Taggie takes small bites of a sandwich, eyes focused on his face, watching for a reaction. 

Rupert just about moans as the taste hits his tongue, unable to bite down the sound as his mouth brims with the exquisite combinations of flavours. 

“Jesus, Tag,” he says, mouth still half full. “This is absolutely divine. You’ve outdone yourself.” her cheeks warm at his praise, hiding a satisfied smile behind the sandwich in her hands. She immediately feels less tense, her confidence boosting. 

The afternoon passes easily. The two of them eat and talk; Rupert gossips about people Taggie’s never met, and in return she tells him about Caitlin’s new beau. They relish in each other’s company, enjoying both the meaningless conversations and the peaceful silences filled with the soft singing of the birds. It’s pure bliss, absolute serenity, Taggie thinks as she stares at Rupert. His eyes are shut, face tilted up towards the cool breeze, and he’s so handsome, his side profile illuminated by the golden sunlight. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt such peace.

She rises to her feet, stretching her legs quickly before offering Rupert her hand, urging him to get up. His brow furrows quizzically at her.

“Come on,” she laughs, and she looks so beautiful from where she stands above him, the late afternoon light like a halo around her. She truly is an angel, his girl, and he knows damn well he doesn’t deserve this– but Rupert is a greedy bastard, and he’ll take what he can get, even if it’s just for a short while. That’s why he takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet, the joints of his knees letting out a pop! in the process.

Taggie turns her back to him and starts walking, an unspoken request for him to follow behind. And he does, in a way– closing the distance and placing the palms of his large hands on her hips, lips pressing into the nape of her neck. She melts into him, letting out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a giggle, before using every ounce of her self control to pull her body away from his.  

“Come on then,” she says, taking his hand in hers. “I need your help picking daisies.”

So he helps her, of course he does, because he worships the ground she walks on. Because he swears he sees heaven in the crease of her smile. He carefully plucks the loveliest daisies he can find. 

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Taggie’s fingers weave the daisy stems together, tying them into an intricate flower crown. Rupert sits besides her on the picnic blanket, staring at her, mesmerized by the determined look on her face. She looks beautiful like this, he thinks, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. 

Before he even realizes that he’s doing it, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the place where her brows furrow. Taggie laughs, and oh, it’s the loveliest sound, spurring him on. He presses open mouthed kisses to her temple, her cheekbone, down to her jaw and finally her neck, letting his teeth graze the thin skin there.

“You’ll leave a mark,” she gasps out as he continues suckling on the same spot. Rupert knows this is a bad idea, knows that Declan will break his bloody nose when he sees his daughter come home with a hickey— but right now he couldn’t care less.

His hand moves to undo the thin piece of ribbon that ties her braid, long locks of hair pouring like rays of sunshine onto her shoulders, swaying in the afternoon breeze.

She tugs on the front of his brown sweater, a silent, desperate plea. Rupert, of course, complies, once again kissing her sweet lips as he climbs on top of her, laying her down beneath him.

As she reclines backwards, Taggie moves to lay the half-finished flower crown on the ground, but he stops her– taking it in his hands and placing it atop her head, wordlessly gazing into her eyes for a few long moments before laying her down gently on the blanket.

Rupert takes a minute simply just to admire her– the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes heavily, the way the warm evening light practically sets her skin aglow. He swears he could look at her for hours, studying every pore and every freckle, kissing every part of her body that she deems imperfect. But right now she’s needy, writhing beneath him, and who is he to deny his sweet angel what she wants?

He kisses the hollow of her throat before trailing down to the valley between her breasts, pausing when he reaches her abdomen only to shuck the skirt of her dress just above her belly. He stands on his knees, placing her ankle onto his shoulder, and she’s looking at him with such tenderness and trust that no one else has ever given him, he could almost melt.

He presses a trail of kisses up her inner thigh, lips inching closer and closer to where Taggie needs him most. She’s adorable like this, desperately tugging him closer to her by his hair.

When he reaches her core, he licks a stripe with the tip of his tongue up to her clit, still covered by the fabric of her plain white panties. She whimpers at the contact, arching her back in need for more. Rupert chuckles, amused by her utter desperation, but he gives into her, because of course he does.

In one swift move he tugs her knickers off, exposing her to him completely. Her cunt is a sopping mess, pink and glistening and all his. 

Rupert is a bad man; this he knows. A liar, a traitor, a rake– He’s been called just about every name in the bloody book. He’s done many things he's not proud of, hurt a plethora of people just to get his own way. If heaven exists… Well, it’s safe to say he won’t be seeing the pearly gates.

But Taggie, looking downwards at him with pleading eyes and bruised lips parted as if he hung the stars and the moon. Taggie, his lovely girl, who’s thighs feel like silk between his hands.

Christ, heaven can’t compare.

He flattens his tongue, licking from her dripping hole to her clit. Her fingers tighten in his hair, tugging softly at the dark strands.

“Oh, Rupert,” she mewls, voice like honey. It spurs him on further– licking into her, groaning at her saccharine taste. He makes sure to focus on her clit, lapping and kissing at it sweetly. 

Her hips are rutting against his face and he absolutely loves it, how she’s not ashamed to seek her own pleasure anymore. Fuck, he wants to give her everything. 

He slips one long finger into her entrance and she gasps at the intrusion. His lips close around her nub, sucking softly as his finger curls deep inside her, searching for the spot that’ll make her see stars behind closed eyelids. He knows she’s getting close, her cunt tightening around him and her back arching off the ground.

