#But only AFTER starting at Step 1 and Step 2 can we get to Step 3; A blind RiverClan cat

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land Part 4

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

You can find Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here!

40.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Angst, discussions of being shot and the shooting, anxiety about partner’s safety, emotions, Robby is sad and has a bad day, discussion of Robby, Jake and Leah (Pitt-Fest happened before Reader and Jack got together), panic attack, anxiety, pretending the Buhl Planitarium is open late, alcohol, vague discussion of Jack’s time in the military, unprotected PIV sex (BC implied with committed relationship), some voyeurism-ness if you really squint hard, oral sex, dom Jack briefly, manhandling briefly, FLUFF, Myrna, Reader: can bake, will take Jack’s last name, struggles with body confidence, is not scared of horses, gets drunk, enjoys prehistory, Author: copped out of writing a lot of sex sorry, half assed the sex she did write sorry again, is terrible at summaries; did not proofread or edit 

Summary: Normalcy is shattered. You and Jack recover and have some fun.

AN: Nobody is judging 40.5k harder than I am. I genuinely feel bad about the word count because I know it can make it harder to read, especially at once, but it gets really hard to cut it into shorter parts sometimes. So please know I really appreciate you taking the time to read it all and then interact with it. Likes and reblogs and comments and your guys thoughts mean so much to me and really do inspire me. I am short on serotonin and all the interactions give me a little burst of it, genuinely. That all said, we start off pretty heavy but after the first scene things get much fluffier and happier for the most part so it's 100% a much, much lighter read than Part 3. I should have Part 5 out by the end of the week! And again, thank you so much for reading.

You and Jack fall back into a routine, back into normal. Things are really starting to actually feel better. But all it takes is one thing to upend it all. 

You weren’t looking forward to this Monday. Neither was Jack. Both of you were simultaneously surprised and unsurprised the day even came. Both of you were also aware that the fragile normal you’d just settled into was shattered, even if only temporarily and even if you knew it was coming. Both of you hated it.

Trial. 

The shooter wouldn’t plead. So you and Jack find yourselves standing outside of the Westmoreland County Courthouse. The case had unsurprisingly been moved from Allegheny County and you were grateful for that. It would have been another level of fucked up to have to confront the man that shot you in the courtroom he shot you in. Even in the same courthouse would have been bad. 

It’s the first day. Jury selection. Jack told you that you didn’t need to be here every day, that it was okay to only come on the day you had to testify. You knew he was right but some part of you needed to be there for the whole thing. It’s not like it was going to be a super long trial. But long enough and emotional enough to destroy normal. Both you and Jack have to take a week off work, stay in a hotel so you don’t have to constantly drive back and forth. The trial shoves it all right back in your faces again. 

You hate how easily normal is obliterated. How easily that man is stealing normal away from you again.

“You sure about this?” Jack asks as he squeezes your hand. He’s not questioning you or your decision, just asking if you’re okay and ready. 

“No. But also yes.” You look over at him. “You’ll be here every day with me, right? I know it’s a big ask, and that it’ll be just as hard for you as it is for me at times and I feel bad about asking you to put yourself through that for me but I just need to be here. I have something to prove to myself even if I can’t figure out exactly what it is.”

“Course I will, Doll. I’d never let you go in there alone, not to face him or this in general.” He steps in front of you and wraps his arms around you, pulls your head to his chest for a moment as you wind your arms around him. “And you’re not asking me, nor am I being put through anything. I’m here supporting my fiancée. I’ve got you,” Jack murmurs before leaning down to kiss you. You let yourself get lost in it, lost in him, even with as chaste as he keeps the kiss. 

You look down once you’ve broken apart, can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes for your next question. You already know the answer to it but you just need the reassurance. “If this, being here more than I have to be makes me slide back or get worse again. You… You won’t get mad, right? At me for kind of causing it in a way?”

Jack knows why you’re asking the questions, knows that your use of right at the end of the first is because you already know the answer and just need reassurance. He’ll give it to you as much as you need. 

“No. I won’t be mad at you. I won’t be mad at all. Healing isn’t linear,” he reminds you, “and that’s okay.” You give him a little nod and one of his hands finds your chin and he hooks a finger under it, pulls up gently to see if you’ll move your head, he would never force you. You let him pull your chin up and look at him. “And Doll, even if you do slide back, it is not because of you. You wouldn’t be causing it. Okay?”

You look at him for a moment, really try to fully believe what he’s saying, before giving him a small nod. Jack kisses your forehead before releasing you and lacing your fingers together again for the walk inside. 

You sit in the back, off to the side. It gives you your own little bubble but you can still see everything. Everyone. Him. 

At the beginning before voir dire starts the Judge reads out all of the charges. It’s obvious when he gets to the count number that represents you. You’re the only person he’d shot that day who lived. So you’re the only attempted murder. It’s difficult for you to hear yes, to cope with the reality that someone tried to murder you. To hear it spoken about that way. You’d spoken with the district attorney about it though during witness preparation so you had your head wrapped around it a bit. 

Hearing it levels Jack. It takes a second because he’s in some weird denial about it but Jack’s brain finally lets him accept it and think about it. That was you, that count represents you, attempted murder, someone tried to murder you. That man tried to murder you and take you away from him. There’s a few seconds where Jack thinks he might be having a heart attack because it gets so hard to breathe at the thought. Rationally he knew that’s what it was, that’s not really a realization for him. It’s just hearing it phrased like that. Attempted murder.

Being there is hard. Hearing it all. Seeing it all when security footage gets played. You knew the video was coming. They’d showed you it during witness preparation. Jack knew it was coming too because you told him, but he didn’t realize how much it would impact him, having to see it all play out, even when the video isn’t of where you were on that day. More will be played when you’re on the stand. The video of you. Where you’re so clearly visible and what’s happening is so clearly visible. 

During a recess on the first day while the defendant is still in the courtroom Jack pulls you a little closer to him. “Doll,” he says lowly, not quite a whisper, but low enough to keep it just between the two of you. “I know it’s hard. I know I don’t even know how hard it is for you but I need you to look at him for a second, please. Just a second.” You turn your head and do as he asks as much as you don’t want to. You know he wouldn’t ask you for no reason. “I know you still feel guilty and like my feelings are your fault, like you caused all of this, that our need to heal and recover is somehow on you, somehow your fault. But it’s not. It’s his fault. It’s on that man sitting in that chair. Nobody else. I want you to try and remember that.”

You get a bit teary and don’t say anything for fear of bursting into tears, just nod and turn into him. His arms were already open and waiting, hand finding the back of your head and holding you close. You bury your face in his neck, take in deep breaths through your nose to smell him, let him overwhelm as many of your senses as possible right now to keep you from crying. 

You cry when you get to the hotel that night. And the next. You hate it, you tell Jack, because it means you’re going to end up crying on the stand and you don’t want to give that bastard the satisfaction. Jack holds you and reminds you it’s okay to cry up there if you need to. You won’t be the first or last, but that he understands. And he thinks you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.

Then the day comes. Your name gets called and then you’re up there sworn in and testifying. The DA plays the video of it. It’s the first time Jack sees it. He didn’t even know there was video footage of the courtroom, of where you were actually shot. He didn’t know there was video footage of you being shot, even if you can’t really tell when it happens from the video. It destroys a little piece of him, completely rattles him. But he knows that right now he has to be strong for you. 

You surprise yourself but not Jack. You don’t cry on the stand. Don’t give him the satisfaction. You completely and totally wall yourself off. Shut down emotionally. Make yourself deliberately numb. It’s just what you have to do to survive this. When you’re asked to identify the man who shot you you’re able to pretend to be cool, unbothered, even, as you describe what the man who shot you is wearing. 

Jack on the other hand does cry a little. Because it’s hard, it’s really fucking hard to hear this. Yes, he’s heard it before because you guys have talked about it, but it’s different hearing it here in front of all of these people, seeing and watching you react to the video. It’s hard to watch you totally shut down emotionally because he can see it in your eyes, but he understands why you have to. It’s hard watching you get cross-examined and needlessly grilled like there isn’t clear video showing it happening. 

It’s hard to watch the fucking video. To finally have a visual of what happened to you that day. To know that at some point during the video you get shot. It makes him nauseous, so nauseous at points he worries he’s going to face the choice of being sick right where he is or having to run out of the courtroom on you. He never does though, is pretty sure it’s knowing you need him that keeps it from getting to that point. He hates it. All of it. And he feels so selfish thinking about how hard this is for him when you’re the one up there on the stand. 

When you’re finally finished you walk back over and sit next to him, give him a small smile that falls a little when you see his red eyes. You’re completely out of it and not truly present and he gets it, doesn’t try to pull you back. Instead he gives you a little smile back, pulls you close and whispers in your ear how fucking proud of you he is, how much he loves you. 

You grab dinner at a place across the street from the courthouse after the trial adjourns for the day. Neither of you say much but Jack is happy when you actually eat a fair amount. The car ride back to the hotel is also largely silent. Jack knows you need it to be, need just the background hum of the radio playing. Both of you know that if you start talking now you’ll fall apart and you really don’t want to fall apart in the car. You want to be able to fall apart in Jack’s arms. 

You make it into the hotel room and hear Jack lock the deadbolt before you freeze. You’re not sure what it is about the hotel room that suddenly makes walking or doing anything seem impossible. Maybe it’s the knowledge that you’re finally in a safe place where you can break down in Jack’s arms at war with how badly you don’t want to break down at all. Maybe you feel like if you do nothing, if you don’t move or speak or do anything, then you won’t break down and you won’t have to feel everything you’ve been keeping down today. 

Jack knows. Even with your back to him and unable to see your face he knows you’re stuck. He walks up behind you and rests his hands on your hips, gives them a gentle squeeze. 

“Do you want to shower?” he murmurs.

It takes you a moment to fully process what he says and formulate an answer. “No,” you whisper. 

“Okay,” Jack whispers back, kisses your temple. He squeezes your hips again and pushes on one and pulls on the other gently to get you to turn around so he can help you get in the bathroom. He puts the toilet seat down and gets you to sit on it. 

He gets his teeth brushed, stands close enough to you that you can lean your head forward and rest your forehead against his side while he brushes. Once he’s done and has washed his face he turns to you.

He’s silent as he grabs one of your makeup wipes and tilts your head up with one hand before he starts cleaning your face with the other. He’s so careful around your eyes getting your mascara off it makes tears stream down your face. 

Jack doesn’t comment on them, just tosses the wipe and gives you a kiss and a thigh squeeze before offering you his hands. You take them and let him pull you up and get you standing in front of the sink face to face with him. He grabs your headband and pulls it on, secures the rest of your hair the way you usually do to keep it from getting wet. He makes eye contact with you for a second and while you’re present enough, he knows you’re not going to take it from here. He grabs an extra towel and drapes it over you to cover your front. It’s not much but at least something. He uses his foot to slide over the shower mat so that it’s between the two of you. 

Jack gets a washcloth wet with warm water and uses it to wet your face, grabs your face wash and puts some in his hand, starts to rub it together and then on your face. He sees your lip tremble for a second but you don’t let yourself cry. He turns the water back on, grabs the washcloth in one hand and gets it soaking, a towel in the other. He squeezes the washcloth over part of your face to rinse it, holding the towel just below to catch the water. He repeats it over and over, soaking the washcloth, shifting to a new part of the towel until your face is completely rinsed. He pats your face dry with a hand towel then wrings out the washcloth and hangs it and the towel he’d been using up to dry. 

You track him with your eyes, something about watching him and the strong grace he moves with soothing you. He gets your toothbrush wet and toothpaste on it. You open your mouth a little automatically for him and let him brush your teeth for you. It is one of the most intimate and loving things Jack has ever done for you. And you love it. 

But you hate that you can’t take care of yourself, start to wonder how long Jack will be willing to take care of you like this, like you’re a child. You know it’s one night and that you’d do it for him forever if you needed to, but it feels different for you. He holds your face so gently as he brushes your teeth for you. When he’s done he turns the water on and puts some in a glass for you, hands you it. “I can’t do this part for you Doll or you know I would.”

You force yourself to sip from the glass and spit in the sink, rinse your mouth a few times. You give the slightest nod when you’re done and Jack wipes your lips with a towel, rinses the sink out before getting you back to sitting on the toilet. 

He grabs the first product in your nighttime skincare routine and smooths it out over your skin. He gives it a second to absorb like you always do and then he grabs the next product. Your lip and chin tremble harder than they have all night at it and you have to shut your eyes and look down for a moment. He knows your whole routine. Just from observing you. Just because he wants to know so he’s prepared for this, for the time you can’t do it for yourself. You know he knows your morning routine and shower routine too. 

You open your eyes and tilt your face back up for Jack, the two of you looking at each other for a moment before he starts rubbing the next product in. There’s no hesitation in his eyes, no irritation or annoyance that he’s having to do this, no frustration or anger, no sadness or pity. Just love and adoration and pride. You weren’t expecting to see pride. He gives you a little smile and then starts rubbing it in and the way his eyebrows come together and eyes narrow slightly in concentration makes your heart flutter because he’s so adorable. He finishes your routine in perfect order, gets your headband off and hair back as you like it and puts some lotion on his own face and then holds his hands back out for you again. 

You take them again and he leads back to the main room, carefully strips you and gets you into your pajamas before helping you slide into bed. He’s quick to change and turn all the lights off except for the lamp on his bedside table. He sets an alarm for the morning and gets his prosthetic off. It’s still fairly early but he knows it’ll be a while before you sleep. He also knows you’re not leaving this bed tonight. 

He turns and arranges some pillows so he can be propped up a little against the headboard. Once he slides in and gets settled on his back you move closer to him, lay on your side and cuddle into him, your top leg hooking over the top of him as you roll into him and get as close to him as you can, head on his chest. 

“Thank you.” You whisper it so softly it’s barely audible. 

“Nothing to thank me for, Doll.” Jack has his arms wrapped around you tightly, pulls you into him a little more, shifting himself at an angle just slightly so you can get closer. “You know my routine and would do the same for me.” He feels you shake your head slightly. He knows you’re not saying that you wouldn’t, but that it’s different, he can hear you saying it, and trying to explain it really is because his routine is shorter. Jack also knows that you need to let yourself do this, let yourself cry and feel everything from today. He hates it, hates how much it will hurt you, but he knows it’ll hurt more and for longer the more time you wait to do it. 

“I love you.” He leans his head down and nuzzles his nose in your hair, kisses the top of your head. “And I want you to know how fucking proud I am of you. For having the strength to get up there and watch what happened to you all over again in front of the man who did it. For doing what you wanted and I knew you could do, not crying and giving him the satisfaction. For being here for the full trial and going back again tomorrow and the next day and until there’s a verdict. I’ve got you, okay? Always. Unquestionably. So whenever you’re ready.” He’s trying to give you subtle encouragement, let you know that he knows what you need and is here for you. You start to shake a little and he knows you’re at the edge. Jack whispers your name.

That’s what does it. His whisper of your name. You fall completely apart in Jack’s arms, sobbing into him as he hugs you tighter, doesn’t let any of the pieces slip past him. All you can do is sob for a couple of minutes, choking on air and your tears every time you try to say something. As much as you’re weeping because you’re sad it’s more panicky this time. Jack can tell from the way you shake and cling to him. 

“I, I h-hate this Jack, I hate it!” You finally manage to get out after several minutes. Your hand fists at the front of the t-shirt he’s wearing to sleep in. “I hate that I let him get to me like this. I hate how, I hate, I hate how scared he made me feel.”

It’s been a while since Jack has seen you this worked up, panicking more than crying. It’s hard for him not to step in, but he knows you need this. “All I could think about was, was watching him point a gun at me and shutting my eyes and I heard, I heard the gun go off, but I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t and I thought I was okay, I really did Jack, I promise, I promise I wasn’t trying to lie in the, in the t-trauma room.”

“I know,” he whispers into your hair, “you were in shock and had so much adrenaline you didn’t feel it.” He kisses at the top of your head, runs his hand up and down your back and keeps one holding the back of your head. “I’ve got you. You’re safe here.”

That makes you cry harder because you know you are. You always feel safe with Jack. Sometimes the only place you feel safe anymore is when you’re with him. “I know, I know, I just wasn’t,” you’re interrupted by a wracking breath, “I just wasn’t with you, wasn’t with you on the stand and I, I was scared and kept thinking what if he had a gun again somehow.” Jack shuts his eyes at that, clenches his jaw tight. Seeing you like this breaks his heart, causes him physical discomfort and hearing how scared you were, how you thought you might get shot again makes him feel the familiar pressure and rush behind his eyes of tears forming. But Jack’s wrong. You weren’t thinking about getting shot.

“I didn’t even,” you sniffle a couple of times, “I wasn’t even thinking about, about what if I get shot again, I was thinking what if he turned and shot you Jack, what if it was you, what would I do, what was I supposed to do and and how would I go on if you died, and, and” you take in a couple of hiccuped breaths and the tears Jack felt forming start to slide down his face because you were worried about him. Not yourself. “And then it made me feel worse because what if I had died, what would’ve happened to you? You would have been, been so sad Jack and I wouldn’t have been there to help you and I hate, hate thinking about you being that sad J-Jack and don’t ever want you to hurt like that.” You take a huge choked breath in. Jack knows you need to let this out but you’re getting close to a point of him intervening because of how hard you’re starting to panic, escalating quickly the more you talk. Hearing this kills him and his tears fall harder even as he keeps his focus on you. “Then I felt bad, felt guilty because of what I said to you in the hospital about if I had died, and wishing I had, and you could grieve, grieve properly and move on because just thinking about it.” You take in another breath but it’s shallow, blown out quickly as you start to hyperventilate. “Just thinking,” a breath in and out, “about it, I could never,” more hyperventilating, “never move on from you and I, I,” you start to feel a little dizzy, “I said that to you and made you, made you think it.”

“Okay, Doll.” Jack knows you’ve tipped over an edge and have said enough and need help calming down and regulating. “You’re going to make yourself pass out, I need you to follow my breathing, yeah?” Jack grabs one of your hands and brings it to his chest even though your head is already there. He adjusts his breathing to deep breaths in and out and feels you trying to follow him through your tears and hiccuped breaths. “Five things you can see, please. If you can.” He knows with the tears and swelling of your eyes it might be hard. 

You wipe at your face a little with the sleeve of your shirt. “The sheets, pillows, your shirt, your arm, the wallpaper.”

“Good.” He kisses the top of your head. “Four you can feel.”

“Your shirt, your hands on my back, how warm you are, my face throbbing.”

That last one hurts Jack a little and he has to fight from sniffling and making you aware he’s crying. He doesn’t want you to start taking care of him and he knows you will. He clears his throat and hopes you won’t think anything of it. He’s sure if he doesn’t he’ll sound like he’s been crying. “Three you can hear.” 

You take in a deep breath, breathing calming and starting to match his. “The AC, your heart and your breathing.”

“Two you can smell. Again, if you can. I know your sinuses are probably swollen.” He gives you another kiss to the top of your head. 

You try to take a couple of breaths in through your nose. It’s not completely in vain. “You. Your body wash and you.”

“And one you can taste.”

“Metal. The adrenaline.” He’s the one who taught you that. “It’s fading though.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Jack kisses the top of your head again and can feel you go to speak. “Don’t apologize for anything, but especially not the shirt.” It pulls a little laugh from you which makes him smile. He’s conflicted, wants to kiss you so badly but knows you’ll be able to tell he was crying and he doesn’t want you to feel responsible. He reaches over and hits the button on the lamp on his table. The darkness provides cover. “Let me kiss you?”

You nod, move your head back and lift up a bit as he leans down to you, gives you a couple before you both settle back. And then you sit in a comfortable silence. There are words at times. Most from Jack, quiet reassurances, he loves you, he’s got you, he’s so so so fucking proud of you. Some from you, apologies he tells you not to give, thank yous and you love hims. Eventually you fall asleep in Jack’s arms and he lets you. He doesn’t wake you to try and get to some resolution of your feelings tonight. That’s not what you need. You need sleep.

Jack stays awake a bit just holding you and studying your face. Your eyes and lips and nose are all swollen, lashes still a bit clumped from your tears. You snuffle more in your sleep because of how swollen your sinuses are. And he loves you, so fucking much. And he hates seeing you like this, hates seeing you struggle despite how human it is. 

Jack knows all too well that life breaks parts of you sometimes. But it doesn’t mean you’re broken, it means you’re human. Life forces you to learn that all humans have pieces of them they’ve had to try and fuse back together. That to be human is to break at times. 

He knows that in grieving and healing, you pick up the pieces and tape them back together, and when they fall apart again because the adhesive of the tape wears away you glue them back together. Each time you put the pieces back together the bond used to do so is stronger because you’ve grieved and healed a bit more. So when something hits just right and the glue fails, you pick the pieces back up and weld them together. 

But Jack knows all too well that even what’s welded together rusts. Metal corrodes and holes form on welding seams. Because no bond is ever perfect, ever strong enough to keep together something whole that’s already been in pieces. Grief never goes completely away. He knows this will never go completely away. Not for him and not for you. And he accepts that, the way you accept that the things that have happened to him and resultant grief will never go completely away. 

That doesn’t stop Jack searching for the perfect thing though, the perfect thing to do that will make it like this never happened. The perfect words to tell you or the perfect look to give you or the perfect kiss to give you or the perfect way to hug you to bond everything back together permanently so that you’d never have to hurt over this again. 

Neither of you wake until the alarm Jack set goes off in the morning. You’re in the same position you fell asleep in, both of you out hard. You stir on Jack’s chest and he shifts you both so that your face is next to his, pulls you further out of sleep with kisses to your face and neck. You don’t talk about your panic attack much, he checks in with you, makes sure you’re okay and asks if you want to talk about it. You tell him you don’t, you just needed to get that out and if you talk again you’ll break down again and you just want to finish the trial and talk about it once you’re home. Jack respects that and doesn’t push, just gives you a kiss and says okay.

You don’t know it but once the trial is over and there’s a conviction Jack asks the DA for a copy of the tape that was played while you testified. The DA, rather inexplicably, agrees and gives him a copy of it. 

And Jack becomes obsessed with it. 

He goes to bed with you. Some nights he waits until you’re asleep to slip out of bed and go watch it at the kitchen table on his laptop. Other nights he falls asleep and wakes up in the middle of the night and goes to watch it. Over and over and over again. 

You notice that he seems more tired than usual. You ask him about it and he chalks it up to getting used to being back at work after being off. You believe him but there’s a certain part of you that has a little doubt. You don’t push it though, know sooner or later it’ll come out or he’ll come to you. 

Jack doesn’t get the opportunity to come to you about it. Because one night after he’s slipped out to go watch it at the table you wake up, have a moment of panic when he’s not next to you. But his side of the bed is warm and when you open your bedroom door and walk out in just his t-shirt a faint glow from the kitchen reassures you. He must be getting a drink. 

You pad to the kitchen and are confused to see him sitting there, headphones in, watching something on his laptop. You feel bad because there’s no great way to get his attention without startling him. But as you get closer you get a glimpse of what he’s watching and ice floods your veins. 

“Jack?” You call loudly, hoping he’ll hear you, and he must, just enough to make him glance to see if you’re really there or if he made it up. 

He knows by the look on your face that you’ve seen what it is he’s watching. He pauses the video wordlessly, pulls off his headphones. The two of you watch each other for a second. “Where did you get that?” 

Jack looks away from you, back at the laptop. “DA.” 

You nod slowly. “Just gave you a copy?” Jack looks back at you, defensive. You hold your hands up. “I believe you, I’m just… surprised I guess. That they would do that.” 

He shrugs. “Well they did.” 

You shift on your feet a little as you try to think of how to progress the conversation. You don’t want to force him to talk to you but you need to know what this is about. “Is this why you’ve been tired? How long have you had it Jack?”

“Does it matter?” He fires it back just a little too quick, a little too acerbic. You furrow your brows and let your lips pull down a little. “No, fuck-” he sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. That was defensive. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” You nod at him, a silent acceptance of his apology, give him time to collect his thoughts. “I got it a few days before you started noticing I was more tired than usual. Week or so ago, maybe.”

You take in a little breath and let it out. You’re mad at yourself for missing it, for not pushing him more on why he seemed so tired. Mad at yourself for letting him suffer alone because of you. You catch yourself. You’re internalizing his feelings into guilt. You think back on what your couple’s therapist has taught you both to stop. Or at least to try to. 

“Why?” you ask delicately as you walk a bit closer to him. “Why did you want it?”

Another shrug. It’s unlike him. Very unlike him. “I don’t know.” He glances back at it again. He’s still a little defensive. “I just wanted to see what happened.” You don’t say anything, just tilt your head a little. You can tell he wants to say more. “I wanted to see what happened to you. Up close. I thought maybe it would help me relate or understand better.” 

You can tell he’s being truthful, you know he is, that he would never lie to you. But you can also tell he’s still trying to figure out how to tell you the whole truth. “Why alone? Why not watch it with me, talk to me about it?”