Teardrops dust over Taggie’s eyelashes as she chases her climax. She’s practically grinding into Rupert’s face, too fucked out to even feel embarrassed. Her fingers curl in his hair tightly, an ironclad grip, and he’s moaning into her, savoring the flavor. 

“Rupert, I’m–” and it hits her like a wave breaking on the shore. Her eyes squeeze shut as she comes, letting out a loud, sinful moan, and Rupert makes a vow to himself then and there– for the rest of his godforsaken life, he will do everything in his power to make her feel this way forever. 

She lets out a shaky breath as she comes down from her high, and he moves to hover on top of her, their lips mere millimeters away from each other’s. Her hand comes to cup his face, and he instinctively leans into her warmth.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him with a sweet, apologetic smile, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. His face contorts in confusion. “I got carried away. Today was supposed to be about you, not me, and yet…” Rupert can’t help but chuckle. 

“Oh, Tag,” he tells her with eyes full of tenderness. “Please. This was for me. You know I’m a selfish bastard,” Taggie huffs out a laugh, and he leans downwards to kiss her. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into her, smiling against his lips as she tastes herself on them.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“There’s just one more thing,” she tells him.

The sun has started to set, painting the sky a cotton-candy pink. Taggie shifts from where she lay besides Rupert, sitting up and reaching into the picnic basket, before pulling out a cake. 

It’s absolutely beautiful— a two-tiered sponge with a dark red filling, topped with sliced strawberries and dollops of cream. Rupert stares in amazement for a long moment, speechless.

“It’s an almond flour lemon cake,” she explains. “And I made it with a rhubarb jam filling, since you refused to try my jam roly-poly that day in the woods,” he laughs, remembering how hard he’d tried to stay away from her back then. How it just made him fall deeper in love with her. 

“Thank you, Angel,” he tells her sincerely as she cuts the cake into large portions. “It’s perfect. I love it.” She laughs.

“You haven’t even tried it yet,” she tells him, handing him a plate with a slice on it. He looks at her as he takes a bite, never breaking eye contact, and oh. 

Oh.

The sponge is soft in his mouth, and it tastes like summer and like sunshine, like a literal slice of heaven.

Like home. 

“I love you,” he tells her, and Taggie damn near drops her plate, but he’s looking at her with the most earnest eyes, with the most vulnerability she’s ever seen him express to anyone, and yes, she thinks, she already knew.

“Tell me again,” she asks of him, a smile steadily growing on her beautiful lips.

“I love you,” he says again, and she beams brightly. She leans closer, pecking his lips.

“I love you, too,” she tells him as they break apart, pressing her forehead against his. Rupert grins widely, before tugging her by her hips to straddle his lap. She squeals, a mix of surprise and delight at the sudden action.

I love you, he repeats, kissing the right side of her neck, and again, I love you, before kissing the left side.

And it almost feels like an oath. 

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Thank you so much for reading!! Rivals brainrot is actually insane so I hope you enjoyed this drabble as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 Still reeling from the season two announcement!!!! I'm so so excited, I love this show so much, like a concerning amount probably lolll

[ecriter]

more durge head cannon😃 the call of power and bloodlust

[ecriter]

posting my oc durge art on here because the brain rot is…too…strong…

[ecriter]

[ecriter]

putting my hairless cat under for surgery

[ecriter]

ok buuuuuuuut think about astarion looting chests and boxes along your adventure, slowly collecting trinkets and gems to trade for gold when he has the first chance. imagine him keeping the gems he think are especially lovely, the gems that remind him of you, pearl for your goodness, ruby for your spirit, and when the two of you are alone in his tent, curled beneath a warm fur, he presents them to you like a bashful child. his eyes are downcast, unsure if you’ll accept his gift - but you do, of course you do, because anything from astarion is worth the world.

[ecriter]

can u imagine the late nights when astarion stays up around the camp fire long after you’ve gone to bed, maybe reading a book or maybe just thinking, and when it gets a little too chilly and the fire dies he goes to your tent fully ready to curl up beside your warmth. he peels back the flap, thinking of the way you would grumble sleepily as he would tuck himself around you, only to find a pile of white fur in his place, a head peeking up with a wet black nose and pair of guilty eyes. imagine astarion huffing and begrudgingly letting scratch sleep at the foot of the tent because you’d looked so warm and cozy curled up with him and if that dog makes you that happy, astarion supposes he can deal with its presence.

[ecriter]

Make the Bond - Pt. 7

a/n: after 6 months....THEY'RE BACK.

warnings: smut, minors DNI

ao3 ver

Part 7 of ?

Part 6

-

Chapter 7 - Make the Bond

The ritual of mating beneath Eywa had been practiced in Navi culture since the first songs. To take a mate was to bond eternally with another being, two souls connected by the all-seeing mother. Mating was the most tender form of a promise, only breakable by death, and as you and Quaritch moved across the soft, damp moss that bloomed along the sloped roots of the soul tree, you could hardly believe it was an oath you were about to make. 

You had dreamed of this day since you were an awkward, gangly teenager just coming into your womanhood - nights spent beneath dusk, your finger brushing the glowing fronds of your queue and imagining the completeness a bond would bring. The hazy face you had always imagined was clear now, a sharp relief that painted strong and straight features belonging to your dreamwalker. He was tangible, not just some foggy idea that you figured was a natural evolution of your future.

The intensity of your connection should have scared you, but you were still high on a cocktail of nerves and adrenaline from the soldier attacking you back in the jungle. It wasn't helping your rationality that Quaritch’s scent curled around you, perfuming your senses until you felt drunk on him. 