“I didn’t want to put you through that just because I wanted to try and understand more.” He’s too stoic. His face too emotionless. 

“Honey, if you’ve been watching this for a week” you let out a sharp breath as the realization of it really hits you. “If you’ve been torturing yourself by watching this for a week, I… You should have come to me. Did I do something? Is there a reason why you didn’t want to?”

He lets out a little huff. His façade is starting to crack. “Like I said,” it’s a touch snippy, and you know he feels bad about the way it comes out the second he says it, can see it in the way his eyes narrow just slightly. “I didn’t want to put you through it.”

“Jack-”

“Because how was I supposed to watch it with you?!” It’s not yelled, his voice isn’t raised, not as such. He just says it with a certain force, not of anger but of sorrow. “How was I supposed to watch it with you?” Jack repeats, voice cracking as tears make his eyes glassy. “How was I supposed to sit here and watch it with you?” It’s whispered. His whole jaw trembles as he clenches it to try and keep the tears away, shaking his head a bit. Jack lets out a breath through his nose and looks at you. 

“I’m a doctor. I take away people’s pain, I make them better. And I can’t take away your pain now or make you better, mentally or physically, and I couldn’t when you got shot or when you were in a coma or any of the times you’ve panicked or sobbed into me and I am just so fucking aware of it. Of how I fail you. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad or because I want to make your struggle about me or to make you feel guilty for leaning on me. I want that. I need it. You need it. We need it. It’s not your fault, at all, it’s his, and I don’t want this to make you feel guilty even though I know it will, but I still want to talk to you about it as selfish as that sounds maybe.” Jack stops to take a breath in. You both know it’s not selfish.  

“It kills me that the thing I do, the thing I do well, I get to you, the most important person whose pain I could ever take away and make better and I just can’t. You’re the only person that matters. Fuck everyone else. And I can’t use my skills and knowledge to make you better. I’m failing you, I feel like I'm totally failing you, and sometimes I get so in my head and sit and start worrying about the day you’re going to realize I’m failing you and just how badly I’m failing you and leave. The day you realize that I’m able to take away everyone else’s pain and make them better but not yours, not you. The day you realize how unfair that is and how totally fucking shitty of me that is.” He lets a shuddery breath out.

“And so I watch this video like it’s going to give me answers.” He shakes his head a little as a few tears slip down his cheeks and he takes a breath in through his teeth. “It’s like I think if I can identify the exact moment you got shot somehow that’ll give me all the answers and I’ll know exactly what to do and how to take away your pain and make you all better so that this never hurts you again. I’ll know the perfect way to hug you and hold you and kiss you and how to look at you and know what you need to hear and then I’ll do it all and put all the pieces back together just like that,” he snaps his fingers, “so that you’re better and aren’t in pain.” More tears stream down his face. “Because that’s what I do. I take away pain, I make people better. But not for you. Not for the most important person, the only person who matters.”

Jack sniffles and wipes some of the tears off his face. “And I know it’s stupid, and it’s not how the world or healing or grieving or any of it works but I have to try. I have to try everything, just in case maybe the world and healing and grieving will work like that for this, and this will be the rarest outlier case that makes no sense but somehow is real.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” you murmur as you walk over to Jack, lean over him and run your hand down his chest, kiss at his neck. Jack leans his head in against yours, hands coming to clutch at your forearms. “It’s not stupid. It’s not stupid at all.” 

“I just hate it,” he whispers. He turns his head into yours more and you understand, turn yours to so you can kiss him, let him take whatever he wants and needs from you. “I hate that I can’t make this better and take away your pain. I hate seeing you hurt and being so useless and helpless. And I hate how I’m making it about myself.”

“I know you do. But you’re not making it about yourself. This happened to both of us,” you say against his lips. You let your hands run over his chest for a moment. It’s one of those moments where how much you love and adore and need him overwhelms you. You never thought you’d ever have anyone who would sit alone at night and watch a traumatizing video over and over for weeks just to try and figure out how to help you. And as much as you wish he hadn’t because you don’t want him hurting himself, the fact remains that he did and that means something. It means a whole lot.  

The feelings make you want to cry not from sadness but just from the overwhelm and a bit the frustration of knowing you’ll never be able to tell him how much you love him. “I love you so much. Come back to bed with me?”

“Okay. Love you too,” Jack whispers and nods before stealing one more kiss from you. He lets you lead him back to your room and into bed. You turn on your bedside lamp so that you can see each other better, both of you leaning against the headboard and turned towards each other a bit. You grab one of his hands and start to play with it. 

“It’s not stupid,” you repeat. “At all. It is sweet and loving and yeah, a little heartbreaking for me, but that’s okay. You are allowed to feel what you feel. And I am so glad that you told me, okay? Feeling how you do is valid and it makes so much sense to me.” You bring the hand you’re playing with up to your lips and kiss each of his third knuckles before looking back up at him, getting that true eye contact that he loves. 

“But, Jack, my love, you are not my doctor.” You say it so gently yet so firmly, like there’s no room for debate because there isn’t. And Jack knows that and that you’re right. “You need to remember that. You’re my partner. My fiancé. You’re not my doctor. I don’t expect you to be my doctor. You aren’t failing me. In any capacity. I promise you.”

Jack shrugs. “Still.” His fingers play with yours. “I’m a doctor. I make people better and I can’t make this better for you.” You nod at him, think on your feet and decide to run with it since he’s fixated on the idea right now and you know it’ll get through to him better.

“You are. You are a really really fucking good doctor Jack. One of the best. But you don’t send every patient home in perfect condition, completely pain free and fixed and all better, with no healing left to do or pain to experience do you?” You let it linger just a second to make the point. “No. You can only heal them so much sometimes. Probably most of the time because healing takes time and is more than what you as a doctor can do for anyone. People have to do some of the healing on their own. So you admit them to a service. Or you send them home with pain killers and discharge instructions,” you give him the smallest smirk at that which makes him huff a little and his lips twitch upward. “And you set them up with follow up appointments and sometimes you give them casts or braces or stitches or sterile dressings or crutches or a sling or whatever else.” You tilt your head at him. “You, Peter, are all of those things for me.”

Jack’s eyes water again a little bit at your statement, eyebrows furrowing inward and up a bit, asking if you mean it. You nod. 

“You say that you can’t take my pain away or make me better but you do Jack. You do. Just by being here. By showing up for me every day no matter how bad I am, how sad or how grumpy or how quiet or anxious or numb or whatever. Just by kissing my forehead in the morning and saying you love me as you walk out the door and filling up my drink when you get up and making sure some part of you is always touching some part of me when we’re sitting on the couch together. You’re always here. Even when you’re physically not. I know for a fact I could call you at work and say I needed you, fuck I wouldn’t even have to say it, you’d hear it in my voice as I said your name and you’d be on your way. I could call you anywhere and you’d show up. You know how much pain that kills? You know much better that makes me? Just to know I have you? Just to know you love me? To know I’ll never have to sit here alone in the grief and guilt and sadness? To know you’ll always sit here with me in it if that’s what I need? I don’t know where the fuck I’d be with all of this without you Jack.” You lean in and kiss his forehead, rest yours against his after a second. 

“You are not failing me. You are healing me, Jack. Helping me heal. Helping me get better. You take away my pain, even if some days it’s not completely. There’s some pain even the strongest drugs can’t get rid of completely. But you make it so that it’s always bearable and hold my hand and me while you do it.” You pull your head back, run your hand through those salt and pepper curls you love so much. “I know that you think you need to find the perfect thing to say or do to make me better and pain free from this forever, but we both know that’s not real life, just like I can’t find those perfect things to make you better or pain free from all of this forever. Every kiss and hug and smile and I love you and pat on the ass and cheeky boob squeeze when you walk by me in the kitchen or wherever and cuddle is perfect, and puts me back together a little tighter so that it hurts a little less. Yeah, there are some bad days where I feel like I’ve taken seven thousand steps backwards, but you know who the person taking those backwards steps with me and holding my hand and helping me take the first step forward again is?” You give him a soft smile with slightly crinkled eyes you can only hope reflect how much you love him. “You.” 

Jack reaches for you, pulls you up against him in a tight hug. He doesn’t really know what to say in the moment, feels like words have run out. “Thank you.” You can feel him shaking a little and it makes you squeeze him tighter, kiss at his chest wherever you can reach. 

“Any time. Always.” You know he wishes he could say more but that he can’t, not as he processes it all, especially with how exhausted he is. And you’re okay with it, more than. He doesn’t need to say anything as long as he heard you and tries to take what you said to heart. 

His hands slip under his shirt that you’re wearing just to seek out more of your skin, just to help ground himself a little further. You pull back a little and his hands are already moving to get the shirt off you and tossed to the floor. You settle back on his chest in a close hug. 

“I’m sorry for not saying anything. And for keeping the video from you. I know I should have talked to you about it, I just really wanted to find the answer on my own and I became convinced it was somewhere in that video.” Jack nuzzles his nose into the top of your hair. “I’m not saying that as an excuse either.” 

“I know you’re not. And I forgive you, to the extent there even really was anything to forgive. I understand Jack, I really do. But it’s going to be okay. We’re going to keep getting through this together.” You move your head from his chest to capture his lips in a couple of sweet kisses. “And now that trial is over we’re getting back to normal again and we’ve got France soon. What happened isn’t going to define our lives or our life together, Jack. We’re not going to let it. There’s just going to be hard moments.” There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence as you just hold each other. 

“Do you feel guilty? Because of what I told you? Like you’re somehow responsible?” Jack murmurs, keeping your faces close together, hands running up and down your back. 

“Honestly? A little.” You nod as you make the admission. “But I’m thinking about what we’ve learned in couple’s therapy and trying to use the things we’ve talked about and so it’s not so bad. Not like it would have been if we hadn’t started going. You feel guilty?”

Jack nods into your neck before kissing you there. “A little, yeah. Like you said though. Not like it would have been.” He slides his hand up your neck as he moves his head back, holds your face. “We’ll delete it tomorrow,” he nods. You nod back at him, bite the tip of his nose, making him fake scoff and shake his head. 

“Let’s go back to sleep?” You scratch at his scalp and Jack leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Mmm,” he hums, nodding and rolling you over so that you’re on your back. His hands find the waistband of his pajama pants. “There’s one more thing I think I’d like to do. You know. To make us both sleepy.”

You bite your lip and giggle as he starts taking his pajama pants off. “Oh yeah?”

Once the pants have joined the shirt on the floor Jack looms back over you, presses his body against yours, hips grinding against yours just enough to pull a little gasp from you when you feel him. He nods as he leans in and kisses you. “Yeah.”

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

It comes up fairly early on, while you and Jack are both still at home and chatting about wedding stuff one night. You’re on the couch with your head in Jack’s lap, attention split between the show you put on TV, listening to Jack think out loud while he does the crossword and scrolling Pinterest.

“Four words lead to this declaration.” Jack has the crossword on the armrest of the couch, his left hand intermittently resting gently on the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, or on your arm. He clicks his pen in thought. Because of course he does the crossword in pen. “Three letters. Nothing filled in.” You hum in acknowledgment at him, your way of saying you’ll think.

 “Pennsylvania recognizes self-uniting marriages. We could just marry ourselves,” you suggest.

“We could, yeah.” You turn your head and look up at Jack after he says it. There’s something on his mind. “Five letter word for blowhard.”

“Storm,” you both say at the same time, share a little laugh about it. You sit up and Jack makes a little noise of discontent. 

“I’m staying right here, don’t worry,” you tell him as you curl up next to him and wrap your arms around his left upper arm. “You don’t want that.” It’s half question half sentence. You’re trying to give him the space and opportunity to say what he’s thinking about who he’d like to marry you. 

“I, no. It’s not that I don’t want that or that I wouldn’t love that.” He shakes his head.

You give him a second. “But you’d prefer something else? Someone else?” An imperceptible nod. 

“It’s going to sound stupid.” 

“I sincerely doubt that.” You give him an encouraging smile.

Jack clicks his pen a couple of times before turning to really look at you. “I was thinking, what if we asked Robby? I know he’d have to do the whole getting ordained online thing, but…” Jack trails off for a second. “He just, before you, before I had you, Michael saved my life more than once. Metaphorically speaking. And he’s saved your life. Literally. And he’s my best friend and I don’t know. It just felt like maybe it was right.”

A slow smile pulls up on your face, all gooey and in love. “I think that feels perfect.”

“Really?” Jack raises his eyebrows at you. He’s not really shocked per se, it’s just one of those moments where it falls out of his mouth. 

“Really.” You nod. “I know how much he means to you. He means a lot to me too. You know the whole saving my life thing.” You lean in and give Jack a kiss on the cheek. 

“Okay,” Jack nods with you. “We’ll have to find a time to ask him, decide how I guess.”

“I have confidence that we will figure it out. We have time.” You squeeze Jack’s arm and then pull away, start to go back to the position you were in. 

“I do,” you say as you settle your head back on Jack’s lap.  

“A little premature, but I love to hear it.” Jack smirks at you as you look up at him. 

“The crossword clue.” You playfully roll your eyes at him. “Four words lead to this declaration. The answer is I do. The four special words are ‘will you marry me.’”

You end up deciding to do it at the Pitt one day. 

You considered planning it and asking to do dinner and make it a thing but that all felt a little too formal and almost pretentious. It didn’t fit. Doing it on the fly while he was working felt right. 

“Can we talk to you?” Jack asks Robby, you standing next to him holding his hand. Jack just finished his day shift at eleven thirty in the evening, had you come to the hospital around seven just in case he got off on time. You chilled in the break room the last four and half or so hours, chatting with people as they came and went. 

Robby looks between the two of you. “This feels ominous.” 

“Yes or no question Michael.” Jack deadpans. 

“Jack!” You chide him a little, but your smirk belies you.

“I’m sorry,” Jack mutters, “can we please talk to you?”

Robby rolls his eyes at Jack calling him by his real name. “Yes. I suppose you can.” 

“Thanks Robby!” You smile at him. 

Robby thinks it’s odd. You seem almost nervous and so does Jack, but Jack is harder to read at the moment. The shift he just finished was the last on his run and he didn’t get off within four hours of when he was supposed to a single one of those three shifts. Plus this shift was particularly trying. Between all of that and him still adjusting to being back he’s exhausted. It makes him even harder than usual to read.

“In here,” Jack nods, opens the door to the family room. 

“Okay, you guys are kind of freaking me out because this is ominous and now you’re taking me into a room where we tell family members their loved ones have died.” 

“It’s not bad, I promise.” You try to smile at him reassuringly. Robby nods at you like he doesn’t quite believe you as he sits down in one of the chairs, you and Jack taking the two across from him. 

“So.” You clear your throat. “Obviously you know we’re getting married.” You hold up your left hand and flash the ring at him, which pulls a little smile from Robby. 

“Robby,” Jack starts. But he stops. He looks emotional, like this is a hard conversation to have but not because it’s bad but because it means something. Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Michael,” he starts again, earning a slight eyebrow raise from Robby because of the tone, “we were wondering if you would consider getting ordained and officiating our wedding. If you, if you’d marry us?”

Robby’s head lolls forward a little and his eyes widen, brows raised as he looks at Jack and then you and then back at Jack and then away from you both as he leans back. “Wow,” he breathes out and laughs a little. “Holy fucking shit you guys! I thought you were bringing me in here to tell me one of you had some terrible illness.”

You and Jack laugh a little, your hand finding his and squeezing. 

But it’s then that your words really hit Robby. He looks back at the two of you. He’d deny it if anyone asked but his eyes are a little glassy. “You want me to marry you?” He has to clear his throat of some emotion. “Really?”

“Please,” you nod. 

“Seriously,” Jack says quietly. 

Robby still looks a bit stunned but a huge smile pulls onto his face. “I, fuck, wow, yes. Yes, of course. I would be honored.” He stands and you follow, let him pull you into a big hug. “You’re sure about this?”

“Of course.” You smile at him as he releases you. “Nobody else we’d rather have do it.” 

Jack stands up behind you and you step to the side, let the two embrace.

“Thanks brother,” he says quietly to Robby. 

“I mean it Jack. It’s an honor.” The two step apart and you lean into Jack, all three of you smiling at each other. 

You exit out of the room and walk by the lockers so Jack can grab his backpack and you guys can leave. You wait by the desk, chatting idly with Robby and Samira until Jack walks up behind you. 

“Ready Doll?” 

You can hear how tired the poor man is. It almost makes you feel a little bad about sharing the thought you just had. Almost. 

“You know, I just realized that everyone up on the altar will have seen my boobs!” Your lips turn up and turn into something between a grin and a smirk. 

You hear Jack take in a big breath and release it as a breathy, “Oh my god.” He just shakes his head and finds your hand with his, laces your fingers together. “Come on, you, we’re done here.” 

Jack starts walking towards the doors, tugging you along with him and you just giggle.

“Oh so you’re just leaving me here to explain that?” Robby calls after you. It just makes you giggle louder. 

“I’ll show you my tits if it’ll make you feel better, Fruitcake,” Myrna offers Robby from her wheelchair, suddenly right behind him, as she raises her eyebrows at him and goes for the hem of her shirt.

“Jesus!” Robby nearly jumps. “Where did you even come from? When did you get here? Stop lifting your shirt up!”

You turn around a little and look back over your shoulder and wave. “Bye! Thanks again Robby!” 

Beside you Jack lets out a tired and huffed laugh because he loves you so much. When you turn back around he slips his hand out of yours and winds his arm around you, making you do the same. Jack pulls you a little closer to him and presses a kiss to the top of your head as you walk out the doors. “I love you Doll.” 

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

“You okay?” Jack asks, squeezing your thigh and interrupting your thoughts.

It takes you a second but you look over at him. “How could I possibly be anything less than okay right now, Peter?”

“Hey,” he laughs quietly, “I was just checking. You seemed a little zoned out.” 

“I’m on a plane, in very nice seats, sitting next to my unreasonably handsome fiancé who I’m on my way to France with.” You set your hand on top of his and squeeze. “I was just thinking I’m glad this came after the trial.”

The trial finished about a month and a half ago, just long enough for you and Jack to heal from all the emotions it stirred up and settle back into your routine so that things were normal when you had Robby drop you at the airport earlier tonight. You had been concerned for a bit that the trial might shortly after your trip. Neither of you wanted that because then it would be all either of you were thinking about during the trip. 

“Me too.” Jack nods. “I’m ready for some time alone with you, truly alone and away from all the bullshit. I’m glad I decided we’d start with a couple of days in Nice. That was very smart of me.”

You giggle and roll your eyes at him. He’s right though, it was. “It’ll be very nice to have some time to just lay out on the beach and relax before making our way up the country.” You pull the armrest up and lean into Jack who wraps his arms around you. “I’m ready to nap on the beach with you under an umbrella.”

Jack yawns at the word nap. “Yeah I’m going to need a nap on the beach alright.” He’d booked you a red eye, leaving at almost midnight Pittsburgh time so that you get to Nice in the morning and can maximize your time in France. You both know the first day will be a lazy one though and you’re both more than okay with it. Napping on the beach together being an option and all.

“You should sleep,” you encourage him. 

“You should too.” He raises his eyebrows at you a little. 

“I don’t sleep well on planes.” You shrug. 

“Yeah, but you sleep well on me.” He cocks his head at you and gives you a bit of a lopsided smile. 

You laugh silently through your nose, shaking your head at him. “You’re pretty slick sometimes, you know that?” 

“I just speak the truth, Doll.” Jack pulls you a bit closer to him and grabs the traveling blanket you’d brought with you from the seatback pocket where he’d put it earlier. You help him spread it over the both of you and then snuggle into him as much as you can in airplane seats. Jack’s breathing evens out pretty quickly. It takes you quite a bit longer to find sleep, but once you do Jack is right. You sleep pretty well.

Nice is gorgeous and relaxing and so what you and Jack need, some lazy time together to focus on each other and nothing else. Your hotel is stunning and right on the beach giving you easy access to it. You’d spent your first day at the beach too given how tired you were and how nice it was to just lay in the sun together and relax. You’d walked around Nice your second day and picked up the car you’d be driving through the country in. You’d taken a little drive to Grasse, and looked around, gone to Fragonard and done the museum before you and Jack decided on a perfume for you and cologne for him.

And now you and Jack are spending your last day in Nice back at the beach all day. 

You’re both laying out on towels on the sand currently, your stuff on top of the shaded lounge chairs you’ve claimed. Jack’s wearing the beach leg he got so that he can be in the sand and sea. The softness and warmth of the sand is relaxing against your backs. If you and Jack weren’t intermittently talking you’d probably fall asleep. 

There can’t be much more than a foot between you and during a lull in conversation Jack blindly feels for your hand. He plays with your fingers once he finds it. You sit up and take a moment to admire him.

“France looks good on you, Dr. Abbot.” Your eyes trail up and down his body appreciatively. With the time you’ve spent out in the sun Jack is unfairly tanned, skin glowing. It makes his freckles pop even more which is something that drives you insane. You’d really noticed it yesterday when the two of you showered together.

You dragged him out of the shower quickly and to bed so that you could try to kiss and count each one while telling him how hot and gorgeous he is, how unfairly so and that you can’t believe he’s given himself to you, that you’re the one that gets to see him like this and have him. You’d spent the rest of the night loving on him.

And apparently you’re not ready to be done. 

“Oh yeah?” He turns and smirks a little at you. 

“Yeah.” You lay back and roll on your side, put your elbow in the sand and rest your head in your hand.

“I love your hair like this.” You run your free hand through it. He didn’t get a chance to get it cut before you left. It honestly can’t be more than a centimeter longer, but it’s just enough to show off his curls a little more, especially when they’ve dried from the sea’s salty water. “Just a little longer. Gives me a little more curl to enjoy.” You hum for a second. “To pull on.” 

“Really?” Jack’s basking in your attention and love

You pull your eyes from his hair down to his face. “Yeah, really,” you nod. 

“You want me to keep it this length always?”

“Would I like that? Absofuckinglutely. But it’s your hair. And I love it shorter too, like when we met. So you should keep it how you like it.” You scratch at his scalp a little. “I will love my salt and pepper curls no matter their length.” 

“Yours?” Jack raises his brows and gives you a teasing grin.

“Mhm.” You nod. “Mine.” You roll a little more and lean your head towards him. “Just like these are also mine.” You kiss at the freckles on his shoulder and chest, PG enough for the beach but with enough of a lingering edge and a nip to make him feel it in his groin.   

“Yeah?”

“And so is this.” You drag your nails down his happy trail, stopping just short of his cock. Obviously you couldn’t rub it here to make your point as much as you’d have liked to.

Jack lets out a harsh breath through his nose. “Careful, Doll.” He can feel himself starting to get hard. 

“What?” It’s all fake innocence and pout. “All of you is mine. Isn’t it? Just like all of me is yours?”

“Of course.”

“So let me have you tonight. Let me appreciate what’s mine, focus on you.” You grab one of his hands and bring it to your mouth, kiss at his fingertips. You give the tips of his ring and middle fingers the quickest kitten lick. “Because your face twisted in pleasure, and the groans I pull from you, and the way you say my name and look when you come are also all mine.”

Jack has to sit up and bend his knees at that. His heart is beating much faster now, lust and need coursing through his veins. He’s hard and that’s a problem in these swim trunks. 

You follow him, sitting up and leaning back on your hands. “Unless you wanna go back to the hotel room now?”

“Yes,” he breathes, a frustrated edge to it. 

You smirk. “Let’s go.” 

“We have to wait a minute.” 

“Oh?” You raise a single brow at him. “Why’s that?”

Jack huffs. “You know exactly fucking why.”

“I swear, I have no idea what you mean,” you’re giving him your most innocent doe eyes, the subtlest hint of a smirk at the corners of your mouth, “Dr. Abbot.” 

Jack’s jaw clenches hard, eyes searing into you. “Get up.” 

You do as he asks, start to collect your things. Your movements are hurried, you’re just as desperate as him, swimsuit sticky already with how wet you are for him. 

You go to grab your towel but Jack stops you. “Yeah, yeah, I got the towels, thank you very much.” You furrow your brows together for a second in genuine confusion before Jack stands up and quickly drapes your towel over the arm he’s holding against his lower abdomen and grabs his and does the same so that the towels hang down and cover what would otherwise be his very obvious erection. 

“Oh dear,” you tut, finally letting a self-satisfied grin pull on your face. “That’s why we needed to wait?” 

“Go.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He tries to stay stoic but you don’t miss the way he clenches his jaw again and rolls it, how he shifts on his feet just slightly. You widen your smile and kiss his cheek before throwing the last few things in your bag and taking his hand. 

You giggle as you walk back. With how much bigger Jack’s steps are than yours and how fast his desperation for you is driving him to walk you’re almost having to jog a little to keep up with him. 

Once you’re back in the hotel room and have literally just dropped all of your shit and the towels and get to the side of the bed you try to push Jack back onto it but he doesn’t let you, uses your motion to push you back onto the bed. 

You whine and try to get up. “No. You can have me tonight like you said.” Jack’s hand comes to your chest and pushes you back down.

“Jack!” You whine. But you can feel your heartbeat in your clit, have to rub your thighs together a little, which doesn’t escape Jack’s notice.

“You really thought you were going to get me painfully hard in public and call me Dr. Abbott and sir and get away with it?” Large, strong and dizzyingly warm hands make quick work of your swimsuit and toss it aside.

“I thought you’d let me focus on you.” You push your lips out in a little pout.  

Jack leans over you, caging your head in between his arms. He ghosts his lips over yours. “You thought wrong.”

He pulls up and starts taking off his swim trunks. You make a high-pitched noise of protest as he gets off you. “Not even a kiss! You won’t let me have you like I want and you won’t even kiss me when you were right th-”  

“Stop talking.” It’s firm. He’s hit order territory. It makes you shiver. You like it when he gets like this. This edgy kind of dominant that’s distinct from other times he’s dominant. Just a little rough at the right moments. Manhandling you however he wants. Using you for his pleasure. 

You could reply in one of two ways, both of which would rile him further, just in different ways. But right now the choice is clear. 

That makes you smirk and arch a single brow at him. Jack already knows what you’re about to say. “Make me.”

Jack hums a dark laugh and smiles at you. “With pleasure Doll.”

You’re a little confused when he walks around to the foot of the bed and grabs under your arms and yanks you further onto the bed. The suddenness of it makes you shriek a little. “Jack!”

He moves your lower body so your legs are out in front of you comfortably facing the head of the bed and then pulls you down further so that your head is hanging off the bed. Jack’s a little rough shoving his fingers in your mouth to open it and get them wet. You know what’s coming when he pulls them out. 

Jack lets out a slightly strangled sigh of relief at the feeling of your mouth around him. “There we go, hm, Doll?” He leans over you, shoving himself further into your mouth but not too far, he controls the angle of his hips. You realize he didn’t just move like that for himself when the two fingers wet with your saliva come to circle your clit and slide down, tease your entrance. You already know he’s going to edge you like this. 

You swallow your whine when he pulls his hand away and then are choking around him from the shock and pleasure when his hand comes down to smack your clit. “Look I’m even being so nice,” Jack coos at you, “giving you what you wanted. Because this is what you wanted right? To be choking on me?”

Jack pulls out of your mouth so you can answer. You take a couple of breaths before you do, mostly to prepare yourself. “I don’t know. Is it?” 

“Hm,” Jack laughs again, smacks your clit before pinching at it, pulling another little shriek from you and a moan of pleasure that he can see you fighting to keep down. He likes when you make him work for it. “Be careful what you wish for, Doll.”

After dinner that night, which you were actually a little surprised you were able to walk to, Jack does let you have like you talked about on the beach. He’s a man of his word and it’s quite the opposite of a hardship.

The next day you guys hop in the car and start driving. You hit Arles and then go up to Avignon to look around, spend the night there and go walk through the city to find a cute café to have breakfast at. 

From there you head to Nîmes, and then on to Carcassonne. You spend the later part of the day looking around the town before heading to the hotel you’re staying at. Carcassonne leads you up to Rocamadour. 

All of France is beautiful, but there’s something about the way the town is literally built into the side of a stone cliff that really stuns you both. It’s just so incredible and makes you feel so small in a way for some reason. It’s hard to comprehend the reality of it. 

“I could spend so much money here,” you whisper to Jack. The two of you are browsing in the most incredible leather store you’ve ever been in, and probably your favorite shop of the trip so far.

Jack stops walking and flicks his head a little, staring at a spot on a table a bit down from you before looking down at all of the things he’s carrying in leather bags you’re getting. “I think you are spending so much money here, Doll.” 

He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, isn’t complaining about it at all. He’d buy you the whole store if it would make you happy and he feasibly could. He’s happy to spoil you, though he’s well aware there’s going to be a fight when you go to checkout about who’s paying. 

You look back at him and stick your tongue out a little at him. He rolls his eyes at you and does it back as you walk over to him and show him a little cosmetics bag you’ve picked up before adding it to one of the bags he’s holding. Jack nods at it appreciatively. “It’s not all for me.” That’s true. You’re getting quite a few gifts here for all the people in your lives. “The leather is just so beautiful and well priced.”

“It is.” Jack picks up a nice leather wallet and looks it over. “And not everything we’ve got here is something you picked out, I’ve added my own stuff.” 

“What?” You look up at him with mock offense. Jack’s eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head, bunching his shoulders up. “And you haven’t been showing me?”

Jack looks at you for a second. “No?” You give a little scoff, but it’s teasing. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to?”

“Well, you are,” you say matter of factly. “So show me.” You nod when he doesn’t move, smiling at him. You’re adorable when you’re this excited. “I want to see! I like seeing! That’s half the fun of shopping!” 

“Okay! Okay! Give me a minute to dig it all out!” Jack laughs a little, shaking his head at you. A wave of love and adoration for you crashes into him and he gets a little overwhelmed by it as he goes through the bags to pick out what he’s put in. He just loves you so fucking much. He shows you and you love all of them, take another spin through the whole store before checking out. 

You leave Rocamadour then and head to Lascaux II. You’re particularly excited for this one. You’re in awe the second you get down into the replica cave. Jack almost wants to record you in Lascaux II because of how fucking precious and cute you’re being and how completely fucking oblivious to it and how it’s affecting him you are. 

“This is so incredible,” you say for probably the tenth time. “Look at this Jack. I couldn’t do this now. Imagine them doing it 20,000 years ago. That’s just… I don’t even know. It’s making me bizarrely emotional.” 

“Aw, baby.” Jack breathes through a little laugh, pulls you close to him. He gives you a little squeeze and kisses your forehead before you step away to go back to chatting with your tour guide as everyone looks around this room. He knows it defeats the purpose of the visit for him and that you’d lovingly chide him if you knew, but Jack doesn’t care and spends more time smiling and watching you take it all in and chatter away with the guide than he does looking at the cave paintings. He never wants to leave.

The tour, however, does come to an end and you look around everything else and the gift shop and leave Lascaux, head to Limoges to spend the night and tour tomorrow. From there you tour Château de Chambord and then Amboise, where you go wine tasting and get quite tipsy together before making your way back to your hotel room with the both of you in a fit of giggles.

In the morning, you and Jack leave Amboise and drive to Ohama Beach and the Normandy American Cemetery.  It’s not sad as such, just kind of somber, which makes sense. 

You and Jack walk through the rows silently, hand in hand with Jack reading name after name. It gets to him a little. Makes him feel kind of bad. Here he is all the way in France on vacation doing this and thinking about people he doesn’t even know. He lives less than four hours from Arlington and hasn’t been back since the last funeral. 

He thinks about the rest of his unit, the ones still alive. They’d all moved across the States, settled different places where they or their spouses had family or just wanted to live. They kept in touch though, texts and calls. He went to a couple of weddings, knows each time someone welcomes a baby. All but one are coming to the wedding and the only reason he’s not is because his wife is due only two weeks later. 

He’s told you some about them. He realizes in the moment though that he’s told you more about what happened when he lost his leg. You know pretty much everything, everything he can remember at least. It took him a while to open up about it, not even so much because it was hard to talk about, talking to you about it was actually not easy but not as hard as he thought it would be because he knew you had him and would really be listening and there for him if he fell while talking. It was more he struggled with the idea of you having to know, having to carry it around similar to how he does, less so obviously but still. He didn’t want that for you, felt it was like a burden almost, a cross to bear with him. But he’d spoken with his therapist about it and been able to see it wasn’t.

“You know if you ever want to take a trip to Arlington I’m there with you, yeah? You don’t have to go alone unless you want to.” You squeeze his hand.

Jack smiles to himself and nods. You would know what he’s thinking about right now. “I know.”  He squeezes back. You don’t say anything else, know that you don’t need to. 

You end up getting sandwiches from a little café and have lunch sitting on a wall overlooking the beach. Jack shares some stories about his time overseas and on base here, most of them funny and making the both of you laugh. “Have I ever shown you pictures?”

“A couple, yeah. From weddings after or photos of new babies or pregnancy announcements.” You give him a small smile and tilt your head. “You don’t have to show me or tell me anything, you know?”

“I want to,” he nods as he pulls his phone out. It takes him a minute to find them, but when he does he scrolls through them and tells you the context, points out who everyone is. Tells you who was lost, little things about others, where they are, if they’re still in. 

One he shows you is old, from when he first joined. “Oh my god, you’re a baby!” You take his phone from his hand as he laughs. “Look at you! How old were you here?” You look up at him. Jack tells you and you look back down at the phone. “Wow,” you breathe, “do you have more of you younger?”

“Yeah.” He takes his phone back from you and scrolls. He’s a little bit older in these ones. “Right before I deployed on my first tour.” He swipes. “This was taken the day we arrived over there.” 

You bite your lip to try and hide your smile. You know it’s maybe not appropriate in a way, but you only do so because of how young he looks. You’ve never really seen him this young before. It’s always been much younger, baby photos, middle school, high school graduation. 

Jack bumps your shoulder with his. “You got any of you this age?”

You grimace at that and shake your head. “I mean, yeah, but you don’t want to see them, trust me.”

Jack barks a laugh at that. “I trust you on everything Doll, but not that.”

You deepen your grimace as you look at him. “You should.” 

He shrugs. “Prove it then.” 

You groan at the challenge. “Fine,” you mutter, “but I expect a ‘you’re right I’m so sorry for doubting you’ and you take my ‘I told you so’ without comment or a look.”

Jack’s giving you a look already because he knows you’re full of shit and he’s going to love them. “If that’s warranted then I promise I will. But I know it won’t be.” 

You drive into Paris in the late afternoon early evening, get checked into your hotel. Jack did good. Jack did real fucking good. Your room has a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower and a big jacuzzi tub. It’s just large enough but is still small enough that it’s cozy and romantic. You look around with big eyes and a look of disbelief.

“Jack, this is so beautiful.” You open the balcony door and walk out onto it. You’re almost a little speechless. Not even from how beautiful the room is and the view and the tub but from the fact that he chose this hotel and this suite for you. Because you know the only thing he was thinking of when he booked it was that he wanted to spoil you and make you happy and see you smile. “It’s incredible.” You murmur it but you know he’ll hear because you can feel that he’s standing right behind you even if the noise of the city covered his footsteps. You recognize his presence.

Jack’s hands find your hips and his chest presses into your back as he kisses the top of your head. “I didn’t order the champagne.” There’s a very nice bottle sitting in a bucket of ice for you, two flutes on the table it’s next to. 

You turn, shaking your head at him. Jack’s hands opening and settling back on your hips once you’ve turned all the way. “That’s not what makes it incredible.” 

Jack gives you a little knowing smile and nods. “Anything for you, Doll.” 

You lean up and kiss him, again and again until you’ve managed to maneuver the two of you so that Jack’s pressed against the balcony wall as you makeout. “You know this is very unfair,” you whisper against his lips when you break apart for air. Jack flicks his eyebrows up at you. “You get to plan the honeymoon too. When is it my turn to plan a vacation and spoil you?”

Jack laughs softly, catches your lips in another kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth for a second. “You can have the next one, okay? After the honeymoon.”

“Okay, good.” You kiss until you’re breathless again and then pull apart. 

“What would you like to do before the Tower and river cruise tonight?” Jack asks you with a little tilt of his head. “Champagne and a little moment on the balcony?”

“I’d like to start,” you take a step back so that he can walk past you and into the room, “with you getting on the bed. Fully clothed.” 

He cocks his head further. “You don’t have to do anything to thank me. I wanted to do this for you. Wanted to see the smile you gave me when you walked in and looked around.”

“I know I don’t,” you reassure him with a nod. “But I want to. I want to suck your cock for you and see the smile you give me right after you’ve come.” Hands squeeze your hips a little harder. “So please. Get on the bed.” 

Jack looks at you for a moment, genuinely wanting to make sure you know you don’t have to and he didn’t do this so that you’d take him in your mouth once you’d seen the room. When your eyes and expression convince him he nods and does as you ask.

Once Jack’s finished and recovered you decide to head out and walk around, just soak in the City some before you go to your reservations at the Eiffel Tower. 

Jack thinks he could live here and spend every day for the rest of life watching you and the look of wonder as you lead him through Paris. 

You and Jack share champagne on the top of the Eiffel Tower before you find a cute Seine side café for dinner. At 10:30 you board the boat that will take you up and down the Seine letting you see lots of the sights uplight and bathed in different shades of light. They of course pause down by the tower just before 11 and once it hits the Eiffel Tower sparkles and your face lights up exactly how Jack knew it would. He snaps several photos of you, the angle perfect and letting him get your profile and the tower in the same shot before he gets your whole face so he never has to even imagine this look again. His favorite is the one he gets when you turn to him beaming to thank him for this because of the expression on your face and how happy you are and how you’re looking at him like he’s the only thing on the planet that matters to you. 

It’s his phone’s wallpaper before you even disembark. 

The next morning you start with Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle before heading to the Louvre. 

“I think it’s this room.” Jack nods towards one. 

You take a cursory glance at it and keep walking. “It’s not. It must be further up.” 

“You didn’t even look!” Jack catches back up with you in two strides. 

“I promise you that when we get to the room you won’t need to ask if it’s the room.” You look up at him and try to give him a convincing smile. He narrows his eyes at you but nods. 

You guys walk up a bit more and come to another doorway off the side of the hallway. 

“Ah,” Jack clicks his tongue. “I understand now.” You share a look with him but don’t say ‘I told you so’ or even give him that specific look. 

You only have to glance at the room to know it’s the one housing the Mona Lisa. The huge mass of people making it difficult to even get through the doorway makes it quite obvious. You and Jack slip in and stay off to the side. You manage to get a good opening and are able to work your way in a little bit to see it before you quickly get out of the room, overwhelmed and done with all the people. 

“It’s smaller than I thought,” Jack comments as you walk down the hall a bit away from the room. 

You stop walking and look up stoically at the wall in front of you before looking at him as he keeps walking for a minute before realizing you’re not next to him and spinning. “Doll?”

“If only you had someone who told you that it was going to be smaller than you thought before you even stepped foot into the country.” You tilt your head at him. You’re not mad or annoyed, just playfully teasing him. The smirk pulls up on Jack’s face just a little too quick. He said it to fuck with you. “You asshole,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes and shaking your head as you walk ahead again. 

Jack chuckles as he catches up with you. “Sorry, Doll, I couldn’t resist.”

You shake your head, have to laugh with him for a second. “It’s not even you doing it, it’s the fact that it fucking worked on me.”

“I can be very convincing.” Jack laces his hand with yours and squeezes. 

You slow to look at a painting but look at Jack first. He’s already looking down at you, smiling, shoulders tensed just slightly in a way that tells you he’s about to lean down and kiss you. “Yes you can, Dr. Abbot.”

That earns you a little twitch under his eye before he leans in and kisses you. 

You spend the next day at Versailles. “Golf carts?” You furrow your eyebrows but smile. 

Jack lets out a bitten back laugh. “You know it doesn’t scream Jardins du Château de Versailles, but with how big the gardens are I get it.” He looks around. “They have a little train too.”

You and Jack have finished touring the palace proper and have walked out to see the gardens and trianons. You shake your head. “Oh no. No, no. We are so renting a golf cart.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grabs your hand and starts walking towards the booth you rent them from. “I knew the second you said golf carts.”

“Are you saying I’m predictable?” You bring your other hand across you to poke the side of his tummy. “Ow!” It doesn’t even hurt, it was just more unexpected. “I’m not saying that at all, believe me, Doll, you never fail to keep me guessing. I’m saying that wanting to rent a golf cart to drive through the gardens of Versailles is so you that it’s like they decided to do it just for you.”

You smile a little at that. You like knowing you keep him guessing but that he thinks things are very you at times. “I’m driving.”

Jack nods. “Knew that too.”

The day after Versailles you do more of Paris. You’re walking around the Palais Garnier headed towards the gift shop, your tour of the opera house having just finished. 

“We could do a Phantom of the Opera roleplay.” 

Jack breathes out a laugh that makes it clear how much that is not what he expected to come out of your mouth. “We could do a Phantom of the Opera roleplay,” he mutters, shaking his headband bowing his chin to his chest for a second. He looks back at you. “We could, yes.”

“It would be very hot.” 

Jack laughs. “Any roleplay would be very hot with you, Doll.” You’re both keeping your voices low enough for only the two of you to hear. 

You stop walking and smirk at that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack emphasizes the word as he nods. 

“You’ve thought about it before?” you simper, resuming walking. 

“You haven’t?” Jack shoots back with a smirk of his own.  “What have you thought about?” You need to know now, need to know if they match your own fantasies and if you could taxi back to the hotel right now and act one out, tour of the Catacombs be damned. 

“We can talk about it at dinner. Or after dinner.” He squeezes your hand and keeps walking you both towards the gift shop. 

“Or we can talk about it now.” 

Jack knows this is a battle he’ll lose and he’s honestly okay with that. “Can we at least do the gift shop and then grab some food and talk while eating? I’m hungry.” 

“Yes. I can live with that, but can’t live with you being hungry.” You let go of his hand as you walk in the gift shop so that you can look at things. “I’ll be speedy.” 

The rest of your trip passes too quickly for either of your liking. Before you know it you’re walking into your hotel room for the last time. You’re back a little earlier than usual but you’d decided to come back after dinner to spend the night together in your room and in the tub and on the balcony just focusing on each other. Neither of you are looking forward to having to go back to work. Back to being apart. It’s going to be hard going from being together 24/7 to only having mornings and nights except for the weekends if Jack has it off. 

You’re both ignoring it, don’t want it ruining your last night here. There will be plenty of time to be sad about it tomorrow at the airport and on the plane. 

You order a bottle of wine and bring it to the tub with you, sit and soak across from each other while giving each other foot massages and talking about your favorite parts of your trip. 

“This isn’t a very fair deal, you know.” You can hear the teasing in his voice. 

“I can’t help that my hands are smaller and not as strong as yours! I’m doing my best!” 

Jack laughs. “That’s not what I meant, you give the best massages.” You raise your eyebrows at him and shake your head to ask what then. One of Jack’s hands falls from your foot to find the other one underwater. “This,” he pulls it up and puts it next to your other foot, toes sticking out of the water a bit, “is what I meant.” 

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes at him and flick some water at him. “You are so full of shit, Jack Abbot. You know for a fact that once you’re done with my other foot I’m going to get closer to you and massage your leg. If anything, it’s nice for you because my hands get a break and aren’t as tired so I can go longer.”

You’re correct. Jack does know that for a fact, he just likes to fuck with you sometimes. “Did you just flick water at me?”

Your head shrinks back a little at the question because it is not what you were expecting. You let out a laugh. “And what if I did?”

Jack tightens his lips together and nods his head at you once quickly. “Then I would have to do something about that.” You stare at each other for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you try and figure out what his move would be.

“Don’t.” You try to stay serious but laugh a little. “You will send water everywhere.” You know he isn’t just going to flick water back at you or even send a wave at you. The playful look in his eye tells you that he’s going to lunge for you which will force the water forward with him and out of the tub just so he can grab you and pull you close to him. 

Jack’s smile widens. “We have lots of towels.”

“Jack.” You try so hard to stay serious but his adorable goofy grin makes it nigh on impossible. “I don’t want to spend our last night in Paris mopping up the bathroom floor.” 

“You should have thought of that before you flicked water at me.” He shrugs.

You scoff in shock and gape at him. “How was I supposed to know your reaction to a small flick of water was going to be to want to attack me at the opposite end of the tub and make a fucking tsunami in the procecss?”

“That’s just a risk you take with me Doll.” Jack clicks his tongue and shakes his head with mock solemnity. 

You stare at him. He’s going to do it. “You’re cleaning it up.” 

“You’ll help.” Jack smirks. 

You both know he’s right. “Fuck you.”

That makes Jack grin at you and lunge.

You find yourselves sitting on the balcony now. You’re dry from the tub and wrapped in the big fluffy towel robes the hotel has. Jack had at least managed to angle his lunge so that most of the water was pushed toward the tile wall behind the tub and not on the floor. It hadn’t taken long to mop up with towels. 

It’s getting later, closer to time to go to bed. As much as you’d done a good job of ignoring the reality that your trip was ending, it’s harder to now, and some of that sadness is in the air. It grows a bit with the small lull in conversation. 

Jack glances down at his watch. He leans back in his chair a little, appreciating how deep the seat is. He stands and moves his chair so that it’s just inside the balcony door. It’s a good height, his feet are flat on the ground when he sits in it. He grabs the small table and drags it to be what he estimates is the right distance from the chair.  “Peter?” Your heavy confusion is evident in your voice. 

Jack sits back in his chair and beckons you. “Come here, sit on my lap.” You’re never going to turn that down, so you do without really thinking about it. But before you can sit, “Robe off. I want to feel you. You can put it over you like a blanket.” It makes you pause for a second but Jack opens his robe so that it won’t obstruct your skin from touching and so you do as he asks, then sit. “Good girl.” It’s whispered low and right at your ear. 

He adjusts you so that your back is against his chest as you pull the robe over your like a blanket as he suggested even though you’re back in the privacy of your room. Your feet instinctively find the edge of the table to rest on and help you balance since you can’t reach the floor like this. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, slips his arms from his robe and wraps them around you under yours. 

You swallow hard. “I love you too,” you whisper. 

You stay like that for a couple of minutes, Jack holding you on his lap and you resting your head back against his chest. Jack slips a hand down to your thigh and squeezes to get your attention. “Spread your legs.” 

Your heart rate picks up just at his words. “Why?” 

You ask the question but do as he says while you do. “Good,” he praises you again. The hand that had squeezed your thighs dips between your legs. “So I can do this.” His finger circles your clit once and then slides down. He smiles at how wet you are. “Always so ready for me,” Jack murmurs against your ear.

“Jack,” you breathe out his name, hand wrapping around his wrist, not to stop him but to anchor yourself. You can feel him growing hard behind you and you grind into him a little. 

It makes him grunt a “Fuck.” Jack’s other hand slides up and grabs one of your breasts, squeezing at it before rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger at the same time he slips a finger inside you. 

“Oh,” you moan. “More! Please,” you pant. He’s quick to listen to you and slip another finger inside of you with how wet you already are. 

Jack’s breathing harder too, cock fully hard and aching with each wiggle of your ass as he makes you squirm. “Is that enough?” You shake your head against him, try to roll your hips in time with his fingers drawing in and out of you as they curl perfectly so that he’ll slide even deeper. “That’s not an answer.” 

“No!” The word shakes as you cry it, Jack’s hands already winding you tight. 

“Another one?” Jack slides another finger into on this pass and you keen for him, wiggling so much he groans from the stimulation and how it’s not enough. Once you settle again he resumes, works his fingers in and out of you, spreading them inside you sometimes. You’re letting out the softest high pitched moans with each breath you pant out. “This is enough?”

“No,” you shake your head hard. “No, no, I need your cock. Now. Please. I’ll be so good,” you start to babble just a little, “so good for you.”

“You already are being good for me.” His hand stills with his fingers buried in you. “My sweet good girl.” Jack lets out a harsh grunt at how tight your cunt squeezes his fingers at that. “How could I ever say no to you?”

He slowly pulls his fingers from you and brings them up to his mouth to suck clean. “You taste so fucking good,” he almost growls. “Makes me want to get you on the bed and just eat you out all night instead.”

You whine at that, torn between the thought of his tongue and his cock as grind yourself back against him. You shake your head. “Need you. Need your cock, please Jack. Tongue later if you want, later.” Jack laughs softly at your conflict and then the desperation with which you ask for his cock. “Cock first Jack, please.”

“Shh,” he soothes you, using one arm to lift you up a little and adjust you into a position that will work to get him inside of you. “I’ve got you Doll. I’ve always got you.” Jack shifts a little. “Help me, yeah?”

Your hand is there almost immediately to help guide him inside of you. “Fuck Jack, fuck fuck fuck.” Every word is moaned out as Jack moves his arm and helps you lower yourself onto him. 

The groan Jack lets out once he’s bottomed out in this position is strangled and almost pained. “You are so fucking tight like this Doll,” he’s panting hard now and he hasn’t even started to actually fuck you, “holy fuck.”

“I know,” you whimper, shaking a little from the pleasure already. “You feel even bigger, I feel you everywhere.” 

Jack starts to thrust up into you. With the angle there’s not a ton of movement but there’s just enough for his head to rub that spot inside you over and over and over again with every thrust. Your robe eventually falls off but neither of you give the slightest fuck, you’re in the room anyway and plenty warm. 

Your hands cling to him, one at the side of this thigh and the other at the upper part of the arm he has diagonal across your chest and tummy, fingertips ghosting teasingly over your collarbone and making you shudder, every so often running along the bottom of your jawline. 

Both of you are already panting and struggling to form coherent sentences, when the top of the hour hits and the Eiffel Tower starts sparkling. 

“Oh,” your panted breath catches in your throat. 

“Thought you might like that,” Jack grunts out as he keeps fucking you. He slows a little though, wants to draw it out. 