You knew what lay ahead of you, past the bioluminescent plants that hid a glittering clearing. An almost transcendent pull guided you there, Quaritch in tow, and the closer you neared the soul tree, the tighter your hand curled into his. 

“The clearing is just ahead now,” You murmured, words puncturing the heavy air. “We’re close.” 

“Where’re we going?” Quaritch asked. 

Your pace slowed so Quaritch could pull equal to you, steps in unison with yours. The clearing was ahead, hidden by pale pink fronds that seemed to drape from the sky. You reached forward to brush them away, allowing Quaritch to step first into the clearing that revealed the Soul Tree. The sheer majesty of it commanded respect - white bark shimmered in the moonlight that bathed the meadow, glowing tendrils weaving a blanket around the base of the tree, creating a curtain of privacy from the rest of the world. 

“Here,” You whispered reverently. “Our ancestors. Eywa created these sanctuaries to allow us to communicate with our ancestors and herself. See here? We connect to these vines and can see the memories of our clans and seek guidance.”

With a gentle touch, you caressed the glowing chord in front of you, sliding it along your palm until its weight rested comfortably in your hand, then offered it to Quaritch. 

At first, he looked uncomfortable - his fingers brushed the back of your hand, but he didn’t grab the vine nor indicate that he wanted to do so. Quaritch's depth and understanding of Eywa was still in its infancy, so you understood his reluctance to connect with her. But there was nothing to fear, nothing you would let happen to him. 

“Quaritch,” You whispered, sliding your fingers to interlock with his. He looked at you, his brow creased a little deeper. He was pouting in a way reminiscent of a child, lower lip puffed out and wide yellow eyes glistening. It pulled a laugh from your chest as you smoothed a hand down his cheek.

“Quaritch, what are you afraid of? I am here with you, and I would not let anything happen to you.” 

Quaritch cleared his throat in an embarrassed manner, then grinned shyly. “I know it's stupid. I guess I'm just not used to things being inside my head. Other than me.” 

You laughed again and the tension eased. Quaritch slid his fingers along the chord, chuffing at the warmth and life of the thing. It glowed under his hand, almost inviting him to connect. 

“See?” You teased. “Not so scary.” 

The ex-soldier snorted, but his head tilted back, eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter. The movement brought candor to his usually guarded expression. You noticed an endearing set of dimples and small creases around his eyes, making your heart flutter. No one else saw him like this. Just you. 

Your grin matched his as you looked down at the chord, sliding your braid over your shoulder. The tendrils of your queue curled forward, testing the warm air before twisting towards the vine and holding fast. Warmth poured into your limbs, a familiar peace you found with Eywa’s communion. Memories moved through you, warm like sunlight pouring across your skin - a sandy beach, cool water lapping at your toes, the flash of your mother’s kind eyes, and your father’s guiding touch. You felt soft fingers brush against yours and looked to your right to see Quaritch looking down at you. 

“Is that you?” 

“Yes. My father was teaching me to fish. I was terrible at it but he was patient and we spent all day together.”

Perfectly timed, your young figure fumbles the large trout hooked on the pole and it splashes back into the water, swimming away. Your father bends down, ruffling your hair with a smile. He says something and you remember the words -  Plenty of fish in the sea, daughter. You only fail when you do not try! 

“That's a good memory.” 

You hum in agreement, drawing closer to Quaritch. 

“Yeah. It was the last time we could spend time together before he became Chief and the duties of the clan took him away.” 

After that, you saw your father less and less. Trips to the beach for lessons were passed on to the matriarchs that traditionally taught young warriors. It was a bittersweet memory. Your expression must have betrayed you, because Quaritch tucked his arm around your hip and pulled you into his side. 

He wasn't one for words of comfort, so he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline, lingering there. Your eyes fluttered close before you turned into him, burying your nose in his collar. Quaritch smelled like salt and summer, fitting perfectly into the landscape of your mind. His tail brushed low over the foamy surf. You could feel the tickle of his dark hair against your cheek, grown out from the closely-cropped cut he’d had when the two of you had first met.

The memory began to fade, the smell of the sea fading into cobwebs. Your eyes blinked open, back in the clearing. 

When you looked up, Quartich was looking down at you. Suddenly, the air felt thick. Your breath caught in your throat. Quaritch was looking at you, communicating something to you through molten eyes. Your body was tingling, growing flush beneath his implication. Quaritch was disconnecting from the tree and you were dimly aware that you were, too. He was moving as if captured in quicksand, slow and deliberate. Then, suddenly, his fingers were curling into the messy strands at the base of your neck, pulling you into him, kissing you. It was all teeth and desperation. Quaritch licked along the seam of your lip, into your mouth, working you open with almost embarrassing ease. His large palms followed the curve of your back, pulling your hips into his, sparking delicious friction that made you groan.

Months of fleeting touches, flirtatious smiles, and tension that had boiled and boiled finally led to this moment. 

Your mouths moved decisively against one another, his tongue sliding along your teeth and nipping at your mouth. It was like Quaritch wanted to swallow you whole, devour you and lay claim to you utterly and completely, ruin any thought or desire for anyone else but him. Not that you had any - Quaritch had consumed you since you'd met him. 

His hand curled at the base of your spine, grazing along the sensitive skin of your tail - it was a sensitive spot, a bundle of nerves that sent your hips jutting back into his palm. 

“ Miles,”  You sighed against him, fingers clenching against his shoulders for stability. 

“That feel good?” You could feel him grin against your cheek, nuzzling his wet nose down the line of your jaw and dropping soft kisses and nips. 

You nodded, whining as he massaged that sensitive spot. The heat in your stomach turned tangible, weakening your legs so you collapsed into Quaritch, holding onto him desperately, craving every inch of skin and muscle.

Your hips moved to rut upwards again but were forced still by Quaritch’s grip around you. He tilted your head back, meeting your wet, pitiful eyes. 

“If you look at me like that, I’m going to do some very bad things to you.” He sighed, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“What kind of things?” You asked, all innocence. 

His ears flicked and he exhaled shakily. The virtue you exuded begged for corruption - Quaritch wanted to do things properly with you, ease you slowly open for him until you bloomed like a flower. But God, your big round eyes that glowed pink in the light of the tree and your swollen plush lips that would look so perfect wrapped around his cock made such formalities impossible. 

“Lay down,” Was all he could manage, guiding your pliant form down to the earth. 

The tree roots cupped your body like a small burrow built just for the pair of you, soft grass tickling the sensitive skin of your spine. Quaritch’s knees bracketed your hips, pinning you in place. You expected him to lean down and kiss you - he had other plans. Lithe fingers curled around the woven fabric off your chest guard, tugging at the material. It gave away with no resistance, exposing your hardened nipples to the cooling night air. 

“Sensitive?” He asked cheekily, thumbing one of the peaks. 

“Miles...” You complained, curling upwards at the stimulation of his fingers. 

“Alright, alright.” 

He reached for your braid, sliding it over your shoulder and kissing the tip of it. His pupils were dilated in the moonlight, cat-like slits taking in every detail of your body sprawled underneath him. His cock twitched under his cloth, heavy and hard and dampening the material with his precum. Quaritch reached for his queue, bringing it around his shoulder until the tip of it just barely brushed yours. 

The pair of you stilled, the heaviness of anticipation in the air. You wondered if Quaritch could hear your heart hammering against your chest - it was almost deafening to you, amplified by the impending connection that tingled at the base of your skull. Quaritch’s tendrils curled forward, testing the air. Both of you were panting, gripped by weeks of lust and desire culminating in this garden of Eden. 

Then, the tendrils extended, connecting, wrapping around one another in an embrace. The bond was instantaneous. Your head fell against the ground, eyes rolling back into your skull as every feeling and thought of Quaritch’s pumped into your nerve endings. He was all around you, a drug of scent and trace that had your fingers practically ripping the moss from the floor in wanton ecstasy. A shaking gasp ripped from your throat. You can  feel  Quaritch respond in kind, as gripped as you are in the throes of the bond, baring sharp teeth like a wild animal. Your body was shaking with the force of it. It felt like hours before you could come to enough to look at Quaritch through half-lidded, drunken eyes. He was already looking at you - amber pools of honey that drag up your slick form. His hips knocked against yours. You can feel how devastatingly wet you are from the press of his hardened cock against your slit. 

On fire and smothered by the delicious scent of your mate’s lust filling the air around you, you recognized that you would be plucking this scent from crowds for the rest of your life, searching for your mate out in every room. 

Quaritch’s mouth brushed against the lining of your jaw, warm breath against the shell of your ear. You turn into him, purring and mouthing at his neck like a kitten. 

“Gonna fucking breed you, sweetheart.” He whispered hoarsely, raw from the force of your connection.

You can only whine, thighs spreading open in invitation. You feel the tickle of fingers sliding past your waistband, dancing over your mound. Quaritch could read you easily now - knew what you wanted before the words could gather in your throat, which was likely for the best - you were sure forming a sentence was an impossibility, especially as the ridges of Quaritch’s knuckles bumped against your swollen nub, prodding the entrance of your aching hole. 

The pad of his thumb brushed over your clit, then down the dripping slit of your cunt. The slickness made him groan nice and low into your ear. “Already this wet, darlin? Ready to take me?” 

“Yes,” You breathed, rutting into him again. “Yes, please, please, I’m  ready ,”

Quaritch pinched your clit and grinned against your skin when you yelped. “You need to keep talking, baby, tell me what you want. Can’t help you if I don’t know what you want.” 

He pulled his hand out of your bottoms, sliding them up your belly. It left a trail of sticky arousal that glistened on your sweat-soaked skin and he brought them up to your mouth, offering. 

“Open.” He ordered softly. You complied. Quaritch slid his fingers into the wetness of your mouth, pressing his fingers back until you had taken them to the second knuckle. The taste was bitter but not wholly unpleasant. You moaned as the flat of your tongue slid over Quaritch's digits, lapping and sucking any trace of yourself off the blue appendages. Quaritch watched you, hooded eyes following the swipe of your soft pink tongue.

“Fuck,” He sighed shakily, sliding his fingers off your tongue and tugging at your bottom lip. “You’re so good at taking orders, sweetheart. Know you’re gonna be such a good girl f’me.” 

He leaned down, kissing you slowly, sucking your tongue softly into his mouth.

Wet fingers glided down the curves and lines of your stomach - your legs parted gratefully when his digits found your wetness again, parting your pussy lips so his palm could fit into your cunt. Your hips worked a rhythm against his hand, so slick that you found no resistance with every desperate, heated rut of your pussy. Every response of your body, Quaritch countered it perfectly. He pulled sounds from you that you didn't know you could make, whines and whimpers splitting the quiet air of the clearing. When the stimulation of his hand wasn’t enough, his thumb found your clit again and began to rub harsh circles into it. 