Jack’s hand slips under the back of your neck and he shifts you to the side a bit so he can see your face better and you his. It’s now his breath that hitches as he takes in you in, eyes roaming your face and chest, greedy and unabashed. The glittering light falling all over your face makes you look unreal, ethereal and divine and how on earth are you his? “Gorgeous,” he rasps between heavy breaths. “You’ll never fucking- fuck” Jack throws his head back for a second as a heavy wave of pleasure rushes through him at the way you clench even tighter at his words before looking back down at you, eyes burning into you hotter than they ever have before, “you’ll never fucking know how perfect you are to me.” 

Coupled with the way he’s looking at you as he says them, Jack’s words fully steal your breath for a moment as you stare back at him, go beyond making it harder to breathe. You have never felt more loved or more beautiful than you do right now. And you know that Jack isn’t just saying it solely because he’s in the throes of passion and that he’s not just talking about your looks. He means it all of the time, he thinks it all of the time. You’re always perfect to him, in every way. 

“Breathe for me baby,” Jack coos at you through a panted breath out. 

The reminder has you taking a shuddery gasp of air in. “Jack, I, I.” You shake your head a little as pressure builds behind your eyes, tears starting to form. You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, there’s no real words, just Jack. He nods at you to soothe you and tell you he knows.

It almost feels silly or cliché somehow but there’s something about the sparkling lights that almost makes it more intimate. His eyes look beautiful like this, the flicker of the light showing off every color in them. The constantly moving shadows on his face highlight every feature, highlight just how handsome he is, especially like this, flushed and panting and sweaty. He’s breathtaking. He’s yours. Body, mind and soul. This man has given you all of him, keeps giving it every day. 

You somehow get your voice steady enough to whisper to him. “You’re beautiful, Jack.” 

His hips stutter at the compliment. Jack’s not sure he’s ever been called beautiful before. There’s a little shake of his head that you catch as the Tower stops sparkling. He’s not disagreeing with you, he’s trying to explain he doesn’t know what to say. 

“S’okay, you don’t have to-” You’re cut off by a gasp as Jack’s hips shift. “Oh Jack!” you mewl, “Jack, Jack, Jack. Don’t stop, please don’t, please.” Your reaction tells him he’s found the perfect stroke and so he keeps it. Doesn’t stop or slow down or speed up, just keeps it and revels in the way one of your hands finds his hair and tugs, the other clawing and surely bruising his thigh just above his knee. “You don’t h-have to say anything,” you finally choke out as tears of pleasure hit your eyes, “just know you are.”  

Jack holds your eye contact, always does whenever possible. You watch as they grow glassier with every stroke. You talk to each other through looks, thank you and I love you and I can’t believe you’re mine and what did I do to deserve you and you feel so fucking good. 

Jack finally breaks the silence with a low “I love you,” like he hasn’t been telling you how much he loves you with his body and eyes this entire time. 

“Love you too,” you breathe on a pant out, “love you so much. Please, Jack.”

Jack’s hand finds your clit, starts working you perfectly. He has you memorized and you know it. There’s no lead up, no working his way into the touch you need to come. He’s just there with that touch immediately. Because he needs you to come.

“Fuck Jack!” you moan, jolting at his touch and how direct it is, how he’s so desperate there’s no lead up. “I’m gonna come.”

“I know,” he pants. “Come for me.” With how tight you are Jack knows that seconds after you come he’s going to follow. “Please Doll.” Jack can feel how close you are, rubs at your clit just a little faster as his hips get sloppy. “Need it, Doll. Fuckin need it. Make me come, please.” They’re all choked out and broken with how out of his mind on you he is. He keeps winding you tighter, so tight you still and go silent, become convinced your muscles are going to break all your bones with how deep the pleasure has you clenching them. “Please. Love you so m-much. Need it sweet girl, please.” The last please is cracked and pure desperation. Jack rarely begs but he is right now. 

It shatters you. 

Your orgasm rips through you, white-hot and searing every nerve in your body with unbridled bliss. It’s dizzying, has you clawing at Jack and tugging his hair even harder as you struggle to breathe through it, tears finally sliding down your face as you sob a little, almost unaware of how Jack’s name drips off your tongue so fast they slur together. 

Jack is mere seconds behind you, coming with a broken shout of your name. He shakes from the ecstasy of it, from how fucking good you make him feel, wave after wave of pleasure making him breathless as he struggles to cope with the rapture. “Doll,” he groans, over and over, “fuck, you’re so good,” his words are strangled, caught in his throat and forced out because he needs you to hear them, “feels so good, love you, love your pussy, fuck.” 

Jack is completely pussy drunk as he fucks you both through the crest, doesn’t still his hips or his fingers on your clit. He drags it out of you, never wants it to stop for either of you, never wants to leave this moment.  

But once he feels it ebbing for you he moves his fingers off your clit, leans over you to reach your lips and kiss you. It’s sloppy and breathy and there are moments where he can barely kiss you back with how overrun with pleasure he is. You keep sighing his name, keep whimpering it as tears keep slipping down your face. 

His hips keep thrusting as he works himself through it, sloppy and even less movement hunched over you to kiss you but it doesn’t matter. It and how tight you are and how you’re fluttering around him as you try to come back down is enough to drag it out of him and keep him coming. 

“Are you?” you breathlessly giggle at him.

“Yes, fuck!” Jack hisses. “You’re too good, pussy’s too good I can’t,” he pants, almost sounds pained by the pleasure, “stop.” 

You deliberately clench at his words and it pulls another groan from Jack, pulls a little more cum from him, and a grunted “Fucking shit!” as he stills his hips but pushes up to grind against you a bit.

Jack stops grinding after a few seconds because it becomes too much, rests his forehead against yours as you both shiver with aftershocks for a few minutes. Eventually he brings his head up and rests it against the back of the chair with his eyes closed as he pants and readjusts you, both of you hissing at the movement of him inside you as he does. He wraps his arms around you tighter, and you exchange murmurs of sweet nothings as you both attempt to come back to earth.  

“Oh fuck,” Jack pants after a few minutes, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re fucking unreal.”

You giggle at him. “Mm, I’m very real, Peter.” It’s a little slurred. 

He just hums at you, words still hard. You sit like that for another couple of minutes, Jack’s hands starting to rub and down you as your fingers draw soft circles in the crease of hips. “I want to get us to bed so we can cuddle properly but I’m not sure if I can walk.”

“I know I can’t,” you laugh. “Cum is going to get everywhere.” It’s already leaking out of you, always does, but with how long and how much he just came it’s going to be worse. 

“I’ll get you to bed and eat it out of you,” Jack mumbles. He means it too, as tired as he sounds. He’s not really tired as much as he needs more time to recover. 

“I might actually cease to exist if you do,” you tease. 

Jack chuckles at that. He knows he’d have to wait too long to give you time to not hit a more painful than pleasurable hypersensitivity the second he started. “Can’t have that.” Jack doesn’t have to say more, doesn’t have to reassure you he’ll take care of you and clean you up. You know he will. He takes in a big breath and lets it out. “Alright, I can feel you getting cold, we’re gonna do it.” 

You nod against him and take your feet off the edge of the table and fall forward a bit, Jack slipping out of you in the process, little moans from both of you at it. Jack keeps strong hands on your hips as you stand up, legs just a bit wobbly. He follows you up and gets beside you, wraps an arm tightly around you. It’s actually not as bad as either of you thought, you recovered better than you realized while sitting with each other. Getting to the bed is pretty easy, all things considered. 

Jack shuts the patio door and then grabs a washcloth, gets it a little wet with warm water before coming over and cleaning you up. He takes it back to the bathroom and rinses it, leaves it to dry with all the other towels, shaking his head slightly at the sight. 

And then he finally climbs into bed with you, rolls on his side and starts pulling you close to him at the same time you move towards him. Once you settle he smiles as he looks at you, his eyes flitting about your whole face before settling on your eyes. “There she is, my pretty girl.”

“My handsome man.” Your voice is rough, a bit ragged from the moaning, but not as bad as after the second proposal. 

Jack leans in and kisses you. Just because he can and he loves you and he’s in bed with you in Paris and you’re marrying him. 

You look sad when he pulls away, maybe it’s more a preemptive forlornness. “I’m going to miss this,” you murmur. 

“I know. I am too.” Jack nods. Because he is. He hates seeing you upset but he wants you to know that he hears you and your feelings are valid before he tries to distract you. “We’ll always have Paris.” He fails to hide the smile that wants to grace his face, corners of his lips twitching up a little. 

“Oh my god,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you just said that.” It worked. You’re smiling now, distracted.

“What?” Jack sings the word a little. “You were supposed to be impressed I can quote Casablanca at will.”

“I don’t think one needs to even have seen Casablanca to know that line.” You love him, him and the way he validates you but coaxes you into a better mood when it’s right. 

“Okay but I have.” He waggles his eyebrows at you. “Have you?”

You smirk. “We said no questions.” A little challenge for him. 

Jack nods, presses his lips together and pulls them down, raises his eyebrows at you. “Here’s looking at you, Kid.”

“Aha!” you laugh, “you really have seen it and you remember it!” A bigger smirk pulls on your face. You want to see how far he’ll go. “Play-”

“I’m not singing As Time Goes By,” Jack cuts you off. 

You gape at him a little, smiling as you do. “I love you so much.”

“Did you mean for that to be a quote?” He smirks. 

Your jaw slackens a little bit as you smile. “I-” you shake your head. “No. No I did not.”

Jack laughs softly. “I love you more, Doll.”

You shake your head at him, lean in to kiss him, to taste him and consume him and be consumed by him. And then you blink and it’s morning, and blink again and you’re walking back into your apartment together. 

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

“Hawaiʻi is always a good option, especially if you don’t want to go international.” 

You and Jack are out on a date. He’d planned it, chosen a nice restaurant where you currently find yourselves, your favorite cuisine, of course. You’re doing something after but he won’t tell you what yet. It’s the weekend after the string of anniversaries. Your second anniversary together which you spent together out doing your favorite things together and getting a couple’s massage and having sex. 

That anniversary was followed a month later by the anniversary of the shooting and when you went septic and when you came home. There had been a lot of emotions with these three, but you and Jack got through them together. You didn’t try to ignore the meaning of the day as such, but you did try to take the days back, especially the day of the shooting and the day you went septic. So you spent the days together doing fun things both out and at home and enjoying each other and your time with each other and laughing and being close and having sex and yes, sometimes crying. Jack had thought a date the weekend after the last anniversary passed would just be a nice little thing to do, so he’d planned this.

“You don’t want to go international?” Jack asks. 

“No, no I never said that. I’d love to go international. I’d prefer to go international, honestly. I was just thinking out loud.” While you take a sip of your drink you make a little thinking face that Jack finds so adorable. “Fiji looks beautiful. Or any of the Caribbean islands. Bali. Mexico.” You get another bite of your food on your fork but pause before bringing it to your mouth. “We could go ziplining any of those places I bet. Ooh! Or horseback riding on the beach!”

Jack gives you an amused smile while you take your bite. “Anywhere else?”

You bob your head back and forward as you chew while thinking. “I’ve always thought one of those Viking river cruises would be cool! They go a lot of places now I think, and that would be a really cool way to see a region of Europe potentially.” You hum. “A tour of Italy. Or Spain. Or Croatia maybe!” You realize you’ve been doing all of the talking. “What about you? I’ve been the only one throwing places out there, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Jack shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. “I was having fun listening to you think of places and watching your face as you spoke about them. You’re very cute.” You give him an almost shy shrug and Jack is tempted to end the date here and now and take you home to have his way with you. “I like all of those places. Ireland would be cool I think, especially if we got a car and drove around. I’ve always wanted to do Japan too. Kyoto and Osaka. But then Greece or Crete or Cyprus also sound amazing.”

You nod as he speaks, smirk a little. “You’re going to have one hell of a decision to make, Peter.”

“I am,” Jack laughs softly. “Really depends on what we think we’d like to do on our honeymoon.”

“Each other, ideally. A lot.”

Jack lets out a huffed laugh, he should have seen that one coming. “Well, yes of course. There will be a lot of doing each other I have no doubt, Doll. But you know, do we want to do museums? Do we want to go look at historical sights? Do we want to just lay on the beach all day? Do we want a combination of all three?”

“No, I know what you mean, I was just teasing.” You run your foot up and down his left leg under the table. “I would be happy with any of those, genuinely. I know that’s not particularly helpful, but you could pick wherever you wanted and I’d love it. As long as we’re together.”

Jack smiles at you. He knows how much you mean it and he understands because he feels the same way. You guys could stay at your apartment for a week on a honeymoon and he’d be content. That’s not going to happen on his watch, but still. He knows it’s about the person and to some extent the reason and not so much the place. “That’s very sweet.” He lets his foot brush against the side of yours under the table. “It’s very unhelpful, you’re correct, but it’s very sweet too.” 

You playfully roll your eyes at his teasing. “I mean it. And you want to plan the honeymoon and do this as a surprise and I don’t want you to feel like you have to pick a place I said or that we have to do any of the things I said. We have a whole life together to go see all the other places.” 

“I know,” he reassures you, “I don’t. I just wanted to hear your thoughts and ideas.”

“Okay.” You nod and finish off your drink. “As long as you know that the honeymoon destination that will make me the happiest wife is the one that you pick because you put the time and effort into thinking about it and picking it and planning it.”  

Wife. You say it so nonchalantly but Jack’s brain glitches out and scrambles at the word. Of course he knows you’re going to be his wife, but hearing you refer to yourself as it leaves his mind fuzzy and reeling in the best way. It takes a second for him to process the rest of your sentence. 

“Jack? You okay?”

“I’m perfect, Doll. You okay?” The smile he gives you as he says it is so beautiful you curl your toes in your shoes to keep from screaming. 

“Yeah,” you nod, “but what was that? Something happened there for a sec.”

Jack’s smile doesn’t fade. He almost feels a little self-conscious in a way, being so affected by it. Sometimes it still fucks with his mind that you are going to be his wife. That you choose him. That he’s lucky enough to get to love you and be loved by you. But you are, and you do, and he is, and there is nothing in the world that makes him happier or prouder and so he doesn’t fucking care that the word got to him. 

“Wife.” You raise both of your brows at him, raise your chin a little too in question. “You said ‘honeymoon destination that will make me the happiest wife’ and my brain just got totally snagged on the word wife for a second.” You bite your lip and giggle at him. “Don’t laugh at me!” He’s laughing as he says it, no real meaning or force behind the statement because he knows you’re not really. 

“I’m not! I just think it’s cute!” You tilt your head at him. Something about the revelation makes you emotional in a way because you get that way with him and the word husband. And you get that way because it hits you how lucky you are and how much you love him and how proud you are to be his and call him yours, and so the thought of him having those same thoughts about you makes you emotional. “You say husband sometimes and the same thing happens to me, and so I just think it’s cute that it happens to you too.” You shrug a little. You seem almost flustered. “And, I don’t know,” you shake your head slightly, “it just makes me feel good knowing the same thing happens to you when you hear me say wife.”

“Of course it does.” Jack gives you his own shrug. His smile turns a little teasing. “Lots of things you say snag my brain sometimes.”

“Oh? And what things-” You’re interrupted by your waiter asking if he can clear your plates and if you’d like to see the dessert menu. “Yeah, I guess we’ll have a look, thank you.” You take it from him and help him collect your plates. Once he’s gone you look back at Jack to finish your question but he’s smirking and shaking his head. You know he won’t tell you. 

“Anything look good?” He asks, nodding at the menu in your hand. You roll your eyes at him, but your smile makes it clear how you really feel. 

You look over the menu, hum to yourself a bit as you do. “It all looks good.” You hold the menu out for him to take. “Look, you can practice your decision making skills now and pick for us.”

Jack shakes his head and smirks. “I don’t need the menu. I know exactly what I’m having for dessert.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head. But again, your smile gives you away. You open your eyes back up and keep shaking your head at him. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Mmm,” Jack hums. “Technically you didn’t take me here. I took you here. On the date. That I planned.” You roll your eyes at him. “Let’s skip dessert here. We can get it after the next thing, okay?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I want to know what the next thing is.”

“And so you will soon.” Jack flashes you one of those smiles of his that completely disarms you before turning his head and grabbing the attention of the waiter to get the bill. 

Once you and Jack step out of the restaurant you lace your fingers with Jack’s and wrap your other hand around his upper arm. “So do I get to know what we’re doing next now?” You shake him a little bit to show your excitement and emphasize how badly you want to know. 

Jack smirks at you and cocks his head. “You know I wasn’t going to tell you.” You pout at that and he brings his free hand up and swipes his thumb over your downturned lip. “But you’re so cute and adorable that I will.” Your eyes widen a little, sparkling in the street light. “We’re going stargazing.” 

Your head tilts forward a bit, a confused smile pulling onto your face. “Stargazing?” 

“Stargazing.” He nods at you and gives you quite the self-satisfied smile at your reaction. You’d told Jack early into your relationship that you found space and stars incredibly interesting, and that you like looking at constellations and learning about their meaning. He happened to see something in passing that reminded him about it and gave him the idea. “That okay?” Your silence doesn’t worry him, but he just wants to check. 

You shake your head a little. “So much more than okay. I love it, thank you.” 

“Good, and you’re welcome, the pleasure of setting it up was all mine, Doll.” He offers you his arm and it makes you grin and giggle like a love sick fool. You take it, looping your arm through his and letting him lead you to wherever it is you’ll be stargazing together. 

It requires a trip on the light rail and when you get off you’re even more unsure of what exactly Jack’s plan is. You’re near the Steelers’ stadium. “Are we stargazing at the stadium? Are they like doing an event?” 

“Nope.” Jack pops the ‘p’ a little and leads you down the street. 

“I’m very lost, I don’t think I’ve ever been down here at night.” You pause. “Not sober at least.” 

Jack chuckles softly to himself. “Hold on, we’re almost there.” You guys walk a bit more and Jack stops. “We’re here.” 

“This is where we’re stargazing?”

Jack points to the building up just a bit in front of you. “The planetarium.” You look where he’s pointing, the hand not holding his coming to rest over your lips. “I saw that they were doing late night programs and it made me think of you. You said you liked stars and space once, constellations. I’d love to take you real stargazing, and I promise to one day, but I wasn’t sure how long it would be until we could steal away to somewhere with a lot less light pollution. So I thought this was a nice compromise. I know we might not be able to talk as much as if we were out in the middle of nowhere, but at least we’ll have someone explaining what shit is. There’s a couple different shows we can see too.” He thinks it’s ridiculous how his heart rate speeds up, how he’s engaged to you and seen you almost die and been with you for more than two years and he’s still nervous about whether you like his date idea. 

“Compromise?” You laugh breathlessly as you turn back to him. “Jack, this is… incredible. I…” You close your mouth and laugh a little. “I’m kind of speechless. I had to have told you that back when we first started dating. I want to say I can’t believe you can remember but fuck,” you shake your head a bit, “I think you just remember everything about me.” 

“I try to keep track of it all. Sometimes I get lucky and my memory gets pinged, like when I saw the poster for this.” He lets out a breath. “Okay, good. I’m glad you like it, I got kind of worried there for a second.” 

“I more than like it Jack.” You slip your hand from his so that you can take his face in your hands. You smile at him and you’re sure it looks as gooey and in love as you feel. He knows that look.

Jack stifles a laugh. “You wanna say it together?” You keep the smile but scoff a little. “What? You get a look. It’s this very particular smile. I know what it means.” You squeeze his face a little and take a small breath in. 

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you and Jack say in unison. He beams as he shakes his head at you, laughing softly and looking at you like you personally hung the moon and all of the stars you’re about to go see together just for him.

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

After the anniversaries pass you and Jack really start to focus on wedding planning. While you didn’t want a two year engagement because you both just wanted to be married already, you knew it was the right call. You didn’t want the first anniversary of the shooting to fall a month and a bit after the wedding, since you’d chosen your anniversary as your date. And you needed the extra year for that day to fall on a Saturday, so you both felt it was just meant to be.

The first thing you end up really doing for the wedding is your registry. You weren’t even going to make a registry until Dana found out and convinced you that you should. It’s a spur of the moment thing one weekend. You haven’t done anything for the wedding really but you have a date and that’s enough to start a registry so you decide to go do it even though it seems out of order. It makes a great date for the two of you that has you laughing and dreaming about your future together. Neither of you expect anything from anyone. You make a couple at different places, to give people options. And because it’s fun to do. 

You and Jack browse Crate and Barrel. You don’t know why the sight of him in Crate and Barrel makes you a little giggly, but it does. “An espresso machine.” Jack cocks his head at it. “What do we need an espresso machine for?” he asks, scanning it in anyways despite his question.

“Espresso.” You offer no further explanation. 

Jack stops walking and lets out a deep sigh, hanging his head for a second and then shaking it to himself. But you both know he loves it, the sass. “You hardly drink espresso,” Jack points out.  

You shrug as you keep perusing. “Well maybe I would drink more if we had an espresso machine.”

“You really want someone to buy us an espresso machine?”

“Nobody is actually going to buy us an espresso machine. People know us better than that. And if they don’t then that’s what returns are for.” You turn around and smile at him. He’s shaking his head at you but wears a smile. 

“And when whoever gets it for us wants to come over and doesn’t see it out on the counter?” He raises his eyebrows in a little challenge as he walks closer to you and uses his free hand to squeeze your hip. 

You contemplate for a second. “We’ll make a list of people we can never invite over. Or we’ll keep the espresso machine.”

Shortly after making your registries you nail down a venue. It’s fairly overwhelming trying to find one in Pittsburgh because of the sheer number of options. And that’s just if you stay in Pittsburgh and don’t consider the surrounding areas. “I don’t know, Doll, I’m not good with that stuff. With words.” You and Jack are driving around the city looking at different options today. 

“I don’t know, Jack, the speech you gave as you proposed was pretty damn good.” Jack throws you a look. “They don’t have to be flowery or some crazy level of poetic beauty or whatever. All they have to be are vows from you. From your heart. I’m going to love them no matter what as long as they come from you. It’s not like I’m some poetic master.” You put your hand over his where it rests on your thigh. “If you really don’t want to, I’m not going to make us I just-”

“No,” he cuts you off because he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. “It’s not that I don’t want to, at all. I do want to. I don’t want us to get up there and only say the traditional vows. I like the idea of personal vows, I want that.” He lets out a big sigh. “I’m just concerned about my ability to… execute.”

“Can you name a challenge you took on and failed to rise to the occasion and execute?” You trace random shapes on the back of his hand, wait for an answer. One never comes. “That’s what I thought, because I know I’ve never seen it happen. Why don’t we plan to do them, and if we get closer and you’re concerned then we can revisit, yeah?”

Jack shakes his head as he pulls into a parking spot at the next place. He turns to look at you once he’s parked. “We’re doing them. No reevaluating. I want to do them. I have a lot to say to you, a lot to promise you.”

You beam at him. “I have a lot to say to you and promise you too.” You lean over the center console and push your lips out for a kiss that he’s happy to give you. “Come on. Maybe this will be the place we do all of our saying and promising.” 

This place will overwhelmingly not be where you and Jack get married. It is comically bad. You and Jack are both having to focus hard on not losing it with laughter.

The person showing you around is blissfully oblivious to your guys’ struggle. It’s not even so much that the place is bad, it’s how different it is than the photos you saw online. Your brain is truly hurting trying to figure out where the photos you saw online were taken and how the spaces could have ever looked like the photos. 

“I would love to know who took the online photos for them because they sure are talented,” Jack whispers as you follow the man into the reception room. 

“Same, I’d hire them for our wedding in a second.” You have to swallow hard right after saying it to keep from laughing. 

You and Jack both walk around the space and pretend to be interested as the man continues to talk about all the various features of the room. You make the mistake of glancing up and over at Jack. He’s not even looking at you, he’s standing behind the man showing you around who is somehow still talking about the features of the room staring at him with a look of concerned horror mixed with bewilderment. 

You spin so that you’re facing a wall and neither Jack nor the man, hand flying to clamp over your mouth as you bite your lip hard to keep from laughing. You walk away a bit, standing over near a random swatch of carpet embedded in one corner of the dancefloor. 

“Oh, yes!” The man calls to you and you shake your head to yourself a bit, have to let out a small scoffed laugh just to ease some of the tension in you. “The dance floor is great, isn’t it! A great size and the flooring is beautiful.”  

You nod. “Yeah, it’s so pretty,” you force out, voice a couple of octaves higher as you hold in your laughter. You don’t have to be looking at Jack to know his eyes snap to you, the shit-eating grin that pulls up on his face radiating off him even from across the room. 

You already know he’s on his way over to you so you take a couple of deep breaths and pull yourself together. You focus on the wall in front of you. You know that if you look at Jack you’ll break. 

“Everything alright, Dear?” Jack asks in a whisper as he walks up to stand next to you all fake saccharine and concern in his tone. The man has launched into some tale about some famous Pittsburgh native who had their wedding here.

“I’m great.” You nod, swallowing hard. “I’m really great.” 

“You sure?” He’s smirking now. “You can’t even meet my eyes.” 

“I’m not looking at you. And you know why.” You shake your head, keep your eyes focused on the wall in front of you. 

“But I have a very cute face. You tell me so all the time.” You can hear his pout. 

“Jack,” you warn, lips twitching up. 

“Okay! Okay!” The way he gave it up so quickly has you on edge.

“Jack. I swear to god.” You do your best to sound stern but there’s too much of a laughing lilt to your voice to be at all effective. 

“I said okay!” he protests. You’re still suspicious. 

And you’re right to be. You and Jack move across the room and get a bit closer to the man, do your best to pretend you’re interested in the story and the space. You make the mistake of looking away so that Jack is no longer in even your peripheral vision. And that’s when he makes his move, casually reaching his hand towards you and pinching your ass.

“Jack!” You manage to keep your shrill laughed yell of his name at a relative whisper as you bat away his hand. The only thing that saves you from cracking up is your very smart choice not to look at Jack.

Not quiet enough though. The man turns around. “Pardon?”

You’re immediately grabbing Jack and turning him, pretending to point at something across the room. Your voice is still a couple octaves higher as you fight back the laughter. “Oh, I was just pointing… that out to him.” You smile and nod at the guy. It evidently placates him enough because he launches straight back into whatever his current story is about. 

“That? That is what you came up with?” Jack whispers, finally looks like you’re making him struggle to keep from laughing. 

“I couldn’t pick one of the many fucking thats in the room fast enough!” This time you reach out to poke his side but he’s too fast, catches your hand with a smug grin. But you’ve played this game enough times with Jack. 

While he focuses on the hand he ends up catching you’re subtly moving your other hand near him. So the second that smug grin hits you poke his side, arching a brow and giving him his own smug grin back when he jolts and lets out half a laugh that he then pretends was a cough. 

You look away from him and take a few steps away because it’s getting to be too much again. “Jack.” Another warning as he comes up behind you again, still too much laugh in it for it to be particularly effective.

“I promise I’ll be good.” You believe him this time, can hear it in his voice. He presses his lips to your temple. 

“You better be,” you whisper. You can feel him smile and give you another kiss there before pulling away. 

Mercifully, the man concludes the tour and asks if you’d like to come in to book a date and discuss options. You’ve recovered enough to let him know you guys are going to look at a few more just to be sure. 

Both you and Jack are surprised when the guy appears to be fine with that and doesn’t insist you come back to his desk for some hard sell. You’re sure fucking grateful for it though because there’s no fucking way you guys would have kept it together at a table with this man.

The man walks you to your car which you both find odd, but the look you exchange is an agreement that the move fits the vibe of the place. 

You had both been doing so well, no longer on the verge of tears of laughter. But then the man tells you what weddings start at for the event and you both have to stifle laughs because there is no fucking way anybody is paying that much for this. You just nod at the guy and accept the second brochure he gives you as he tells you that if you guys decide to do the wedding here he can offer you a thirty percent discount. 

Jack decides this is the perfect time to return to your little game. 

“Thank you very much, we’ll be in-” Jack chooses then to pinch your ass again, making you blurt out half a laugh that you somehow manage to stop from devolving into the fit of laughter you have the urge to break into. You clear your throat. “We’ll be in touch, thank you.” 

You stand there frozen and smiling until the man is far enough away and then let out a long breath. Jack pinches your ass again. 

“Oh my god! Jack Daniel Abbot!” you shrill as you turn to him. “You were so trying to make me come unglued in there and out here you asshole!” It’s all bark and absolutely no bite. You’re not mad or even really trying to chide him. You love it. 

“Oh?” Jack laughs. “Whisky on your mind, lover? Because I know my middle name isn’t Daniel and I know you know that.” 

You huff and roll your eyes. “It just came out okay! It’s just what rolled off my tongue in the moment because I’m so mad at you!”

“Oh no, you’re not mad at me. Not even a little. You fucking love it.” Jack smirks, looking like the cat who got the cream. And he’s right and he knows it.“But would you like to see what can roll off my tongue in the moment?”

For whatever reason that’s what makes you crack. That comment. Within seconds you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, and Jack is right behind you.

“That was so bad,” you almost whisper through your laughter. You both laugh so hard you go soundless, laugh so hard it hurts and you both cry. You end up leaning into Jack to help stay standing because you can’t stop fucking laughing.

“I can’t breathe,” you laugh, keep laughing even after you say it, tears dripping from your eyes.

“If you can laugh and talk you can breathe,” Jack manages to get out, wiping away some of his own tears of laughter.

“Oh,” you give him a fake glare through your tears, “don’t you get fucking medical with me right now, Dr. Abbot.”  

You both start to calm down, laughter trailing off and giving way to sniffles and coughs to clear your throats, the occasional giggle from both of you. Jack gives one last huff of a laugh. “Come on, Doll. Let’s get in the car.” 

Jack’s hand finds the small of your back and he leads you the little bit of the way left to the car, opening the passenger door for you and shutting it once you’re in. You’ve been together over two years now and him opening and closing the door for you still makes you melt. It’s just so Jack in a way you don’t know how to describe.

Jack gets in the car and closes his door and you both let out long breaths at the same time before spending a moment in a comfortable silence, both of you thinking back on that entire tour. 

“That was certainly…” you trail off, giving a long shake of your head as you look for the word. 

“Something,” Jack fills in for you. “That was certainly something.” 

You and Jack burst back into laughter. It doesn’t last anywhere near as long this time, but you both get a little teary again because the whole thing is so fucking absurd.

“Is it bad…” Jack trails off, sniffling and wiping some tears from his eyes as he laughs a little more. “Oh god,” he sniffles again, “is it bad that it’s so bad it almost makes me want to get married there?”

You shake your head, laughing harder for a second. “No. No, because I had the same thought for a second. It would be so bad it would be good. It’s like The Room.” The thought makes your laughter pick back up for a second before you both finally start to come down.

“We’re not going to actually do it though, right?” Jack asks as you both recover from all the laughing. 

“No.” You shake your head a bit as you sniffle and wipe the last of your tears off your face. “Absolutely not, no.”

“Alright then let’s get out of here.” Jack leans over the center console and gives you a quick kiss. 

“Yes,” you type the next venue into your phone so the directions show on the car’s infotainment screen, “let’s.”  

This time, you both fall in love with the venue almost immediately. It’s perfect for the two of you and just the right size for your smaller and more intimate wedding. You and Jack wander up and stand at the place you think you’ll set up the altar, turn to face each other and hold hands. “What do you think?” you ask him quietly. 

“I think that this is where I’m going to be standing the first time I see you in your wedding dress,” he smiles. 

“Yeah?” you breathe. “You love it?”

“I think it’s perfect.” Jack wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. “Wanna practice the best part?” You giggle as you nod and wrap your arms around Jack’s neck. Jack’s smiling as he leans in to kiss you. It’s lingering but chaste. Jack pulls away from you and you’re immediately back to smiling at one another. He leans in for another kiss and this time he catches you by surprise when he dips you and you feel him laugh against your lips. He brings you back up, keeps holding onto you. “We have a venue.”

You nod, still smiling, probably look like a love drunk fool but you don’t care. “We have a venue.”

The next item crossed off the list is a dress for you. You keep your group small, a friend from work and Dana, Heather and Mel, the Pitt crew you’ve become the closest with through all of this.

You stand at the desk with the four of them, Robby, and Jack. Dana had put in for a half shift so she could attend and you’re collecting her on your way to the store. “You’re sure you don’t want me to come? Robby can handle it here by himself.”

“Excuse me? Have you looked at the board?” Robby points up to it. 

“I’m sure.” You give Jack a knowing smile. “You get to see it on the day when I’m at the top of the aisle my love.”

“Alright, I just thought I’d offer.” Jack holds up his hands. You know he’s dying at the thought a little. It’s one thing for him to know you’ll be getting a wedding dress. It’s another for him to know you have a wedding dress and he can’t see it. 

“You’ll be fine Jack.” Dana swats at him. 

“You know I could come? If you’d like a male perspective,” Robby offers. “Jack can handle it here by himself.” You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing, Dana not even trying to hide her snicker while your friend, Heather and Mel turn their heads. 

“Absolutely fucking not!” Jack hisses. “Michael does not get to see my wife in her wedding dress before I do!”

Nobody comments on his slip. On the way Jack just called you his wife. You bite your lip even harder at it and look to the side and exchange glances with Mel, who shoots you a wide eyed look of excitement and surprise at it. 

You look over at Robby and smile. “I appreciate the offer Robby, but I think the five of us will make out okay. You guys ready?” You look at the group. When everyone agrees you turn your attention back to Jack, walk over to give him a quick kiss. “Have a good day at work, Peter.”

“Have fun dress shopping.” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

You nod at him and the five of you leave out the ambulance bay doors. It’s not a long trip to the wedding dress shop you found, a short ride on the light rail and up a few blocks. Your consultant is nice, asks what you’re looking for. You’re not really sure and not trying to box yourself into anything so you’re kind of open to anything. You tell her about the venue, the general feeling you’d like the dress to have, your budget and trust her to go pick the dress. 

It’s strange sitting in the dressing room. You think back on everything, your whole relationship with Jack, how much you’ve already been through together. You fidget with the ring on your finger as you wait. He really did do a great job picking out a ring and you love that it’s bespoke and so yours alone. 

Eventually your consultant returns with an overwhelming amount of sparkle and tulle and lace and chiffon and silk organza and taffeta in every shade of white and some blush tones. You start trying them on. You try on five or six, come out to show your party four of them. You all agree that none have been quite right. You get closer as you try on dresses but it’s hard not to feel a bit discouraged. You want to find the one so badly. 

Once you’re out of the last dress your consultant runs back to the stockroom, tells you she thinks she’s thought of the perfect dress. You take a little gasp when she walks in with it and shows it off to you. It’s stunning just on the hanger. Just having it on before you turn to see yourself you already feel like it’s the one. The dress you’re supposed to marry Jack in. 

“Oh wow,” you breathe as you turn around and look at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room. Tears start to form but you do your best to blink them away. You head out to show the group and you aren’t even conscious of it, but you’re beaming. 

You get up on the pedestal and face yourself in the mirror. The dress highlights all the right places, the color goes perfectly with your skin tone and makes you look glowy. But most importantly it makes you feel good, which can be so hard for you to find. As you take yourself in you realize the dress makes you feel how Jack makes you feel when he looks at you. Special and beautiful.

“What do you guys think?” Your consultant helps you turn towards them. 

“That’s the one.” Dana smiles back at you.

“Unquestionably,” your friend agrees. 

Heather and Mel agree as your consultant brings over some accessories including a beautiful veil for you to decide on. You turn back and look at yourself in the mirror all done up and are handed a tissue because you get so teary. It’s perfect. 

“You guys think Jack will like it?” you ask.

All of them laugh a little at that and you half turn back around. “What?” You give a little laugh too because of the looks on their faces. 

“As cliché as it is, you could walk down the aisle in a trash bag and Jack would love it and think you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.” Heather smirks at you. 

“He’s going to love this. You look so, so beautiful.” Mel beams at you. “And gorgeous and stunning.”

“He’s going to fucking lose it when he sees you,” your friend laughs softly, squeezing Dana’s arm as Dana leans into her a little to show her agreement.

“He’ll cry.” Dana nods, a little teary herself. You know she has a special relationship with Jack, that they’ve known each other a long time and she, like Robby, has seen him through some of the worst moments of his life, helped save him too. 

“He fucking better,” you laugh through a sniffle, blotting at your eyes. You look back at yourself in the mirror and get a bit teary again. “It just makes it so real, you know? We’re really getting married. I’m getting married to him in this dress.” 

“So you’re saying yes?” Mel asks, huge smile on her face. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yes. This is my wedding dress.” Everyone claps and gets up to give you hugs. You take some photos of course and then get everything bought, get told to make sure you have your shoes by the time of your first alteration appointment. The five of you grab an early dinner and then you head home and wait for Jack. 

You’re chilling on the couch with your feet laid out on it, head propped up a bit with a pillow and the armrest, scrolling and watching tv. You’re in one of Jack’s old oversized t-shirts and a pair of booty shorts. The way you’re laying on the couch though makes it seem like you have nothing on under them. You hear the sound of the door unlocking and Jack step in. “Honey, I’m home!” he calls out teasingly as he drops his bag and gets his shoes off. “Well,” Jack drawls, voice lower than normal, walking towards the couch, “this is a sight I could get very used to.” 

You laugh and affectionately roll your eyes at him as he starts to crawl up the couch between your legs. You drop your phone to the side and widen your hips to help accommodate him. “Hi.” You smile at him and give him the kiss he seeks. Jack lowers himself so that he’s laying on you, chest to chest with his head resting to one side. He can hear your heartbeat and lets out a big sigh, shoulders sagging a bit. “Long day?” 

“Yeah. Not a bad one, just long.” You start running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and it makes Jack hum, nuzzle into your chest. “That constant kind of busy that’s just draining some days.” He can’t help but let out another hum of contentment as you let him lay on you and scratch his scalp and let him listen to your heartbeat and smell you. Let him become enveloped by you. It’s always so relaxing. Sometimes he falls asleep and you stay like that until he wakes up hungry and realizing you both need dinner. 

He lets out another big sigh, this one full of fake hardship. “Plus I had to spend all day thinking about my fiancée out getting her wedding dress and knowing she won’t show me or give me a hint about it.” He playfully bites at your chest over his shirt, his voice so deliberately overdramatic it makes you laugh. “You find one?” You can hear the smile in his voice now. 

“I did, yeah.” He can hear the smile in your voice now. You don’t say anything more, in part because you have nothing else to say and in part because you know he’s going to comment. 

When you don’t speak he fills the silence like you knew he would. “You wanna show me? Give me something? A little hint?”

He can feel the vibrations of the quiet laugh his words pull from you. “Not particularly, no.” Jack makes a little noise of protest. “Alright. A trade.” Jack nuzzles into you again in acknowledgment. “You can see me and the dress if I can know where we’re going for our honeymoon.”

“No!” Jack says immediately. “I want it to be a surprise.”

His head moves with your chest as you laugh properly at that. “That’s how I feel about my dress.” You let one of your hands come up to his face, brush your thumb over his cheekbone. “You know I’ve never actually seen you in your dress blues, so really your dress blues are your dress.”

“I’ll show you a photo of me in my dress blues if you’ll show me a photo of you in your dress,” Jack is quick to offer as an alternative trade even though he knows it’s in vain. 

“Nope.” You pop the p. “I’ll wait to see you just like you’ll wait to see me.” 

You decide not to wait on wedding bands though, not to pick them out for each other and have them be a surprise for the other like some couples prefer to do. You guys want the experience of going in and doing it together. 

You go, of course, to the local store where Jack got your engagement ring. The owner is thrilled to meet you and see the woman he helped Jack design the ring for. You talk about wedding bands and what you’re looking for. You guys walk around and pick a couple out and then the owner brings over more options, from simple metal bands to more intricate bands with diamonds for you, a couple of men’s options with diamonds too. 

Jack picks one he likes and slips it on his finger. He looks down at it as he clenches his fist to see how the band thickness feels before straightening it back out. It hits him, how he’s really going to be married. To you. And seeing a ring on Jack’s finger levels you in a way you weren’t expecting. 

“Wow.” It’s a little breathy, the way you say it. It makes Jack look over at you. “I thought getting the dress made it feel real, but this, you with a wedding ring on… wow.” You look up at Jack and give him an equally breathy laugh. 

“Yeah,” he breathes back, clearly also a bit dazed. “Put one on,” he encourages. 

You take your engagement ring off, pick one and slide it on, stare down at your hand. “I know you’ve had a ring on but still,” Jack swallows thickly. 

“It’s a wedding ring,” you murmur, staring down at your hand. You slide your engagement ring back on and hold your hand out again, the wedding ring you tried on sitting nicely underneath it. “That’s so wild.”

Jack starts laughing because that’s such a you thing to say. He leans into you and gives you a kiss on the cheek. “I love you,” he murmurs. 

“Love you too,” you hum back. You both try on quite a few more. It’s easier for the two of you to pick one for Jack than it is for you. You’re overwhelmed by all the options. “I’m glad I didn’t have to pick out the engagement ring,” you mumble. 

Jack nods with you. “I’m glad I just saw the ring and knew it was almost perfect. And I’m glad we’re picking this one out together.”

“I don’t know how to decide. They’re all so pretty.” You wiggle your ring finger a bit so the diamonds catch the light as you evaluate the current option you’re wearing. You take it off and then look over the tray of rings you haven’t tried. One catches your eye. It’s over in the corner of the tray by happenstance so it was easy for you to overlook with all of the choices. You recognize it as one of the ones Jack had picked out when you were looking around. You slip it on and evaluate by itself. It’s perfect. You slide your engagement ring on top and it remains perfect, the wedding ring complementing your engagement ring as though they were made to be worn together, even with their differences. 

You hold your hand up again, wiggle it. “I really love that look,” Jack murmurs. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” you agree. “It’s perfect.” You pull your eyes from the rings and look up at Jack who’s already looking down at you with a soft smile. “This is the one. This is my wedding ring.” You lean up and kiss him. You keep it chaste and short since you’re in public with the owner nearby. “You picked it out, you know.”

Jack nods, eyes earnest and crinkling a bit at the corners with the small smile he wears. “Yeah I remember. I had a feeling. But I didn’t want to pressure you. And I promise I don’t love it just because I’m the one who picked it out.”

“I know, I never thought that.” You look back down at your hand and grab his left hand, place yours on top, fingers offset by one so that his wedding ring sits next to your engagement and wedding rings. “We have our wedding rings.”

Jack grins at you, eyes sparkling like the gemstones surrounding you. “We have our wedding rings.”

About five months out from the wedding you go catering and cake tasting. Jack loves to pretend he doesn’t have a sweet tooth but you know he does. It’s why you love baking for him so much, because you know he loves it and enjoys everything you make. You know his likes well by now. He likes sweet but not too sweet. 

“That’s alotta fucking cake.” Jack’s eyebrows are raised as he watches the woman bring the big tray of cake samples over to you. 

“Well,” you have to fight back a laugh at the way Jack said alotta fucking cake. “We certainly won’t be able to say we didn’t have options.” The woman sets the tray down. Each small slice of cake has a number in front of it, and she hands you a piece of paper that describes each of the cakes as identified by their corresponding number. “We need a whole ass pamphlet to explain what the options are.” Jack snorts at that, pulls his phone out and takes a photo quickly. “An experience you don’t want to forget?”

“I’m sending it to Robby.” He glances at you and you quirk an eyebrow at him. “He wanted to come to the cake tasting so fucking bad.” 

“So you’re showing him what he’s missing out on?” You smirk at Jack.

“No, I am encouraging him to find someone so that he can have his own cake tasting. I’m tempted to send it in the group chat with Dana so that she gets on his ass about it.” He looks so amused with himself you have to chuckle. Jack puts his phone back on the table next to yours. “Sorry. Just had to do that. I’m focused now.”

You laugh softly and lean into Jack a little, each of you holding the pamphlet with one hand. “Lemon blueberry with tangerine icing is interesting.” 

“I bet it’s good, though. Refreshing. Oh, espresso ganache,” Jack has to hold back a laugh. “How fancy.”

“I think you’re going to like that.” You point to a different one. “Ginger-infused cake with cognac. I think that’s the one that says fancy.” 

“Espresso ganache? You really think I’m going to like that? I prefer my coffee black, my americanos black. Not with mocha or whatever else. Ginger cognac does sound fancier though. I bet it’s good.”

“I am quite certain you’ll like it in the context of a cake.” You keep looking. “Almond. I like a nice simple almond cake. Oh fuck, cannoli cake I bet that’s so good, it has cannoli filling layers.”

“Yeah but their almond cake isn’t going to beat yours, so. I’m not convinced about the ganache.” Jack shrugs. You smile to yourself at his compliment. “English lavender with earl grey buttercream is probably good. Red velvet. But again, yours is so good. Glazed donut is interesting, but okay. Butterscotch bourbon, that’s probably really good. Oh, here’s the winner. Sultry chocolate cake. Not just chocolate cake. Sultry chocolate cake.” 

“It sounds like something for the honeymoon suite. Imagine having to put that on the placard things or whatever that tell people what the cake is. Sultry chocolate cake. And you haven’t tried the ganache yet, of course you’re not convinced.” You take in a breath and look up at Jack. “I think we just have to start trying. Unless there are any you want to eliminate right away.”

“We’re here now with them in front of us. Might as well try them all.” Jack shrugs. “How about starting with the strawberry champagne cake?” You nod and Jack grabs the slice and sets it in front of you. You each take a bite and make a little noise of appreciation at how good it is. You keep trying new flavors, some immediately being taken out of contention. 

“Let’s try the glazed donut. I feel like it’s going to be kind of weird,” You say as you grab the plate and bring it in front of you both. “Like if you want the taste of glazed donut at your wedding just have fucking glazed donuts.” 

Jake takes a bite and hums in appreciation. It’s not bad. “Donuts aren’t as elegant.”

You fake roll your eyes at him as you take a bite. You shrug. “It’s not terrible, but I just come back to have donuts.”

“Agree, it’s not bad but also not going to be our wedding cake flavor.” Jack nods. You both look over the pamphlet and try a few more, a couple of which you’re really considering. 

“Cannoli next?” He knows this one will likely end up in the serious contenders section of the table, clears a spot for it. Jack grabs the slice and sets it in front of the two of you, takes a forkful. 

“I’d always rather be your cannoli than glazed donut,” you hum softly as Jack starts to chew.

Jack chokes a little, managing to get the bite down in stuttering gasps, coughing and reaching for the bottle of water they’d given you as you pat his back and bite your lip. You feel bad, you hadn't meant to make him choke. Once he settles you take a bite of the cake. Unsurprisingly, it’s really fucking good. 

“What did you just say?” Jack’s finally able to whisper, voice a bit scratchy. 

You furrow your brows in feigned innocence. “That I’d always rather have cannoli cake than glazed donut cake?”

“No,” Jack draws the word out and gives a little laugh. “I don’t think so.” You deepen the furrow of your brow in mock confusion. “I think you should admit it, lest you end up my glazed donut for a while.”

You snort. “Please. You love filling your cannoli way too much. I’d be your glazed donut maybe once before I was back to being your cannoli.”

“Is that a challenge?” Jack narrows his eyes at you. 

“No.” You pull your lips down and shake your head as you take another bit of the cake on your fork. You look back up at Jack. “It’s a statement of fact, Peter.” You finish bringing the fork to your mouth and take the bite while maintaining eye contact with him. 

“Oh,” he laughs out the word softly. “Is it now?”

“Mhhhm,” you nod as you keep your mouth closed and chew. “And I love that fact about you so much, because like I said, I’d always rather be your cannoli than glazed donut.”

“Good,” Jack nods, trying his hardest to seem unaffected and succeeding in relation to everyone except for you. “Thank you for saying it.” 

“I think it should go in the serious contender area.” You flick your chin at the cake. 

“I already made a space Doll.” Jack gives you a little smirk. “I know you and your tastes very well by now.” 

You try a few more, none of which either of you really cares for. Then Jack goes to try the cake featuring the espresso ganache. You look at him expectantly with a little smirk on your face. You can see him fighting to keep his face neutral as he tries it. “Okay. I’ll admit it. You were right, it’s actually really fucking good.”

“See!” You poke at his tummy. “I know you and your tastes very well, Jack Abbot.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack takes another bite. “I think this is actually one of my favorites. You could totally recreate this at home I bet. I could have it for every birthday or special occasion.” 

You consider it as you take another bite. You probably could. But then a slow smirk draws on your face and you look at Jack. You can’t help yourself. “Jack, my love. My darling. Love of my life. Do you know what making this at home would require?” Jack shakes his head while working on another bite. Your smirk grows. “An espresso machine.” 

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

You can tell by the way he unlocks the door and steps in. He doesn’t say anything as he locks the door behind him. Jack just drops his bag and looks at you.

“Rough shift?” You grimace a little just from his expression. He looks demoralized almost, which is rare for him. 

Jack walks over and sits next to you on the couch, leaning in to grab a kiss before answering. It feels a little different than his usual home from work kisses, lasts a little longer. 

“You could say.” He lets himself sink back into the couch. You wait, see if he wants to volunteer more. Jack shakes his head a little. “Just lost a few people, more than usual.” You reach over and squeeze his thigh, move a bit closer to him and lean on him a bit. You know feeling close to you can help. 

“I’m sorry it was a bad day, Peter,” you murmur. You know that there’s not much you can say that will help right now. This is one of those parts of Jack’s job that hits much harder some shifts than others and no words will take it away or fix it. All you can do is listen and be here for him and let him know he doesn’t have to bear it alone.   

“No kids.” Jack shrugs. “I guess at least there’s that.” Jack’s hands grab your hand from his thigh, hold it between his.