“God!” You sobbed, gritting your teeth against the almost-painful stimulation. Your orgasm was getting closer, filling up every crevice of your body. Your wails turned incoherent as Quaritch kept you drunk on his fingers - he hadn’t even stuffed his cock in you and you were already a goner. 

Quaritch himself was barely hanging on to the threads of his sanity. His view was glorious, a fucking prize he felt undeserving of. Your puffy pussy glistened with cum, squelching as his fingers pistoned in and out of your heat. His cock had long broken free of its confinements, his lavender tip wept from neglect - he didn't care.

You were going to cum first before Quaritch would even think about satisfying himself. It wasn’t a selflessness he was used to feeling - for the first time, the ex-soldier found himself far preferring the view of you coming apart under him than any pursuit of his own pleasure.

And how good you looked, breasts heaving as you gasped for breath, fingers twisting into the grass beneath you. 

You were close. Quaritch could feel it through your bond, the rising white blindness of your orgasm. It was preparing to strike, to send you toppling over the precipice. 

Quaritch couldn’t help himself as he leaned down and licked a long stripe up the sweaty valley of your tits, catching rivulets with his tongue, lapping his way over the slope of your breast and across your nipple. He sucked the bud into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth despite your whining protests of  no more, can’t take it, too much.  Your fingers curled into the damp locks of his hair at the feeling - every nerve alive, burning you from the inside out. You could feel Quaritch’s length pressing against your lower belly, heavy and thick. A shift of his hips and the head of his cock caught your clit deliciously. He bit down on your bud and lightning arced down your spine. You felt a prodding at your entrance and Quaritch slipped a finger in deep, curling it against that soft, spongey spot inside you. 

It was too fucking much - you could barely process the feeling, could only manage half-choked moans of Mile’s name. Your fingers curled into his broad shoulders, scrabbling for purchase and stability along the wide expanse of his muscles. He’d moved on from your nipple after pressing a lingering kiss to the bud, working now across the unmarked territory of your neck, a second finger sliding into your heat easily.

“Somethn's happening, Miles -” You squeaked, looking down to catch the sight of his fingers pumping out of your wetness furiously, the squelch of your arousal filling the air.

“Tell me what you feel, baby,” Quaritch panted, watching himself work your cunt open over the slope of your breasts. 

“F-feels weird!” You whined, unsure of the tightening in your lower belly.

“Not weird, baby, say it feels good.” 

“Ngh, it feels  good, ” You slurred, your legs fell open even wider to allow your mate’s fingers more access to your pussy. 

He took it as an invitation to curl a third finger into you and the delicious pressure against your walls had your cunt clenching furiously as your orgasm suddenly stole over you. It was powerful, overheating every nerve in its path until you were a shaking mess of overstimulation. The sounds of the forest, Quaritch’s gentle coaxing, the feeling of his hardened cock brushing against your hip, it all disappeared as a rush of euphoria whitening blinding you. 

Your body convulsed, fingers digging deep into the muscle of Quaritch's shoulder - his fingers pounded into your hole, three wide as he stretched you out for his cock. A spray of liquid soaked his front and you squealed at the intensity of the feeling, toes curling. You think you blacked out for a second. 

When you came around enough to regain your bearings, you were draped across Quaritch’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck. The grass under your hips was wet from your cum and you would have been embarrassed if you weren’t coming down from post-orgasm bliss induced by Quaritch’s finger-fucking. 

“Good?” Quaritch asked softly, nudging the flat of his nose against your ear. You purred softly into his neck, feeling the curl of his tail around your calf. You felt numb in a deliciously pleasant way, lazy in the heat, and post-orgasm bliss. 

“Good.” 

Your voice came out slurred. You could feel the low laugh rumble out of Quaritch’s chest. He was warm against you and his scent hovered like a haze in your senses. Your thighs had stopped shaking enough for you to muster enough strength to push yourself up, meeting Quaritch’s glowing gaze. 

Struck by the urge, you kissed him slowly because you could, enjoying the press of his mouth and a swipe of his tongue. 

“So pretty,” He sighed, pulling away with eyes wide and glowing like planets. Then his smile became sly. 

“I hope you’re not too tired. That wasn’t even the main event.” 

-

Tag List

@capitanostella @kacchasu  @nin3kyuu @perseny @onehalfshrimp @blossom618 @shuriri4life @lynlotte @ikranwings @disaster-in-waiting @gremlinfuck  @deadpoolsvodka @naityelen @zilena9 @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed​ @gaudesstuff @thedumboneforsomereason @philophobianprincess @mrmckenzie @waterstrawberry @phoenixgurl030 @azilove @skinmittensgoblin @nyylovestowrite @mckenzieriley69 @innerdogsspacekid @bob-the-ikran

[ecriter]

long time no see.......you guys have been so amazing and patient while I've taken a longer than expected hiatus. between some family stuff and a lot of movement and change in my personal life, this fic definitely fell by the wayside but I have another chapter or two in the works and i'd love to finish this fic out strong! thank u guys for your patience :3

[ecriter]

Make the Bond - Pt. 6

a/n: its heating up now stinkers next chapter is going to be THE chapter >:P

Warnings: Violence, gore, blood

ao3 ver

Part 6 of ?