It’s a cover. There’s something about the way he says it, his tone and the particular mannerism of his shrug and the way he picks up and holds your hand between his. You nod to yourself slightly. He can’t say it out loud. Either can’t or doesn’t want to. But you know. 

“How far away was the wedding?” you whisper. 

Jack lets out a pained laugh. “Fuck,” he mutters. He squeezes your hand and you know he’s saying thank you for knowing and seeing me and understanding and asking when I couldn’t say it. “Six months.” You rest your other hand on the top of his and squeeze gently. “And now he’s going home alone with a funeral to plan and a wedding to cancel. God, and I feel so fucking selfish and like a terrible person for saying this with what that guy is going through but I really could have done without having to watch him slide her engagement ring off her finger.” The fingers of his bottom hand instinctively search for yours. 

You wince at his words, heart aching at the thought of him having to watch that scene unfold. “Thinking that doesn’t make you selfish Jack, it makes you human.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Jack drops your hand and rubs his hands over his face. “I don’t want to dwell. It was just a rough day.” 

You respect his wish, don’t keep talking about it or try and get him to open up to you about it more right now. He’s told you that’s not what he needs. “Can I get you anything? Beer? I could go draw you a bath?”

Jack finally turns his head as it rests against the couch to look at you. “No.” Jack reaches for you, grabs at one of your hips and thighs. You get that message too and slide yourself onto his lap so that you sit perpendicular to him. Jack rests his forehead against the side of your neck for a second and breathes deep before pulling back. “I just want to be here with you for a bit.”

“Then here for a bit is where we’ll be.” You give him an adoring smile and lean in closer to him, cup his face with your hands. You kiss all over his face, but not in a flurry like you do sometimes. You take your time, plant each kiss deliberately and linger it for just a second to make sure Jack really feels it. You start at his hairline, move back across his forehead. You kiss each of his eyebrows and the space between them, his temples and then his eyelids, soft lashes fluttering against your lips. You kiss his cheek bones and the bridge of his nose, the apples of his cheeks and then the tip of his nose. You kiss the skin around his mouth, the bottom of his cheeks, and then his jawline and chin. And then you kiss his lips and Jack takes over. 

You yield to him, let him take control and deepen it, your hands sliding down to hold onto his scrub top as Jack licks into your mouth and groans. He’s needed this all day, all fucking day. Needed you. He doesn’t even need more, he just needs you, in some capacity. Eventually the two of you are forced apart by the need for oxygen. 

“I’m here,” you murmur. 

Jack takes in a big breath and lets it out a bit shakily. “Yeah,” he brings his hands up to cup your face, looks you in the eyes. “You are.” You let yourself lean into Jack, rest your head on his shoulder as his arms wrap around you to keep you close. You just sit like that for a while, let Jack hold you and feel you and come down from work.

“So I was thinking,” Jack starts.

You can’t help yourself. “Uh-oh, we’re in trouble now.”

Jack rolls his eyes at you and clicks his tongue, but he’s grateful for it, the way you help shift the mood. He needs it, to have a good night with you, the two of you just being normal together. “I was thinking that once we’re back from our honeymoon and have settled for a couple of months, what if we started looking at houses? Or a townhouse? Condo even, I guess. Something that’s ours. That we own together. As the Abbots.”

You pull yourself up from resting on him and blink at him for a moment, brain processing what Jack just asked. Not in a bad way, in a holy shit you can’t believe this man just asked if you wanted to buy a house together way. “You want to buy a house with me?”

Jack bites back a smile. “I want to do everything with you, Doll. Part of the reason I asked you to marry me.”

 “No! I know, I don’t doubt that or you, I’m sorry if I made it seem that way-”

“You didn’t,” Jack interrupts to quell your worry, one hand rubbing your back. “It was a very adorable reaction.”

“Okay, good.” You let out a little laugh. “I don’t know, I know it’s only like four months away, but sometimes I still can’t believe I’m going to be your wife and you’re going to be my husband. And we’re going to be the Abbots.” 

Jack squeezes your hip a bit at wife. “I get it. Sometimes I still can’t believe it either.” He lets out a bit of a sigh. “You know what would help me believe it more and make it even more real?”

“Oh I have a feeling I do,” you mutter, eyes preemptively rolling.

“Seeing you in your wedding dress.” There’s the slightest edge of hope in his voice even though Jack knows you’re not going to say yes. Doesn’t stop him from giving you his biggest puppy eyes though. 

“There it is.” You shake your head at him. “Not happening, sir.” You pause for a second. “But I do think it’s kind of cute how you keep trying.” You boop his nose and he moves his head up to playfully try and bite your finger. “To answer your question though, I would like that. A lot.” 

A slow smile spreads over Jack’s face. “Yeah?” He nods once as he says it.

“Yeah.” You nod too and lean in to kiss him. “I want to buy a house or something with you.” You run your hands through his hair and tug at his curls just slightly as you kiss him again, a little way you have of saying you love him.

“That reminds me,” Jack breathes when you break the kiss finally. “Do you want me to keep my hair this length for the wedding or get it cut shorter like I kept it when we met?”

You shrug. “It’s up to you, it’s your hair. You didn’t give me any input on my wedding hair.”

“Well no, but it’s a bit different.”

You give him a bemused smile. “I don’t think it is Peter.”

“A little.” You go to speak again but Jack beats you to it. “Your preference? Please.” He gives you a little pout. 

“Jack,” your eyes dart around his face a little trying to read him before moving up to his hair,  “you know what my preference is. But I want you to be happy and feel good more than I want my preference.” 

“Do I?” He ignores the last sentence which makes you laugh slightly. You realize something in him just wants to hear you say it right now. That you love his curls, that you prefer it at the just slightly longer length he has it now because it shows more of his curls. Just to feel close and talk about the wedding without talking about the wedding given what happened today.

“I love your curls. I prefer it at this length because it shows them off a bit more, but you’re the most attractive and handsome man I’ve ever had the privilege of laying eyes on, let alone calling mine, however you have your hair.” You run your hands through it, smiling to yourself a little without even fully realizing it. It’s a bit fluffier right now, the curls pulled out a bit from how much he must have ran his hands through his hair this shift. You love it so much. Love him so much. 

“And I love the salt and pepper. God, Jack, I really fucking love the salt and pepper.” You shift on his lap slightly, roll your ass just a little. “I love it everywhere.” You look him in the eyes and lick your lips. 

Jack’s eyes darken as his pupils dilate, cock starting to harden in his scrubs. Jack has started to go gray everywhere and you can both very easily and very clearly remember the night it first became visible enough for you to notice. He throbs just at the thought. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum as your hands find the hem of Jack’s scrub top and start pulling it off. You deliberately keep his undershirt on, love the way he looks in it alone, how tight it is against all of him. “All of it drives me insane.” Jack lifts his arms and you finish getting his scrub top off, tossing it wherever. You nuzzle your cheek against his, stubble grown out a bit since he last shaved. “Stubble too.”

You slide yourself off Jack’s lap and he whines a bit, tries to grab at your thighs to pull you back but you don’t let him. “Shh, let me do this for you, okay?” You coo at him as you move yourself to stand in front of Jack, his legs opening for you automatically. 

“Doll,” Jack breathes as you sink to your knees in between his, one hand starting to rub at his now fully hard cock over his scrub pants. “You don’t have to do this-”

“Oh I know I don’t have to, Jack. I want to. I’ve been thinking about having you in my mouth all day. So please?” You push your bottom lip out for him. “Let me help you relax, Dr. Abbot.” 

“Fuck,” Jack groans, eyes fluttering shut and head tipping back a little already. “You’re so good to me.” 

“No, I just treat you how you deserve,” you hum as your hands find the waistbands of his scrub pants and boxer briefs, eyes taking in the outline of his cock intently before you go to pull them both down at once. 

“Wait.” You pull your head back to look up at him and take your hands off his waistband. Jack grabs a pillow. “Here, put this under your knees. I know you like the bruises but you need to let the ones you have heal.”

“You’re so good to me.” You mirror his words back at him, eyes sparkling with adoration as you take the pillow from him and put it under your knees. You smirk as you return your hands to his waistband. “Just makes me want to give it to you even sloppier, Jack.”

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

“Thank you for having a late lunch with me and dropping me off at work,” Jack gives you a little smirk as you stop near the fire hydrant at the corner where the street turns into the ambulance entrance. He’s working an odd mid shift today to help cover. 2 p.m. to 2 a.m. It kind of sucks because it’s a Saturday, but you at least made the most of the morning and had a nice lunch out together. 

“Anytime, Peter. Thanks for asking.” You smile at him and set your hands on his chest as his come to rest on your hips. “Do you know what is exactly three months from today?” Your eyes sparkle as you say it. 

“Hmmm,” Jack hums, pretending to think. “The best day of my life?”

You press your lips together and smile, tilt your head at him and grab at his scrub top a little. Your eyes get just a little bit glassy because you know how much he means it. “That was really good,” you laugh. 

“I thought so.” He gives you a self-satisfied grin. “It’s true too.”

“I know,” you nod, “it’ll be the best day of mine too.” You slide your hands up around his neck and hug him, relish in the feeling of his hands sliding off your hips and around your back as he returns your hug, backpack hanging off one shoulder like always. “Have a good shift, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” he nods. “You should just take an uber home.” You raise your brows at him. He glances up at the sky. “It might rain. You don’t have an umbrella. It’s not a long walk home but it’ll feel like it if it starts to rain.” 

He’s right. The clouds do look threatening but when you looked at the weather earlier it said it wasn’t going to rain until later. Hence why you didn’t bring an umbrella. “Okay.” You shrug and pull out your phone. “I’ll let you know when I get home. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Jack pulls you in for one last kiss, lets it linger before pulling away and squeezing your hand. He turns and walks down towards the ambulance entrance and you stay where you’re at while you order an uber.

Jack nods at Robby as he walks in, slows for a second when he hears a car honking. It’s harder to tell this far away but it’s definitely coming from the direction he just came from. It stops though and he takes a couple more steps when the sound of screeching tires, crunching metal, shattering glass, the high pressured spraying of water and screaming draws everyone’s attention. An accident right outside the ambulance bay. Good spot for it, Jack thinks until it hits him. The water. The fire hydrant. 

You’re standing on that corner. 

No, no no no. This is not fucking happening. This is so not fucking happening. It’s three months to the fucking day before your wedding. The universe cannot possibly be this cruel. 

The problem is Jack knows it can be. That it often is. 

And he knows that you were standing on that corner because of him. Because he asked you to have lunch with him and walk with him to work. Because he said you should just get an uber home and you listened to him instead of walking like you were going to. And now what? He’s going to be left with a wedding to try and cancel and a funeral to plan and wedding rings you never got to give each other and a wedding dress he never got to see you in? 

All that and a hope and a prayer Dana has a photo of you in your dress so he can see you in it just once. 

All of these thoughts go through his mind in mere seconds. Jack is panicking. Silently and for the most part stoically. He looks up at Robby for a second and Robby just knows by the look in Jack’s eye. 

Jack drops his backpack and takes off running out the door, multiple people following him. They’re all headed to help victims, anyone who might need help. Jack is headed for you and you only. He almost hopes he doesn’t see you but he knows there’s no way you got an uber and drove far enough away in the twenty or thirty seconds it took him to walk in. 

But there you are. 

Walking down from the corner towards him and calling his name and trying to reassure him already, holding your arms out a little for him as he gets to you, not sure what his instinct will be. As soon as shit had stopped flying you’d started walking quickly towards the ambulance entrance doors, taking a bit of an arc to avoid getting soaked. You knew Jack likely heard the accident and would be worried and out looking for you. 

He says your name as he gets closer to you, panting less from the short run and more from the intensifying panic. “Are you hurt? Were you hit?” Slip of the tongue there that you both catch. His hands cup your face as he looks over your face. They drop quickly though to hold so that  his eyes can trail unobstructed up and down your body almost methodically.

“I’m okay, I promise.” You grab his hands. “Jack, I’m okay. I wasn’t involved and the crash wasn’t even that bad, it sounded much worse, some guy drove straight into an empty and parked car and someone swerved to avoid him and hit the hydrant. I saw it coming and moved down the street.”

“No offense Doll but I’m okay is so the fuck not going to do it this time.” The way he says it isn’t mean or snippy or angry. It’s scared. Jack finally looks at you, really looks at you in your eyes. “You’re coming in for an exam. You could have been hit by debris, a sharp piece of headlight plastic and you’re probably having an adrenaline rush so you might not feel it and you’re in all black so I can’t get a good look at you and blood isn’t obvious. So just, you’re coming in and I’m going to look you over.”

You tilt your head a little and go to say something but stop for a second as you fully take in Jack. In addition to the sacredness in his voice you can tell  he’s panicked by how he looks physically, pupils blown wide and chest heaving. He looks like he could be sick at any moment. While you know you’re genuinely fine this time you know that Jack doesn’t and that he can’t believe you as much as he trusts you, he just can’t, not on this, not after what happened last time. You know Jack’s not going to be able to see another human being until he’s checked you over. 

“Okay.” You nod at him. 

“Doll, please don’t argue, it’s not excessive or overdramatic-”

“Jack,” you say his name and drop his hands so that you can hold his face with yours. “I said okay. Let’s go in and to a room, yeah?”

“Oh,” Jack nods. He shakes his head slightly and it’s like he comes back to. “Yeah, yeah, come on.” He wraps an arm around you as you walk towards the ambulance entrance like he’s trying to be prepared to catch you when you drop any second now. Because he is. Because Jack is convinced he’s going to get you in a room and find something wrong, some horrific injury that’s going to leave you fighting for life again. Because Jack is right back to that day, the PTSD episode taking over his mind fast and gripping him like a vise.

He grabs his bag as you walk by it, catches Dana’s eye as he opens the door to central 6 and leads you inside. She gives him a knowing nod as Jack pulls the curtain to give you privacy since the door has a window.  

You set your purse on the bed and turn to face Jack, grab the hem of your shirt and start to pull it over your head. Jack sets his backpack down and his hands find yours before you can. 

“Let me,” he whispers, eyes still a bit crazed. You move your hands and nod, lift your arms when needed so he can pull your shirt off. He tosses it over your purse and looks at you, asks a silent question with his eyes. 

You nod and Jack unhooks your bra, puts it on top of your shirt. His hands find the waistband of your pants and underwear and he kneels as he pulls them down. You rest your hands on his shoulders as you pick up one foot at a time for him to get them all the way off. Jack stands back up and sets them on top of your bra and shirt. 

It feels like you should be uncomfortable or embarrassed standing like this, naked in front of a fully dressed Jack, even though he’s seen you naked a thousand times now, showers with you all the time, and has seen you in far more compromising positions than this. And in some sense it is because you don’t have a ton of self confidence despite all of Jack’s constant praise and body worship. But it’s also not because it’s Jack and the way he looks at you and takes you in, even now for the reason he is, makes you feel like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and like he’s thinking to himself how lucky he is that you’re his and he gets to have you and see you like this. That you let him. And that is in fact what he thinks to himself. 

Jack starts with your face out of habit of looking in your eyes. A hand gently trails behind his gaze, fingers running softly over your skin, pressing just a bit like they’re looking for something. Jack just needs to feel you, feel your body and warm skin. He moves from your face down to your neck, covers it all before his eyes move to your shoulder and down your arm to your hand. 

It’s not clinical, the way he looks over your body. It could feel clinical easily given the setting and the fact that Jack is checking for injuries. But it’s not. Instead it just feels like the man who loves you is taking in every piece of you to make sure you’re unharmed. Like a man who is so in love with you that he won’t be able to function again until he’s made sure you’re uninjured is taking reassurance from you body. Like being loved.

His eyes and hand go up and down you slowly, methodically. He does the top half of your body first and then crouches to do the lower half. Not a scratch on you. Jack stands back up, kisses at a couple of your scars as he does and then your forehead and then your lips. 

Neither of you have said anything since Jack whispered to let him and you haven’t needed to, still don’t need to. He grabs your bra first, helps you get it back on then does your shirt for you. He crouches again to help you with your pants and underwear, pulls them up with you as he stands back up. You adjust your clothes and smooth them out a little as you get situated again, Jack’s eyes still trailing over your body some. 

It’s then that he looks back into your eyes. They’re normal now, his pupils aren’t dilated and he doesn’t look so out of control with worry. There’s definitely still some worry there, but not like there was. Jack starts to move just a half second or so before you, stepping closer to you and cupping the back of your head with his hand. He pulls you into a hug like that, one you were already moving to give him. His hand stays on the back of your head, moving to the side a bit as he holds your head to his chest, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you tight. You wrap your arms around him, let him hold you as tightly as he needs to and hold him back just as strong. 

Jack nuzzles his nose in your hair and smiles at the familiar scent. It helps ground him. He presses a couple of kisses to the top of your head, lets his lips linger with the last one. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers. He releases you so that you can take a step back and look at each other. But his hands stay on your waist to keep you close, thumbs brushing back and forth absentmindedly, your hands rest on his chest. “I’m sorry if I was mean out there, I hardly even remember, I was just so…” 

“You have nothing to apologize for. You weren’t mean, I promise, Jack. You were just worried. That’s okay.” You slide your hands up his chest to his neck into his hair, scratch a little. You know he loves it. “Did it help?”

He wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you a bit closer again. “Yeah, thank you. For letting me. I just needed to know and see with my own eyes that nothing had happened to you.”

You smile at him. “Of course, it was a pretty easy ask.” You try to give him a little smirk to see if he’ll smile and he does, just slightly. “Jack,” you tilt your head at him, encouraging him to speak to you but not demanding it. He’s still way in his head even if he’s come down from the panic he was in.   

He lets out a long breath and sits in one of the chairs. “I was standing there and heard it and thought to myself that was a good place to crash. Right by an emergency room. And then it hit me that you were on that corner. And it was like the entire world was falling out from under me again. I was right back there in a way, it was like I was right back there.” He shakes his head a little and runs a hand through his hair. You know where he means. 

You step closer to him and he automatically opens his legs so that you can stand between them. You rest your hands on his shoulders. “That makes sense.”

Jack settles his hands on your hips and bows his head forward so that his forehead rests against your tummy. “Maybe, yeah.”

“No, not maybe.” You move your hands, one rubbing the back of his neck and the other running through his hair. “It does make sense Jack. It was a PTSD trigger even if the circumstance wasn’t exactly the same. You feared for me and my life. Of course it’s going to take you back there. And I know it’s not my fault, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re going through this and feeling this way right now and hurting. And if there is anything I can do to help Peter, please tell me.”

Jack squeezes your hips and lifts his face a little to give your tummy a kiss. “You’re already doing it,” he mumbles against you. “Just being here and letting me look you over and talking to me.” He pulls his head from your tummy and looks up at you, cocks his head slightly. “You know?” 

“I do,” you nod. “Because you do the same for me. You heal me just by existing in this world with me.” 

The two of you share a moment of eye contact before Jack pushes his lips out. You lean down and kiss him until he pulls away. “I should get to work.”

You nod. “Probably, yeah. I actually need to talk to Dana about my last fitting so it’s good I ended up coming in.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you share a look. Jack knows that you do need to talk to Dana but that it’s not the only reason you’re staying. You’re giving him a little more time to come down with you still in his sight. “Okay. Just let me know before you go, yeah?”

“Of course.” You smile at him and give him another kiss before the two of you leave the room. After you speak with Dana you find a reason to hang around the Pitt for a while longer. You chat with everyone who’s on and gets a couple of minutes to spare, hang around the desk without being intrusive or disruptive. You can feel Jack’s eyes on you frequently as he runs around from patient to patient, nurse to nurse, doctor to doctor. The two of you share a look at some point and you can see the gratitude in his eyes even as far away as you are. 

Eventually though, you know you need to leave. You track Jack down to let him know. 

“I’m going to head home, okay?” You smile reassuringly at him. 

Jack stiffens just slightly for a second. When you rest your hands on his chest he relaxes a bit. “Yeah,” he nods, “okay, that sounds good. Make sure you get some dinner, yeah?”

“I will if you will.” You give him a knowing look. 

“You know that’s not fair.”

You give an overdramatic huff. “Fine, but please try and have dinner if you can.”

“I promise you I will try.” He pulls you in for a hug and kisses the top of your head. “Text me when you’re home, yeah?”

“Of course, Peter. Call if you need anything. Or text.” The two of you step apart and Jack walks you over to the doors. “I love you.” 

Jack leans down and kisses you. “I love you too.”

You try so hard to stay awake for Jack, but you slip asleep reading your book on the couch without even realizing it. You had told yourself when you laid out on the couch that you would end up falling asleep but you convinced yourself you wouldn’t because you were at such a good spot in your book. Famous last words. The book is now face down on your chest rising and falling with your steady sleeping breaths. 

Jack thinks it’s odd when he opens the door and the lights are on but you don’t say anything. You’d have heard the door. He drops his bag and takes a few steps in to see if you’re on the couch or just forgot to turn the lights off when you went to bed. Maybe you left them on for him deliberately. 

He smiles when he sees you asleep on the couch, walks over and grabs your book off your chest and marks the spot for you. You stir awake at it, blinking rapidly to clear your eyes before giving him a sleepy smile. 

“Sorry, I tried waiting up for you.”

Jack smiles wider. He loves your sleepy voice. “I can see that,” he teases. “Don’t apologize. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nod and sit up. Once you’re standing Jack grabs you for a quick kiss. “Dinner is in the oven staying warm for you, bring it to bed.” You yawn a little. You rarely have to do this anymore now that Jack works days but whenever he’s covering a night or mid if you make a real meal for dinner you always leave some in the oven for him with it set to warm. It is really such a simple thing but makes Jack feel so incredibly loved and taken care of and cared about and appreciated. “The granola bar or yogurt or whatever you had stored away that you ate doesn’t qualify as dinner.” You give him a knowing look, a little bit of the edge lost with how sleepy you still seem.

“Thank you, Doll.” You just nod at him, wait for him to grab it. You both change and you sit on the bed with him while he eats, chat a bit about his shift. 

“You want to talk?” He knows you’re referencing what happened earlier today with you. “Need to?” Jack also knows you’re not pressuring him, just genuinely asking and reminding him that you’re here if he needs. 

“I’m okay, honestly. Being busy at work helped,” Jack explains once he swallows the bite he’d taken. 

When he finishes the two of you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, wash your faces and get ready for bed. You curl up together once you’re both in bed. You wind up with Jack’s head on your chest, tangled together in the perfect position that’s comfortable for you both. “You’ll wake me if you have a nightmare?” You’re half asleep already when you ask.

“I will, promise. But I think I’ll be okay.” Jack nuzzles against your chest a little, telling you without words that the sound of your heart beating in his ear seems to keep them away. “I love you.” 

“Good. I love you too.” Your words are all sleep slurred and Jack chuckles a little. “Sleep tight Peter. Less than three months now.” 

And it’s just under two months until the wedding when Jack pushes open the trauma room door and raises his eyebrows at Robby. It’s nearing the end of their shift. “What’s up?” He’s a bit confused why Robby called him in. It’s an MVA victim and the patient, while critical and in need of further stabilization, diagnostics and treatment, isn’t circling the drain. Robby can handle this with his eyes closed. He has a great team running it with him too. So Jack is confused why Perlah came running to grab him. “You’ve got this-”

“Jack, it’s Leah’s sister.” Robby’s voice shakes as he says it. 

“Oh fuck.” Jack doesn’t need Robby to say anything more. He goes to grab a gown and gloves and jumps in, displacing a new intern. 

“We can’t lose her Jack, we cannot fucking lose her.” Robby’s shaking his head as he finishes intubating her. “I can’t talk to her fucking parents again.” 

Jack finishes off a chest tube and after a minute Jesse yells out a new round of vitals. They’re strong as she stabilizes further, strong enough that Jack can take a second. 

“Robby,” Jack calls to him but Robby doesn’t look over, just starts moving to do something else. “Michael!” That gets Robby to look up and Jack catches his gaze. “We’re not going to.” Robby’s frenetic anxiety has made the entire room far too wired. “Okay everyone stop!” Jack isn’t mean about it, but it’s firm. There’s no room to argue or do anything but stop. “She’s stable for now so everyone take a breath.” Jack is still looking Robby in the eyes. Everyone takes a breath and lets it out. “Alright,” Jack nods, “let’s go.” 

Jack is right. They don’t lose her. She stabilizes nicely and gets admitted and taken upstairs. Robby tries to talk to her parents but Jack doesn’t let him. He’s not sure where Robby went off to, but he can guess. 

He calls you first quickly. You answer on the second ring. “Hi! Sorry I was turning the bath on to soak, so it took me a sec to get to my phone.” Jack smiles to himself at you explaining as if you needed to. “You have nothing to apologize for, Doll. I just wanted to let you know that I’m finally fucking off but it’s going to be a bit still.”

There’s an edge to Jack’s voice that concerns you. It’s almost like he’s had a bad day but not quite. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m okay, I promise.” He lets out a sigh, rubs his free hand over his face. “Robby had a MVA victim today. Leah’s sister.” 