Part Five

-

Chapter 6 - I See You 

There was no mistaking those amber eyes, eyes that had haunted your dreams filled with melancholy, wrath, or whatever your brain chose to torture you with, now aglow in the darkness. At this moment they were warm and familiar, coaxing you into calmness. Quaritch was actually here, watching the grimy man above you with a promise of death in the curl of his lip, poised to attack and kill as his lethal body had been trained and honed to do. He raised a finger to his mouth and you bit back a sob of relief because you knew as well as you knew the sun would rise each morning that Quaritch would save you, wouldn’t let this soldier with the foul stench end your life, and despite the cold distance the two of you had shared, that seemingly unclosable rift hadn’t stopped him from coming to find you. 

A thread of tension electrified the jungle as the man’s grip tightened around your braid, wrapping the tresses around his knuckles to ensure a strong grip for when he would slash your throat and watch the life pour from your wound. Your scalp stung painfully and you saw Quaritch shift in the brush, coiling tighter, prepared to pounce. 

The man leaned down close, his nose brushing the hollow of your cheek and that disgusting, rank breath washing across your face. You fought the urge to gag, to shudder away, and could hardly respond to his sardonic question. “Anything to say, baby? Gonna pray to that stupid little god you’ve got? What was her name…Yewah, Eyah, Eyw-” 

The man was ripped from your back, hand wrenching painfully from your hair. The force of the momentum sent you rolling off to the side, away from the snarling, screeching fray that had erupted across the clearing. Your elbow banged painfully against roots and downed branches and you tried to gain your bearings through the rush of adrenaline and fear, steady your shaking limbs on the forest floor but they twinged painfully and bloomed with bruises. 

In the second the soldier had spoken, gotten just too close to you for Quaritch’s liking, he had seized the opportunity and struck. His exit from the underbrush had been silent as a breath of wind, on top of the soldier before the soldier could comprehend there was a third presence in the forest. It was almost impossible to believe this soldier had come from Quaritch’s old clan. Their difference in skill, in combat, was staggering as Quaritch dominated him, pinning him by the throat to the forest floor and landing blow after uninterrupted blow. The two grappled, the soldier struggling against Quaritch’s weight, elbows up to block his already swollen and bloodied face. His knife had been discarded in the surprise attack and his fingers scrabbled blindly for it to no avail. It didn’t make a difference; even if the soldier found the knife, Quaritch would have disarmed him in moments or, in his bloodlust, turned the knife upon him and cut him open. 

You’d never seen Quaritch so unleashed like this, driven by rage and fury. But no, he wasn’t unleashed. He was completely in control, landing each hit in the most calculated and tender spots that exploited the holes in the soldier's figurative armor. Most of the noise came from Quaritch, curses, and snarls that filled the air with primality.  He was all power, a weapon sent to kill, and he unleashed himself like an untamable fire onto your attacker. He would beat the intruder to death if he continued much longer and you were sure the slaying wouldn’t weigh heavy on his conscience, but it would weigh on yours, despite the fact the man had had you in the grip of death, prepared to slice you open like an animal. With the sheer brutality Quaritch had assaulted him with, you feared this soldier's death would send shockwaves back to whichever Command he had come from, whoever had sent him, and that would only cause more trouble for the both of you. 

“Quaritch,” You rasped, shifting your aching limbs to try and push yourself up. “Quaritch, enough. Don’t kill him.” 

Quaritch’s fists stuttered, then slowed to a stop, landing a final blow that smacked against the man's quivering cheek. The soldier gurgled weakly, spitting pink saliva from his mouth. Quaritch’s knuckles were split and bubbling with sticky blood both from himself and the man’s face and it was pure gore to see that hot crimson against his deep blue skin. It was clear the last thing he wanted to do was leave the soldier alive or allow any chance of escape but you were propped against a tree, tired and wincing and his number one priority was you. He pushed off the motionless figure beneath him and hurried to you, crouching against your side to get a good look at your face and wounds. 

“What did he do to you?” He asked quietly, smoothing the pad of his finger over a red bruise already beginning to form at your neck where the knife had nicked you. 

“I’m fine, I promise. How did you find me?” 

Quartich’s eyes found the cut at your neck where the soldier had nearly split you open. His jaw ticked and his tail lashed and you were sure he was considering turning around and finishing the stranger off, but your gentle touch on his bicep stopped him. 

“How did you find me?” You asked again. 

“Followed ‘ya. Saw you get up and leave, knew you couldn’t go a second without trouble so I followed ya. ‘M glad I did. When I saw him holdin’ you like that, about to be…I’ve never felt like that in my life. I would have killed him without blinking an eye for touching you, touching what’s mine. I’ll still kill him.” 

A shiver raced down your spine at the intensity of Quaritch’s words and gaze. It was a feeling you’d grown familiar with and were beginning to accept, that connection that had followed you since you’d first met and ignited an inexplicable warmth within you at his displays of possessiveness. You were his, had been since you’d first plastered coral weed across his raw back. He had become your whole world, your moon, and your stars. You suddenly felt overcome with tears and relief that he was really there, in front of you, and your lower lip wobbled. 

“I was thinking of you, you know.” You whispered. “If I really was going to die, I wanted to see you one last time and when you were there I thought I was dreaming or that I’d already been killed. I thought it was too good to be true that you would save me and then you were there-” You choked off, crying freely now. Hot tears dripped off your cheeks and jaw, uncontrollably. To see Quaritch there and know he was real, know you were now safe, and that he would never let anything happen to you was a feeling incomparable to anything else. It transcended anything you could have ever been angry at him for, absolving him of the cruelest sins. He was your god, delivering you to the gates of heaven and away from the fear that pockmarked mortal existence. You couldn’t believe you had thought he would abandon you, barely pass a thought to your absence, when he had just fought so brutally for you. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart, ain’t no need for tears.” 