“Oh fuck.” You walk over and turn the bath off. 

Jack lets out a little laugh at that. “Yeah. Robby called me in and told me it was her and I said the exact same thing. She made it. She should be fine, she’s admitted upstairs. I spoke with her parents this time.”

“Robby’s not though.” Your heart aches for him. It’s around that time of year too. You weren’t around for Pitt Fest, but Jack has told you pretty much everything at some point or another. 

“Robby’s not though.” Jack confirms. “I’m pretty sure he’s up on the roof. I’m going to go talk to him and then some people are going to the park now, I’m going to try and get him to go to see how he is.” 

“Okay, Peter,” you murmur.

Jack knows the sadness lacing your voice isn’t because he’s just called you to let you know he’ll be home even later than he already texted you he’d be. It’s because you’re sad for Robby. That empathetic heart of yours is something he loves about you so much, but he knows it means you feel real emotional distress at times. “He’ll be okay.”

“No, I know, I just… wish I could make it better for him.”

“I know you do Doll. I do too. I’ll text you, okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod even though he can’t see you. “Jack?” You say it before he can start to say goodbye,

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s really hard watching your best friend hurt. I’m here, okay?” You chew on your lip a little. You know it hurts Jack to see Robby struggling and vice versa. 

“I know you are. Thank you.” You can hear the smile in Jack’s voice. “I love you and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home.”

“Okay, love you too.” 

Robby is exactly where Jack expects to find him. “You’re not allowed to jump off the roof,” Jack calls to Robby as he walks over to where he stands beyond the guard rails. 

“Jack, I really don’t want to do this again. It���s too much déjà vu for one day.” His voice is steady at least. He’s not crying or near tears. Jack takes that as a positive. He gets closer and leans against the guard rails near Robby.

“We don’t have to do anything. But you knew I was going to come up here to find you,” he says pointedly. Robby tries to shake his head at first but ends up giving him a nod. Jack can tell Robby really doesn’t want to come apart here again. He gets it. “I’m serious. Can’t have my officiant jumping off the roof. Especially not this close to the wedding.” 

That at least gets a huff of laughter from Robby. He lets out a long breath and shakes his head. “I don’t know Jack.” Robby turns and ducks back under the guard rails and stands next to Jack. “It was years ago,” Robby laughs and runs a hand through his hair, “but right now it feels almost like that night.” 

“Yeah,” Jack nods slowly. “That’s PTSD for you.”

“I recognized her.” Robby looks over at Jack. “They looked so alike. But I couldn’t place her. And then someone was going through her stuff and read her name and it hit me at the last name. Leah’s sister. I felt fucking awful that I didn’t recognize her. I should have. Shouldn't have forgotten. And then it was just like I can’t lose her. I can’t do that to her parents again. And I should be over it, and it shouldn’t fuck with me this much still.”

Jack lets the words hang there for a minute, in part to see if Robby will say anything else. “First,” he starts, “should is a stupid word.” That earns him a look from Robby that Jack waves off for later. “Second, she wasn’t Leah. You shouldn’t have recognized her. They looked similar, yes, but still. You’d never seen her before, had you?” Robby shakes his head. “Then how would you have known? I get the not losing her thing. And even if you hadn’t called me in you wouldn’t have. You’re a good doctor, Michael. Leah was effectively DOA, you know that.” 

Robby takes in a big breath and lets it out. “Yeah.” He shrugs. “Still.” It’s whispered and Jack knows Robby’s getting close to his limit. 

“I know. Come on, let’s go to the park. Even just for one.” Robby grimaces at Jack. “It’ll be good for you.”

Robby gives Jack a look that says he doesn’t believe him but nods anyway and they head down, sit on their usual bench. It’s much livelier than it had been when Jack thinks back on the night of Pitt Fest. More people. 

Everyone chats and laughs but Jack can read Robby and knows it’s all fake, all forced and shallow. It’s unsurprising but Leah’s sister hit him hard. Jack wonders when the last time he spoke to Jake was. 

After what can only be five or so minutes Garcia smirks and looks over at Jack. “Your girl decided to join us?”

Jack’s brows furrow together in genuine confusion before his eyes follow Garcia’s. Sure enough, there you are, in leggings and one of Jack’s oversized sweatshirts you’ve stolen. Jack tilts his head as he gets up and walks towards you, reaching you before you hit the group. His heart rate ticks up a little. 

“Hey,” he calls to you before he reaches you, his hands wrapping lightly around your upper arms when you’re close enough, eyes starting to move over you. “You okay? Did something happen?” 

You melt a little inside. He’s so protective and caring. You know some of it stems from trauma but he was like this with you before you were shot. You bring your hands up and squeeze Jack’s forearms softly. “I’m okay, promise. I didn’t come for Pitt services.”

Jack believes you but he can’t help the way his eyes give you one last scan. The way they linger at your torso doesn’t escape you. “Okay, good.” He releases your arms and you his as he pulls you in for a hug, kisses the top of your head. “So why are you here? Not that I’m not thrilled to see you or that you can’t come see me randomly.”

You separate a little so you can look at each other. “I don’t know. I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Robby shouldn’t be alone. As long as you’re okay and don’t need my undivided attention.” Your eyes flit around Jack’s face as you look for any signs he does. “I love Robby, but you always come first.” 

Jack smiles at you and shakes his head slightly before leaning in to give you a kiss. It’s chaste, there’s no tongue or real movement, he just lets it linger to communicate how much he loves you and appreciates you. “I’m okay.” He looks you in your eyes like he loves. “I promise.” 

You nod. You believe him, know he is. “Good.” The two of you exchange small smiles and agree on the plan without speaking a word of it. It’s just intuitive. Jack swallows hard because you’re so good not just to him, but everyone in his life. 

Jack laces his hand in yours and walks you over to the bench with him. You greet everyone, smile and nod at Robby as you sit down by Jack. You aren’t there long before Robby stands up and says he’s going to head out, starts walking. 

“You ready?” Jack asks you. You nod at him, both of you saying your goodbyes. 

You don’t wait for Jack though as he finishes saying goodbye. Instead you walk quickly to catch up with Robby. 

“Robby!” You call out as you get close. He stops of course, turns to look at you, is about to ask if something is wrong. “Come to ours.” 

He raises an eyebrow and takes a deep breath in as he gives a single nod, grimaced smile pulling up on his face. Jack told you at some point. He’s not mad about it.

“That’s very kind, but I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” He starts to turn to walk again but you follow beside him. 

“I don’t know that I believe you that you are fine, and it’s okay not to be.” You give him a little look when he looks over at you. “Even if you are, you don’t have to work towards being okay alone.” 

Robby’s steps slow. “It’s okay, honestly.” He sounds much more emotional now but also like he doesn’t know what to do with the offer for some help. “I’m sure Jack would like some alone time to decompress.” He’s trying to deflect. 

“I spoke to Jack before I offered, he’s okay with it.” The two of you are standing again. “Well it’s less of an offer at this point and more me telling you. You shouldn’t be alone and I know you well enough at this point Robby to know that you don’t want to be. So come to ours.” You grab a fistful of the sleeve of his sweatshirt. You know you have him and don’t need to say more but you give him another reason. His favorite thing you bake. “Let’s go. I’ll make you white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies.”

You don’t wait for him to say anything, just tug at him by his sleeve and turn around, start walking over to a waiting Jack. Robby doesn’t protest, walks by your side. 

“She’s persuasive isn’t she?” Jack smirks as you approach. 

“She grabbed my sweatshirt and started pulling, I’m not sure if that’s persuasion.” 

“I said I’d make him white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies,” you tell Jack as you release Robby’s jacket and lace your fingers through Jack’s outstretched hand. 

“You better,” Robby huffs as he smooths out the creases your hand had caused in the sleeve of his jacket. The attitude is all fake. 

“Or what, you won’t marry us?” you fire back, largely to distract him. 

“Ha!” Jack laughs loudly which makes you join in. Even Robby has to as much as he tries not to. 

“I am a woman of my word, thank you very much. I will make you the cookies.”  

It’s not a long walk to your and Jack’s place. You kick off your shoes and walk in as both men drop their bags and get their own shoes off. You’re in the kitchen by the time they come to find you, assembling supplies and ingredients. 

You glance up at them as they walk in. “Shower. Both of you. If you want. But also do it.” You look at Robby. “There’s a clean towel on the guest bed for you, and I put a pair of Jack’s pajama pants and a shirt on the bed for you too. There should be stuff in the shower but just yell if you need something that isn’t in there.” 

Jack’s standing a little behind Robby and staring at you. It’s one of those moments where he really thinks you’re too good not just for him but for the world. You did all of this after getting off the phone with him, planned for it, came to see him, yes, but also to check on Robby and silently ask Jack whether Robby needed this, to not be alone. All because Robby is his best friend. You and Robby are close in the sense that he’s Jack’s brother effectively and so you know him well and most everything about him and love him like family, but you’re not best friends. This is something you’re doing for Robby, yes of course, but also for Jack and he knows it. Jack catches your eye and mouths he loves you. The smile you give him says you love him too.

“I will, uh. Thank you.” Robby gives you a small nod, both he and Jack walking down the hall to their respective rooms. 

While they shower you order a pizza and start on the cookies. The dough doesn’t take too long to make and you have it blast chilling in the freezer and grab the pizza from the delivery guy and have it on the counter by the time Jack comes out and finds you in the kitchen. “Hi.” He wraps his arms around you from behind and hunches a bit so he can kiss at your neck.

“Hi.” He can hear the smile in your voice as you tilt your head to give him more access to your neck. “You okay? Nice shower?”

Jack lets his lips stay against your neck. “I’m good, Doll. And it was okay.” He kisses his way up to your jaw. “Would have been better if you’d been in it with me.” 

You giggle, turn your face more so that you can share a real kiss. “Tomorrow. I promise.” Jack hums, loosen his grip around you when you go to turn all the way. You run a hand through his still wet hair. You really do love that he’s keeping his just slightly longer now all the time. “I love your hair,” you sigh, tilt your head at him. Ever since France he’s been keeping it that centimeter or so longer. He doesn’t have a huge preference and you’ve made it clear just how much you love it like this. And he does too with how feral it can make you and how it lets you tug on it even harder when he’s got his between your legs or is fucking you. 

Jack lets out a laugh through his nose. “You know I’ve picked up on that.” You tell him you love his hair all the time, play with it all the time, run your hands through it. You love his curls and the salt and pepper. He teases you all the time that you’re the reason for the increasing amount of salt. 

“I’m jealous.” 

“Picked up on that too,” Jack laughs. “You got us pizza?”

“Mhm, I knew the chances of either of you having eaten something substantial were slim to none.” You give him a soft smile. 

He loves you so much. The way you anticipate his needs, seem to think of everything. He’d love you as much as he does even if you didn’t, but you do. Jack tilts his head and leans in for a kiss, this one far less chaste than any you’ve had since parting for the day much earlier this morning. Jack starts to deepen the kiss even more, push you into the counter a little as he gets closer and you let him, scratch at his scalp to make him groan. 

The shutting of the guest room door startles you both and ends the kiss. Jack whines softly as he leans his forehead against yours. “Eat, Jack.” You poke his tummy softly. He grumbles a little but kisses your forehead and walks over to the box of pizza, grabs a slice. “You too,” you tell Robby once he walks back into the kitchen. “Eat.”

Robby looks over at the pizza and nods. “Thank you.” 

Jack opens the fridge once he finishes his first slice and pulls out two beers. “Doll?” He raises his eyebrows at you. 

“No, I’m okay but thank you for asking.” He nods at you and takes the tops of both, hands Robby one and grabs another slice of pizza, as does Robby. You’re all mostly quiet as they eat, grabbing more slices when they finish one, and you take the dough out and scoop it out onto some cookie sheets. You give both of them a look when they each grab a little dough out of the bowl to eat. 

Jack and Robby move into the living room while you finish and get the cookies in the oven, a timer set. You follow them into the living room, just for now. You’ll give them some time together once the cookies are done. 

The two sit at opposite ends of the couch, both leaning on the armrests a bit. You sit right next to Jack, feet curled up almost under you and lean back into him a little. “Tell her what you said on the roof.” You look back over your shoulder with your brows slightly furrowed at Jack. “You’ll see, just wait.” Robby’s brows are even more furrowed than yours. He has no idea what Jack means or what part of the conversation he’s referring to. “About being over it.” 

“Oh,” Robby runs a hand through his hair and looks at you. “I should have recognized her and I didn’t. I should be over it. It shouldn’t fuck with me this much this far out. And normally it doesn’t, but today it sure fucking did.” 

You nod as soon as he says the word, squeeze Jack’s hand. “Should is a stupid word.” 

Robby lets out a little laugh. “So I’ve been told.” 

“I didn’t tell him the rest,” Jack informs you. “I think hearing it would benefit him though.”

“You could have told him.”

“Yeah, but I like hearing you say it. And it seemed like something that would be more convincing tonight coming from you.” Jack runs his hand up and down your thigh now. 

You nod, look at Robby, catch his eyes so that you’re really looking at each other. “Should is a stupid word,” you repeat. “Nothing should or shouldn’t be. Things just are. And it’s okay for them to be as they are. It’s okay for this to be as it is. It’s still going to fuck with you, Robby. Some days more so than others. And no fucking shit it did today. It was her sister, in your trauma room. You’ve gotta give yourself some grace.” 

Robby is quiet, has to look away from you as he thinks. But you saw how glassy his eyes grew, how close to tears he was before he looked away. Jack knows he isn’t sure how to respond to that. So he moves the conversation forward a bit. “When’s the last time you talked to him?”

Robby takes in a deep breath through his nose and holds it for a second before letting it out as he shakes his head. “Couple of months. Four or five maybe.” He clears his throat to try and get rid of some of the emotion, takes a sip of his beer. Jack shifts slightly so he’s a bit more turned, can rest his hand on the top of your thigh. “He just doesn’t want to talk. He’s still mad. I think at least. Sometimes I feel like it’s something else but can never figure out what. Talk about it in therapy every now and then, but there’s not much left to say.” Robby swallows thickly, sets his beer down. 

You and Jack are both quiet for a moment. You’re trying to read both Robby and Jack, trying to see if further input from you is wanted or if this is a shut up and listen moment, or something Robby is telling Jack for later, when they’re alone. 

Jack can damn near hear you thinking and squeezes your thigh. He’s sure Robby needs to hear whatever it is you have to say. You shift down the couch a little, sit a bit closer to Robby, fully facing him on the couch with your legs crossed under you. You grab his hand and hold it. Not like you hold Jack’s but like you hold the hand of a friend you’re comforting.

“Sometimes you don’t think he’s mad anymore. Sometimes you convince yourself he’s not mad anymore. I think, maybe, instead you think he’s over it, or as over it as he’ll ever get and he’s just done with you.” You let out a small breath as Robby squeezes your hand hard. All three of you know that you’re right. “You think he has gotten used to you not being there, has moved on from you and doesn’t want you to be in his life anymore. You think he’s no longer angry and grieving and confused and struggling. You think he just doesn’t need or want you. And the thought that he just doesn’t need or want you hurts much more than him blaming you for her death ever did. Because he’s a son to you. And so the thought that he just doesn’t need or want you anymore is the pain of losing a child in a way, Michael. You’ve gotta try and let yourself feel that.” 

Robby looks at you. “Holy fuckin shit.” He’s stricken and you know it’s an uncomfortable realization but if life and therapy have taught you one thing it’s that sometimes having words, knowing how to say what you’re feeling, is helpful, makes it better, no matter how hard those words are to say or hear. “You… I…” Robby drops his head, takes his hand back from you so that he can hold his face in his hands.

“I know,” you murmur. You scoot just a bit closer and wrap your arms around him from the side, rest your head on the back of his shoulder and just hold him in the hug as he finally starts to cry. 

Robby drops one hand from his face and holds onto your arm that’s across his chest, just as something, someone to ground him. He never has this, never has someone with him when he’s like this except for maybe occasionally his therapist and every so often Jack. And you’re offering him this platonic affection and comfort of a hug and so Robby lets himself have it. 

You don’t say anything or move. Just hug him silently. Jack watches the two of you and thinks about how funny it is that he’s always thinking there’s no way he could love you more and then you do something, something like this, and somehow he does. 

The timer for the cookies goes off around the time Robby starts to calm down so you take your arms back and get off the couch, give Jack a quick kiss before going to the kitchen. You get the cookies on the cooling rack and fan at them a bit so they set up enough for you to get them on a plate, take them into the living room. 

Robby and Jack have sat quietly together while you’re gone to give Robby some more time to collect himself. You set the plate on the middle of the couch between them. “I’m going to bed, but come get me if you need anything. There’s more cookies in there too, if you run out.” 

You step a little closer to Robby off to the side and lean over, run a hand over his hair and hold the back of his head while you kiss the top of his head off to the side. You move over to Jack, stand between his legs and lean down for a proper kiss, hold his face in your hands. “I love you,” you murmur against his lips, smiling. 

“I love you more.” He wraps his hands around your wrists and gives you another kiss, another few, honestly, Robby still so out of it he doesn’t even make a comment or fake a gag. You giggle a little and give him one last one before pulling away and heading into bed.

“She’s right,” Robby admits once your bedroom door closes. He grabs a cookie, so does Jack.

Jack takes a sip of beer and nods. “She usually is.”

Robby shakes his head and rubs his face with his hand, takes in a deep breath. “I never know what to think with him, Jack. Sometimes we text and it feels so normal. Other times it feels like he’s sending answers because he feels he has to and like it’ll end the conversation faster. Sometimes we do frequently, a couple of days in a row and then this. We go months.”

“When’s the last time you spoke on the phone? Or facetimed or whatever?”

Robby has to think about it, grabs another cookie while he does. “His birthday. He answered when I called. It was short, but he answered. That was like nine months ago.”

Jack raises his eyebrows to himself as he grabs another cookie. Nine months is a long time. He’s not judging Robby, at all. It’s just a long time and he knows how much it must kill Robby. 

“She got married,” Robby says quietly. 

“Janey?” Jack’s kind of surprised by the news but he doesn’t really know why. 

“Yeah.” Robby shrugs. “So he really doesn’t need me,” Robby tries to laugh, “he has someone else, someone who didn’t kill his girlfriend.”

“You didn’t kill his girlfriend Robby. And I have a lot of doubt that some guy his mom married when he was over 18 has replaced you.” Jack finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle on the end table. “Jake loves you, a lot.” Jack shakes his head as Robby starts to interrupt him, grabs a cookie and shoves it at him to try and keep him from talking. “No, don’t tell me he doesn’t. I saw him that day before he left, I saw how he looked at you. He might have been mad at you, might have hated you in a way, but he loved you when he left the hospital Michael.”

“I don’t know if that makes it better or worse,” Robby sniffles. “Even if he loves me and I haven’t been replaced and even if he needs me,” Robby shrugs. “He still doesn’t want me. And not wanting me wins over the rest and I don’t know what to do with that.”

Jack sits up a little and lets out a breath. “Have you tried asking him if he wants to do something together, in person, since he started talking to you again?” It had taken six or seven months for Jake to respond to Robby’s texts after Pitt Fest. He gave Robby the coldest of shoulders at Leah’s funeral, almost looked mad he was there.

“No. Why would I? He doesn’t want to and then it just makes it awkward for him to have to try and find a way to say no.” Robby shakes his head, finishes his own beer and sets it to the side. “I don’t want to put him through anymore than I already have.” He grabs another cookie.

“But maybe he does want to, Robby. He’s still a kid, even though he’s over 18 and it happened when he was 17.” Jack catches Robby’s gaze. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to text or call first or maybe he doesn’t know how to ask you to do something or be back in his life and have things be like they were before Pitt Fest because he thinks he hurt you too bad and doesn’t know how to apologize and can’t imagine you ever forgiving him. Maybe he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe he’s hurting just as bad as you are and maybe he misses you just as much as you miss him.”

Robby’s gaze falls from Jack’s and Jack can tell he’s thinking. Jack can tell he’s hoping. 

“I don’t,” Robby starts but then stops, shakes his head a little. “You think?”

Jack shrugs. “I think it’s a possibility, yeah. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Robby nods. He grabs another cookie and Jack sits with him in silence.

“I think I need to sleep on it,” Robby finally says. 

Jack nods. “That’s a good plan.” Jack knows that’s also Robby’s somewhat subtle way of ending the conversation. Jack stands up and grabs his bottle, holds his hand out for Robby’s. “You taking those to bed with you?”

Robby rolls his eyes as he stands up and grabs the plate and follows Jack into the kitchen. “No, just a couple.” Jack snorts a laugh as Robby grabs some and a paper towel. He gets the rest of the cookies and those left on the plate in a ziploc and sets them on the counter in front of Robby. Robby tilts his head at him. 

“She made them for you. So they’re yours.” Jack shrugs as he walks out of the kitchen towards your room. “I hope you don’t get too many nightmares tonight,” Jack calls back to Robby. It’s his way of saying sleep well because Jack more than most people understands what sleeping is like after a PTSD episode.

You’re asleep on Jack’s pillow when he walks in, he’s just able to make out your form in the darkness. He heads to the bathroom and quickly brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed. 

Jack slips in behind you, bare chest pressing into your back as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you even closer. You stir, push yourself back into him as you take in a breath. “Hi Peter,” you mumble. Your sleepy voice is so precious and adorable Jack swears he has to stop himself from biting your shoulder. 

“Hi Doll, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers back, kisses the side of your face. 

“Wasn’t sleeping hard, trying to wait for you. Didn’t work,” you let out a little sleepy laugh that turns into a yawn. You can feel the vibrations of Jack’s chest when he chuckles at you. 

He squeezes you a little for a second and then fully settles behind you. “Thank you. For doing this for Robby.”

You hum softly. “Course. Robby’s family, you don’t need to thank me.”

“Still. Not every girlfriend or fiancée or wife would do this, even for family. I know it’s been a long week for you and that you’ve missed me and Robby coming over meant we wouldn’t get much one on one with each other tonight.” Jack kisses at your neck. “You didn’t have to. Do any of it. Show up or get him to come over or get pizza or make cookies or talk to him.”

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. For him and you. Even with as much as I wanted it to just be us tonight. He needed to not be alone.” You give another little yawn, smack your lips a little. “And what can I say?” It’s a little sleep slurred. “Guess I’m not every girlfriend or finacée or wife.” Jack’s arm is still draped over you and you grab his hand, bring it up and kiss haphazardly at his knuckles. “Just yours.” 

Jack nuzzles his nose against your neck and kisses there. “You’re not just anything.” Hearing you say you’re his always gets to him and he can feel himself filling out a bit, especially with your ass pressed back into him. “But you are mine, yes,” Jack confirms. He feels your breathing start to slow and even out as you fall back asleep. “And I’m yours.”

A week later you and Jack are laying in bed reading and intermittently chatting. It’s Friday and it has been a long fucking week for you. Working late and going in early and barely taking lunch and just constantly busy. And it’s all been particularly emotionally draining. 

“Are you having anyone walk you down the aisle?”

That question makes you pause, sit up a bit stiffly and look up from your book. Somehow during all of the planning it never occurred to you. “I… don’t know I guess.” You shake your head as you look over at Jack.

He shrugs. “I just wondered. You don’t need to have it figured out right now, there’s still time.” 

“Yeah.” You nod to yourself. But you stay sitting up and stiff. Jack watches you out of the corner of his eye and glances at you every now and then, hoping you’ll relax and go back to reading. He hadn’t meant to upset you or cause you stress or anxiety, but he realizes now with how exhausted and emotionally zapped you are from the week your brain has been looking for a reason to spiral and he just unknowingly at the time handed you one. 

He sets his book down on his lap. “Hey.” You look over at him and Jack can almost see the dizziness you’re feeling in your eyes from how fast your thoughts are churning in your head. “You don’t need to know right, okay? You don’t need to decide tonight. There’s seven weeks still. You have time.” 

“No, I know.” You nod at him. And you do know. Jack watches you carefully. “I’m just thinking now.” You slip out of bed and start to pace. Jack chides himself mentally for his comment even though he knows he didn’t deliberately give you something to spiral about, he still hates the fact that he did. “It’s going to be so much attention on me. On us.” You look up at him as you pace. “At the altar. Walking down the aisle, like everyone is going to be looking at me and what if I fall? And then the first dance and cutting the cake and like we have to say our vows in front of everyone and what if I just like forget how to read.” It would be funny if it weren’t causing you such real distress. Jack’s eyes stay on your face so he can try to read your expression as you pace at the foot of the bed. “Maybe we should downsize the wedding, maybe that would be better and then there wouldn’t be so many people.” 

“Downsize the wedding,” Jack repeats, very obviously confused to an extent because you’d discussed this together when you started planning and were deciding how big you wanted your guest list. He’s about 95% sure this is anxiety and exhaustion talking, but he wants to hear you out of course, wants to help and that means listening and asking questions so he fully understands you.  “In what way?” 