His thumb swiped at your cheek, collecting the wet trails that dripped off of your chin. You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into the feeling of him, the smell that was so familiar and washed away the rank and filth of your violator. He smelled metallic, like blood, but more powerful was his sweat and the musk of the ocean, your home, that clung to him and evaporated all traces of the sterile chemicals that had emanated from him when he washed ashore. Quaritch’s warm forehead pressed against yours and the wet pad of his nose brushed your cheekbone. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, heavy exhales of warm breath caressing your mouth. It was intimacy in its most basal form, the thrum of two hearts slowing to each other's rhythm and two souls connected across horizons. He was close, he was home, he was safety. 

“I was scared,” Quaritch whispers. “I’ve never been scared in my life ‘cept for when that knife was against your throat and I thought…” He sucks in a breath and doesn’t continue, can’t continue. But you understand, know his fear intimately and exactly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the body stir, shifting out of its stupor. Quaritch sees it too and is immediately on alert, shifting so his broad body is guarding yours like an immovable wall of muscle. His tail, which you expect to be splitting the air like a whip, drapes calmly against the top of your thigh. 

From over Quaritch’s shoulder, you can see the body half rise on its elbows, head lolling against its shoulder. 

“You one of them now, Colonel?” 

The man’s voice comes out garbled past broken teeth and bloody gums and carries none of the swagger you’d heard when he had you trapped beneath him. 

Quaritch’s ears fold back and he hisses through bared canines. 

The soldier wheezed out something that resembled a laugh, though it caused him more pain as he clutched his side lacerated with cuts and scratches. 

“I didn’t think you of all people would turn, Colonel. You hated those disgusting savages more than anyone on base and now you’re shacked up with one of them, probably some whore-” 

“Tell me what the hell you’re doing here before I kill you slowly. And painfully. I don’t recognize your face but it seems like you know me so you know what I’m fully capable of. Tell me before I lose my patience, soldier.” 

The soldier says nothing, does nothing, and you wonder if the two are sizing each other up. The irritated twitch of Quaritch’s tail tip is your only indication that his passiveness is just a front and you have no doubt that he’s eager to finish off the disrespectful avatar across the clearing. He was practically itching for it. The display of such power should have been frightening but it instead sends a thrilling rush through you. It’s embarrassing, how attuned your body had become to Quaritch, and it was frightening the sway he has over you. You should be scared of him, of his ability to kill. He’d just nearly beaten someone to death with his fists and sported only cosmetic wounds that would heal in a day. He was ready to do it again, too, but it was all for you and that’s what sent such a delicious sensation through your blood. 

The soldier’s gaze finally drops away and the silence is broken as he wheezes and struggles for a pocket on his left breast. Quaritch tenses like a snake prepared to strike at any sign the man was pulling a weapon, but instead, his shaking fingers pull out a bloody slip of paper. He holds it out to Quaritch, offering answers to his presence. 

Quaritch doesn’t immediately advance forward. He’s clearly weary and though the knife is still out of reach to both of them and the soldier is in no position to make a move toward it, the sky people were unpredictable. Dangerous. But Quaritch’s analysis of the risk of leaving you seems to come up clean because he squeezes your calf bracingly, stands, and snatches the paper from the soldier's hands. As he reads, his face grows darker and darker. The material crumples beneath his fingers and you’re worried it will shred before he finishes reading it. But then he’s dropping it to the forest floor and crouching in front of the soldier, speaking quietly. You strain your ears to hear what he’s saying but it’s impossible because they’re speaking so low, so fast, that your rudimentary English skills can’t keep up. 

It was unfair that you were always deprived of information despite how it concerned you and your clan. You remembered the conversation with your father, his concerns over the sky people and their will. Everyone had heard of the burnings in the clans to the west and north where the demons had slaughtered innocent Ilu and scorched villages to the ground so you were familiar with their brutality and you knew that is what your father thought of when he assessed the risk of housing Quaritch. But he had decided to do so anyway and despite the chivalrous gesture from your father and yourself, Quaritch kept you out of the loop anyway. Hmph. 

The tense, hushed conversation between Quaritch and the bloody soldier came to an end. He looks distressed if his pinned ears are any indication and that gut feeling that something was wrong began to brew. 

Quaritch rose to his feet and crossed the clearing back to you. He was grave and there was a coldness about him that hadn’t been there before their conversation. 

“What did you talk about?” You asked softly, reaching out to hook your pinky around one of Quaritch’s fingers. 

“I’m leaving.” 

“What?” 

Quaritch gently pulled his hand away from yours and crouched so he was looking you squarely in the eye. Some of the coldness had dissipated and was replaced with painful longing. A goodbye. 

“That soldier back there is part of a group that’s looking for me. Before I came to the clan I was…important, and this group, they’re not the type to let important people go. It’s better if I leave so I don’t put the village in any more danger.”

“Danger? You don’t want to put us in any more danger?” You let out a sardonic laugh and pushed yourself further up the tree trunk and away from Quaritch. “You’ve already put us in danger by leading this man here, doomed our clan to perish beneath the sky people, and now you are going to run away when things look a little too dangerous. You are a coward, Quaritch, for abandoning us, no, me, so easily.” 

“I ain’t leaving 'cause I want to, Princess.” Quaritch snapped. “I’m leavin’ 'cause if I don’t you, your father, your mother, and everything you love will be burned to the ground because of me. If I turn myself over and go back, that won’t happen. I’m protecting you!” 

You smacked Quaritch in the chest, unable to believe him. “You are going to leave? After everything we’ve done for you? After everything I’ve done for you?” The tears were flowing now, unstoppable, impossible, and gutting. What had the soldier said to Quaritch to convince him to leave? The two of you were supposed to be in this together, or so you had thought, and now he was turning tail and running at the first sign of trouble. What was on that stupid paper? You wanted to know but knew it wouldn’t matter because whatever it had said, it was pushing Quaritch to leave you. You beat Quaritch against the chest, cursing him, and he didn’t stop you, let you relieve your pain out onto him. 

“I’m not letting you leave. No, you won’t go!” 

“I ain’t gonna hurt you anymore, dammit! Your pops will be glad I’m gone-” 

“I will not be glad you are gone because I love you! I love you and I cannot, will not go on without you. I do not care if you don’t feel the same but I have learned and experienced more in these past months with you than before you. There is nothing for me after you, no air to breathe, no life for me to live. Nothing!” You grasped at Quaritch’s cheeks, leveling his face so you could pour every feeling and every memory into him. “I see you, Miles.” 

Quaritch’s face went slack and unreadable. You felt your heart shrivel inside. You’d laid yourself bare in front of him and revealed the secret you’d carried inside you for months and it still wouldn’t be enough to make him stay-

But then he was surging forward and his lips were on yours, sucking you into him and consuming you like an unquenchable fire. You squeaked in surprise against his mouth, grasping at his wide, endless shoulders for balance. His wet tongue slipped against the bottom of your lip, tracing its curve and you shuddered into him, parting your legs so he could fall into you. Your hands moved from the divots of muscle in his shoulders to his wide, angular jaw, feeling its movement and fluidity as he kissed you breathless against the tree. The chatter of the jungle fell away and it was just the two of you there, the warmth of two bodies, two desires. His scent was all around you, heady and thick and him, intoxicating you into a drunken state in which you craved Quaritch more than you craved air in your lungs. 

“I see you, Darlin’.” He breathed, breaking away to kiss along the corner of your mouth and the flat of your nose bridge. “If you don’t want me to go, I’ll stay. But I’m not sayin’ it’ll be easy or safe and I’m not saying I’ll be easy because if you know me, you know I’m not,” 

You let out a watery laugh through tears that still beaded your eyes, pressing a lingering kiss to his mouth. “I don’t care. Just stay with me.”

Quaritch’s lips twitched into a half-smile and he pressed another kiss to your mouth before leaning back on his heels and rocking forward to his feet. He crossed the clearing, approaching the soldier who was laid flat and motionless on the floor. You thought he was dead but Quaritch kicked his side with his foot and the soldier jerked back to life.

“Your leaving by your damned self, pipsqueak. You better hope I don’t see you sniffing around here again or I won’t be so nice next time.” 

The soldier spat at Quaritch’s feet, rolling on his side to get up. “You’re a damned t-traitor. You know they’re not gonna let you and your slutty girlfriend-” 

Quaritch swung back and kicked the soldier in the cheek, forcing him back to the ground.

“Listen closely,” Quaritch said quietly, bending down with a snarl. “You’re gonna get the fuck off this island and you’re gonna tell the General that I’m dead. They ain’t gonna come looking for me because if they do, there ain’t no place on this planet you can hide from me. I’ll gut you like a fish and you’ll beg me to kill you,” 

The soldier stared up at Quaritch before nodding slowly. It seemed he had no more cheek left in him, could barely talk through the swelling in his mouth, and Quaritch left the soldier to stand on his own feet and returned back to your side. 

“How you feeling? Wanna get that looked at?” Quaritch asked, brushing the back of his index finger lightly against the cut on your neck. You winced and shook your head. 

“I’m alright, it will heal quickly. Are you ok? Your hands…” 

You took his large, warm palm and smoothed your index finger over his split and swollen knuckles. The blood had dried but you worried infection would set in or that the pain would be too much. Quaritch barely shifted when you touched the bone, didn’t flinch at your picking and prodding. He just looked down at you, the corners of his lips barely curled upwards, and those yellow eyes were glowing with something overwhelming and rich, hypnotizing. Your hands fell away from his, slid up his forearms and biceps, feeling the curve of his muscle. They slid over his wide back that rippled with strength and power, and around his neck. You pulled his head down, catching his mouth in yours and pressing him close against you, trapping you against the tree. The soldier had picked himself up and stumbled through the brush, leaving a flattened patch of grass speckled in dark blood as any sign he’d been there at all. 

Quaritch’s large palms gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you into his lap and your legs wound around his narrow waist. He kneaded at the soft flesh of your ass, slipping his thumb just beneath the twine that formed the string of your loincloth. His tail, whether he knew it or not, had slipped across the soft earth and curled around your calf in the way it liked to do. The warmth from before was back, this time an inferno that fed your desire, electrifying your blood and body and sending a thrill down your spine. Between your thighs, you throbbed, and your entire being sang for Quaritch. 

“Miles,” You whimpered, licking at the seam of his lips. He kissed the tip of your tongue, sucking softly, kissing his way to the base of your ear. “Miles,” You breathed again, pulling away to look down at him. He was flushed pink and heaving and his eyes were heavily lidded, unable to pull away from your swollen lips. 

“I want to mate with you, I want to be with you until we return to the earth, to connect with you and…feel you.”

Quaritch squeezed the side of your thighs, nuzzling the underside of your neck.

“What do we gotta do? To mate?” 

You smiled coyly, pressing up and off of him and holding out your hand. 

“I will show you. We must go to Eywa.”

-

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