“Yeah, like what if we just didn’t have a big wedding? Just like a handful of people, maybe less.” You walk over and sit facing him on the edge of his side of the bed. “Or like you know,” you shrug, “what if we just flew to Vegas tomorrow and eloped?”

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

I know that’s like a little baby kind of cliff-hanger but I felt like I had to keep it interesting I’m sorry! 😭 I hope it was otherwise okay! I did not feel particularly great about any of this but it's hard to know if that means something or is just how I always feel lol. Part 5 and the wedding will be here soon!!

If you made it this far, seriously thank you, I know it's a lot to read and I appreciate you taking your time to read, I know how precious time to yourself can be so I am very grateful. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments!

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[mysteryshoptls]

Vil Schoenheit Shared Lines

Tutorial: Stop dawdling, we should be off quickly.

Level Up 1: Not bad. I'll keep going like this.

Level Up 2: I've stepped it up to and even higher level.

Level Up 3 / Buddy Level Up: Don't you agree that there is merit to following me?

Level Max: It's all thanks to your dedication that I can shine brighter than I ever have been. Fufu...... Just watch. I'll become even more beautiful.

Vignette Level Up: Hmph, it looks like you've shaped up a little. I'll allow you to stand beside me as you are now.

Spell Level Up: Every rose has its thorns. But isn't that part of their appeal?

Friendship Level Up: When I’m with you, time just seems to fly by so quickly. It may be because I am so absorbed in our conversations. You’ve successfully kept me engaged, well done.

Friendship Level Max: Do you fully grasp just how much of a sin it is to monopolize my precious time like this? If a fan were to hear of this, they may faint from shock… Fufu. That is fun to imagine.

Uncapped: There is no limit to my growth potential. I'll shine sharper and more beautiful than I have yet.

Groovification: Oh my, I'm so sorry. I may have been too dazzling today.

Lesson Select 1: It's a waste to be so indecisive. Hurry and choose a class.

Lesson Select 2: Without the proper know-how, it's impossible to become top-class. Make sure to study properly.

Lesson Select 3: Whether I'm learning in the classroom, or during practical application, I always put forth my best effort. Let's give it our all.

Lesson Start: Can you afford to let your mind wander like that?

Lesson Finish: Well, I suppose this will do.

Battle Start: Face me with all your strength.

Battle Won: A foregone conclusion. You and I are on completely different levels.

Trouble 1: That wasn’t a very worthy opponent. What a waste of time.

Trouble 2: I’m not the type to leave things unfinished. If you challenge me to a fight, prepare yourself.

GIFT CALENDAR 2023: “How will you be spending the day?” I intend on picking up the spring coat I had on order. I’ll also look for accessories that go with it while I’m out. Hm? It’s too early to think about spring attire? If I wait to prepare everything for after it starts to get warmer, then I’ll completely miss out on the season.

Birthday Login Message 1: Did you come to celebrate my birthday? …Heh, how thoughtful of you. Now, sing praises of my beauty that leveled up higher with another year more.

Birthday Login Message 2: I can’t imagine why you’d call out to me like this… If it isn’t for anything important, I won’t forgive you. Don’t worry, I’m only kidding. Come, I’ll join you for a moment, so hurry and tell me what it is you need. I’m pretty sure I already have an inkling, anyway. Well, of course I figured it out! It’s written all over your face. So? Should I expect a grand celebration?

Birthday Login Message 3: [Yuu rushes at Vil and pops party popper] You look so proud of yourself… If you were trying to surprise me, that was an utter failure. I can completely see through you. Your lines were forced, and you didn’t even hide the party popper. I’d give you 20 points in terms of quality. If you want to successfully surprise me, it’s essential that you can act naturally. I’ll give you another chance next year, so make sure to practice.

Birthday Login Message 4: [Yuu pops party popper] Thank you for the birthday surprise. That was a rather elaborate one, too. I especially enjoyed how you tripped over your lines, despite the fact that you were lying in wait to ambush me for quite some time. That wasn’t on purpose? Obviously. If that was an act, it would be something worth scouting.

Birthday Login Message 5: You… want to be my assistant because it’s my birthday? Oh really, well, if you’re offering, then perhaps I’ll have you help with some of my club tasks. I’d like you to review our next script, specifically for typos and specific phrasing. If you notice anything else off, let Ortho know. …Also, aren’t you forgetting something? That’s right, I’m speaking of a birthday greeting. Come now… How could you forget the most important thing, little spud?

Requested by Anonymous.

[babygirlandmommy496]

My little one and I have started exploring the idea of using cloth diapers, as we find that disposables are quite wasteful, not to mention costly, especially as of recent, and as my little one continues to grow more and more comfortable with exploring her time in little space for extended times and these times happening more and more often, we are both looking into the idea of exploring cloth diapering as a more eco-friendly, and over long term, cost saving means of diapering for her.

My little is not '24-7', but does often time wear 24 hours a day during her times in little space, and while I do not think we are going '24-7' in the foreseeable future, I do recognize that we are using often enough to actually warrant the use of cloth.

She tends to be a heavier wetter, especially at night, but I also recognize that due to the great absorbency of the disposables we currently us, I do not have the best idea of when or how she actually wets, so while cloth would likely mean reduced absorbency, it would also mean a development of a better understanding of her wetting schedule and development of a better changing routine for us.

She does mess, generally once to twice a day, which can vary from solid to mushy depending upon our diet during the week, and while messing and the associated cleanup doesn't bother me in the slightest, I realize that it does come with its own challenges when it comes to cloth.

We have our own home, our own washer and dryer, and a bathroom in our master bedroom, so a diaper sprayer in the master will be a must if we do make the switch.

From the little research I have done, I have found that Dependeco and Ecoables are both quality options. I do like that Ecoables has black booster inserts, which will likely be beneficial as, from personal experience, no matter how good your cleaning routine and detergent, boosters tend to yellow over time, especially when messing is involved.

I am right now looking at a Dekor Plus diaper 'pail' with reusable / washable bags for storing of diapers before wash.

The thing I find myself lacking the most when it comes to cloth diapers is the most important part, the care routine.

From my research of others who use cloth diapers with their littles, the best routine is to rinse with a diaper sprayer, let them pre-soak in hot water with a detergent like Rockin' Green Funk Rock, and then machine wash, dry on low and then air dry, but I admit I still find myself with questions...

I know that I will likely need to account for 6~8 cloth diapers a day, solely based on that she currently uses 3~5 diapers a day, so right now that would mean an initial investment of 20~30 diapers to get us through most of her times in little space.

Ideally, I would prefer to do washes every 2~3 days, so any insight on how to develop a cleaning routine based on that would be amazing. I found your page through a little research into abdl cloth diapering and admit that your page has been a wealth of information and has been very helpful, but I still do find myself having questions...

Thank you so much for your very thorough question!

So many people find the wash routine part of cloth diapers to be the most difficult but I promise that once you get started it will be far less overwhelming!

Personally, we like to use our DEKOR bags to hold the cloth diapers and the pail itself is used more as traditional garbage can (which will make sense why both are necessary.) After taking off a wet and soiled diaper, the first step is to wipe baby's bum and I will use the wipe to fold up the liners (I know baby's messing schedule and try to plan accordingly with an extra liner to ease cleanup). Then I rinse the diaper into the toilet using the bidet (I only rinse off messy diapers, not necessary for wet). And i store in a wet dry bag until laundry which is every 2-3 days.

On wash day, i do two wash cycles

1. Prewash, soak and rinse

2.wash and rinse

And then I dry in the sun ☀️ or on low.

I strip my diapers every 3 to 4 months to ensure that any buildup is taking care of, and I'm sure to never use softener. Stripping cloth diapers is the process of a deep clean, using laundry detergent, and water softener and washing soda.

I hope this post answered the majority of your questions, but feel free to message me if there's anything you'd like to know 😊

[okayrudemuch]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛t 💋

Roomates (Quarterback) Abby x Fem!Reader (who is an early 2000's y2k baddie)

Chapter 1 - I really hate you

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it's always wrong

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

contains: roommates; modern AU!; maybe some grammar mistakes, english is not my first language; slowburn?? (that wasn't planned but hey why not); a gala??; abby being a bit mean

word count: 2,8k

Flashback: The Last Two Weeks

The fragile truce that had formed between you that night lasted about twelve hours. Maybe fourteen, if you’re feeling generous. The next morning, Abby accidentally stepped into one of your handbags on her way to the bathroom, a bag you'd pretty carelessly left lying around a few days earlier. She muttered something annoyed like, “This room’s more of a minefield than a dorm,” while trying to shake the bag off her foot.

“Hey!” you complained from your bed, still half-asleep. “That’s my new designer purse, could you maybe watch where you’re going?”

Propped up on your elbows, you shot daggers at her back with your eyes.

“Then don’t leave your crap lying around,” Abby shot back, before disappearing into the bathroom without another word.

You dropped back into the pillows, already annoyed.

So yeah, everything was back to how it was before. Except not really. It hurt more now.

Her annoyed looks, her snappy tone, the way she crossed her arms when she didn't agree with you, somehow, it all hit harder.

Maybe because you'd hoped something would be different after that night. Maybe because she'd said things that had actually touched something in you. You’d felt like, for a moment, she actually saw you, like, really saw you. Not the version you put on, not the act you play.

But now it was all back again. Her biting comments, your sharp replies, and both your egos clashing like clockwork. Only now, it was harder to pretend that you just straight-up couldn’t stand her.

Because Abby had shown you a side of herself that night, something real. Something honest. She’d said things that made her seem... almost vulnerable. Since that apology, she no longer fit so neatly into the little box you’d shoved her into, the one labeled insufferable, cold, emotionally stunted know-it-all.

Your little black-and-white war suddenly had shades of grey. And you had no idea what to do with them.

Every snarky comment, every passive-aggressive jab, suddenly carried this new kind of tension. It sat somewhere deep inside you, buzzing painfully under the surface.

For whatever reason, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t care anymore.

The two weeks following the party night were... rocky.

You and Abby spoke about as little as before, and when you did, it was mostly eye-rolls, arguments over the disaster that was your shared room, and the occasional sarcastic exchange. Nothing worth writing home about.

Somewhere between the unresolved tension with Abby and the usual uni chaos, there was also Dina.

Dina, who’d only been your best friend since the start of the semester, but who had already climbed alarmingly high on your priority list with that golden heart of hers. And she knew it.

A few days after the party, she started cornering you daily with her painfully effective combo of charm, humor, and pure persistence, trying to rope you into some student council project.

“I’m not even on your stupid council,” you’d argued.

“That’s completely irrelevant,” she’d laughed. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Ask Ellie,” you’d tried to weasel your way out.

“She already said yes. Didn’t even put up a fight like you,” Dina had snapped right back while you groaned in defeat.

You held out for about a week, saying no every time. But she didn’t let up.

“Extra credit, hon,” she finally promised. “And you need it.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong. Your academic performance was... well, it existed. Barely. Your motto had always been bare minimum gets the job done, but you were starting to realize that motto wasn’t gonna get you anywhere career-wise. So yeah, at this point, you were willing to jump through a few hoops for half a GPA boost.

“Come on,” Dina whined one afternoon. “I literally saved your ass with that stats project. You owe me.”

You’d rolled your eyes and finally agreed, just to get her to shut up.

How much work could one student council project really be?

Oh. How wrong you were.

Flashback ends.

“What even is this?” you ask Dina, as she practically drags you down the hallway toward the student council room.

“You’ll see,” your bestie chirps, picking up the pace.

“Move it, or we’re gonna be late,” she huffs, and you’re already regretting every life decision that led you to this moment.

You’re trying your best to keep up, tip-tapping behind her in your burgundy kitten heels, until you finally reach the door.

Dina pulls it open and peeks inside.

“Perfect! We’re not even the last ones,” she grins, but your brain is too busy short-circuiting to appreciate the silver lining.

Because sitting at the head of the long-ass table set up inside, dead in your line of sight, is none other than your roommate.

Lucky for you, she hasn’t noticed you yet, her gaze is focused on the notebook in front of her. Perfect. You can still bolt.

You yank Dina back into the hallway.

“What the fuck is Anderson doing here?” you hiss, sneaking a quick glance at Abby, who’s scribbling something into that dumb notebook of hers. Her braid falls neatly over one shoulder, brushing against the collar of a navy sweater layered over a white button-up. Of course.

“Well, the gala’s being organized by the football team and the student council. I told you that,” Dina replies, not even phased.

“You absolutely did not tell me that,” you groan, running a manicured hand through your carefully styled hair.

“Well, now you know,” she says with a grin and bounces into the room to greet her fellow council members, and give Ellie a quick kiss.

“What gala, even?!” you call after her, but she’s already too busy.

You groan again. Loudly.

This is a nightmare. It was already more than enough having to survive Abby in your room. Or whenever Dina and Ellie forced you into doing stuff as a group, because of course, Abby had to be one of Ellie’s closest friends.

You were already maxed out on Abigail Anderson.

And now you’re supposed to organize a whole-ass gala with her?

Hard pass. No thank you. Absolutely not.

"Are you planning to take root out there or are you coming inside?" a warm voice tears you from your desperate thoughts, and you need no time to match it to its owner. Abby. She’s leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, eyeing you from head to toe with a less-than-enthusiastic look. Well, at least the feeling is mutual, you think bitterly.

Luckily, you're standing sideways to Abby, so you're just able to force a fake smile before smoothing down your pleated skirt and striding into the room with your head held high, ignoring her stupid comment. Your shoulder brushes against hers as you pass, but the contact throws you off more than it does her. Thanks to her annoying muscles, she remains standing like a wall.

You don't need to look at her to feel her amused smirk as she closes the door behind you. You hadn’t even noticed the room had filled up in the meantime, and after Abby heads toward the second-to-last free chair next to Dina, the same one she’d already been sitting in, you're left with no choice but to sit directly across from her next to two girls you've never seen before.

You smile at them more forced than genuine, still trying to grasp the absurdity of your situation, before crossing one leg over the other. Dina gets up from her chair and presses a button on a small black remote in her hand, and the projector behind her springs to life.

“Welcome to the planning of the annual fundraising gala. It’s great to see so many of you here,” Dina greets the group, there must be about fifteen people, including herself. “This year, we have the special honor of not organizing the gala alone, but with the generous support of our women’s football team, the Silver Lake Falcons.”

“Go Falcons!” a guy yells from somewhere up front on the right, and you can see Abby’s faint grin, which she tries to cover up by biting her lip. “There’s a reason why the gala isn’t just being organized by the student council this year, and that brings us directly to this year’s theme,” Dina continues, smiling, and clicks the remote again.

“Annual Fundraising Gala – For Future Female Athletes” appears on a new slide.

“This year, we want to advocate for more support for girls and women in sports, because what many people still overlook is how poorly women are supported in sports, especially in those dominated by men,” Abby explains from her seat, and Dina nods in agreement behind her.

“We’re going to donate the money to an organization that offers sports and self-defense classes exclusively for FLINTA* individuals and supports them in finding themselves through sports,” Abby continues, while Dina shows some images of the organization in the background. At least it’s a meaningful project, you think.

“We’re going to start by introducing the different planning areas for the gala, and you can already think about which one interests you and where you could imagine working,” Dina goes on, and that’s your cue to tune out. You're only here to get your extra credits, even though the gala’s theme genuinely speaks to you.

You lean back in your chair with your arms crossed, letting Dina’s words wash over you as you occasionally shift your gaze from the projector to study the people around you. You recognize a few of Dina’s student council colleagues and a handful of football players, but you can hardly name anyone.

Ellie catches your eye and winks at you, before turning her full attention back to Dina as if she was preaching some life-changing prophecy. You can’t help but smile briefly, those two are just too cute.

Unfortunately, next you meet Abby’s gaze, and it’s amazing how quickly that woman can plunge your mood to freezing point. Her ice-blue eyes are fixed on you, which, given your seating arrangement, isn’t surprising, but she doesn’t have to stare so offensively. A good way to make sure the last person in the room also knows you can’t stand each other.

You raise a perfectly arched eyebrow questioningly, earning only Abby’s typical eye roll in response. You shake your head and turn your attention back to the projector just as Dina ends her presentation.

“Alright,” she claps her hands. “We’ll take a ten-minute break now, and afterward you can come up to Abby and me and tell us what task you’d like to take on. If a task is too full, we’ll draw lots. Okay?”

Chairs scrape and excited chatter about the tasks fills the room. You take your time until everyone around you has gotten up and then slowly wander over to Ellie, sitting down on the now-empty chair next to her. “Hey,” you greet her. “Did Dina also chew your ear off to get you to help with this?” you ask, grinning.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ellie groans. “And Abby took the other one.” She glances at the two girls standing together over Dina’s laptop, discussing something probably related to the gala.

“I didn’t think this kind of gala thing was Abby’s thing,” you mumble. “With Dina, I get it.”

“Oh, Abby was all fired up when she heard it was about supporting FLINTA* and women’s sports,” Ellie says with a smirk. “Couldn’t stop her.”

“Ah,” is all you say in response, casting another look at your roommate. She’s laughing at something Dina just showed her on a list, and the warm sound fills the room. Her blue eyes sparkle and her cheeks have taken on a soft rosy hue over her freckles. She’s pushed the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows. She looks like she’s in her element. You’d figured she was the kind of person who lives for sports and nothing else, but apparently Ms. Anderson also has organizational and leadership skills. Of course she does.

You chat a bit more with Ellie about this and that, and then the break is over and you say goodbye to her to return to your seat. The two girls you had to sit next to at the start greet you again.

“Hi,” says the girl directly beside you. She has long, straight, dark red hair that reaches almost to her waist, a striking but still very attractive face, and brown eyes looking at you through her false lashes, which still manage to look natural. Her skin is lightly tanned as if she just came back from a summer vacation, large golden hoops dangle from her ears, and her outfit is not unlike yours: a dark blue mini skirt, knee-high boots, and a strapless crop top.

She holds out a perfectly manicured hand in greeting. You’re a bit surprised she’s speaking to you so suddenly, but you shake her hand in return. “I’m Lindsey and this is Jessica,” she continues, pointing with a decorated acrylic nail to the black-haired girl beside her, who waves at you.

“You can just call me Jess,” she smiles.

Jess is a little less styled than Lindsey but equally stunning. Long black braids fall over her shoulders, and her gaze makes you feel like she already knows more about you than you do yourself. Her outfit is simple: light baggy jeans and a soft pink tank top that beautifully complements her dark skin.

You introduce yourself. “You’re not one of the football players, are you?” Jess asks curiously, twirling a braid around her finger.

“God, no,” you say, waving dismissively. “They can roll around in the dirt without me.”

“Girl, for real,” Lindsey agrees. “We’re in the student council with Dina,” she explains. “We’re responsible for the uni’s social media presence, so we didn’t want to miss the gala.”

“Ah, I get that.” You nod in understanding. “And why are you here?” Lindsey asks curiously, but before you can answer, Abby’s voice snaps you back to reality once again.

This time, though, you’re not all that mad at her for it, because you weren’t exactly eager to tell the girls that you’re only here because you have to be and would leave the second you could.

“If the three ladies in the back could also give us their attention, we could continue with the planning.” Her voice cuts through the room straight to your table, and you don’t need to look up to know she means you, Jess, and Lindsey.

You lift your chin and meet her gaze, which is already fixed on you. Then she glances at Lindsey beside you, and something in her expression shifts. Just for a split second, you think you see… confusion or irritation. Before you can be sure, her eyes are back on you, her expression hardening again.

“You can now come up and tell us which task you’d like. Dina and I will assign you accordingly,” she announces, once again the picture of a professional organizer, when she’s not being celebrated as the quarterback of the football team, anyway.

You take your time, you don’t even know what tasks are available, nor do you particularly care. You’ll just take whatever’s left. The line in front of you gets shorter, and more and more participants return to their seats, excited about getting the tasks they wanted.

You lean your hands on the table behind which Abby and Dina sit with the lists. “What’s your choice, hon?” Dina asks cheerfully.

“Uh, I don’t have one,” you reply. “I’ll just take whatever’s left.”

Abby raises an eyebrow but studies her list without making the snarky comment you expect on her tongue. “We’ve still got spots in catering or decoration,” she offers.

“Decoration would suit you perfectly,” Dina exclaims happily, clapping her hands before you can even answer.

“Okay,” you agree, barely suppressing a yawn. Your roommate doesn’t miss that, of course. She leans forward on her strong and veiny forearms across the table and studies you intently.

“Let me make one thing clear,” she says sharply so no one else hears. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, you better leave now. I don’t need your attitude, I’ve already got enough on my plate.”

“God forbid a woman is tired, Abby,” you snap back. “And what exactly are you so busy with, huh? So far, all you’ve done is sit at this table looking important and snapping at people. What do you actually do that’s useful for this gala?”

“The finances,” she replies dryly.

You can’t help but laugh. “Got a problem with that?” Abby snaps.

“Oh, more than one, but please,” you wave her off. You accept your list with an overview of your tasks from Dina, but before you can leave, Abby speaks again.

“The finances are, by the way, important for your decoration. I’d take it seriously if I were you, otherwise, I’ll just swipe every one of your suggestions off the table,” she grins smugly.

“Fuck you, Abby,” you mutter and click your heels as you walk back to your seat with your head held high.

“Was that really necessary?” Dina asks Abby quietly.

As soon as Abby’s eyes are off you, her façade crumbles.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, running a hand over her forehead and through her blonde hair. “That girl just drives me insane.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

a/n: I'm sorry for posting so irregulary, uni stress is insane rn, we had a death in the family and it's overall just a lot rn BUT that is what we have Abby Anderson for right?? She is my lil escape when everything gets to much 💋 (I'm coping VERY hard) anygays have fun with the chapter

taglist: @vangoes @modernvenuss @oatmatchalatte @starlockheart @mila-a-fanfiqueira

[lavazerox]

Greetings.

Hey so, uh, I never usually share what I write but a friend liked this and I thought I would share it???

It's an attempt to remake one of Eltinville's comics where Josh tells his day as a log.

Anyways...

Domestic Lenunzio

Captain's log: Stardate 7922.7

Woke up early, 06:50 AM. The nights have been better lately. Medication helps me avoid having those nightmares so often.

Although the morning started early, I decided to continue it.

Breakfast was on the table, eggs with mushrooms and ham. Pete had already left, so I didn't get to thank him.

He's complained several times that he doesn't like compliments, but his food is the highlight of my day.

Besides, he keeps asking for feedback on how to improve...

After such morning fuel, I make sure to select and take the necessary medication. The other day I managed to get a pill case that resembles the USS Enterprise emergency munitions. The sequel, not the original series. I don't like to admit it, but it makes all this easier.

As the day began, I took care of a lot of business.

(1) I picked up the mail from the gatehouse. It was crumpled again, handled like garbage, I would send a complaint to the department, but I doubt they'd do anything.

(2) I tried to continue the plot of my most recent work, The Eclipse. But I'm stuck; maybe it's not the day the ideas flow.

(3) I've finished organizing my Back to the Future section. I still can't find a good model of a DeLorean, and the resellers are making it more impossible every day. Such blasphemy.

As an addition to last point, I'd like to mention that Pete managed to get his hands on a printed edition of Leatherface, it was one of the last things he needed to compensate back everything his shitty parent threw in the trash years ago.

I'm not one to boast, but I'm pleased to say that the perfectly blended corner between my sci-fi collection and his horror one looks wonderful.

Hail on Harlan Edison.

• Logged this first report of the day.

For lunch I heated up some burritos that were left over from the night before, with some homemade curry.

I have to remember myself to save one in the middle of my thoughts.

Afterwards, I carefully reviewed the list of my pending writings from the official publisher. They have to approve at least one this time, come one, even good old Jerry helped me correct inconsistencies...

I can't say my fear of the outdoors has improved. But at least today I managed to get to the grocery store a few blocks away without losing control in the middle of a panic attack.

Plus ten points for me.

Fuck university, fuck accounting degree. Four worst years of my life.

Barely into the afternoon, good mate Pete manages to return from work. 03:40 PM, he made good on time today.

Even with the charming enthusiasm that I always offer, he offers me a fucking bite on the neck in return.

The creep still thinks he's a vampire or something, he left another mark on my neck. Not cool.

We took a well-deserved break watching one of Pete's documentaries. Hey, at least this time it wasn't filled with scenes of cannibalism. It's a step forward.

I stayed rewatching some parts of Dune that I want to write about while Pete was preparing dinner, even if the guy doesn't like to admit that he can cook, I wouldn't want to push him too much and deprive myself from its delights.

Jerry keeps sending e-mails about planning to have another role-playing game, but the guy wants to invite his girlfriend and a friend, and I still don't want to leave home.

I try to gauge the circumstances, I don't want to screw this up for Pete, but just thinking about talking to new people overwhelms me.

I don't care if I'm immature, they don't understand.

When night fell, Pete suggested another of his "quick sex quizzes" and because of him, my ass now hurts.

I'm not going to go into details about this, I don't care, you don't care, nobody cares.

The only memorable thing is that the idiot fell asleep after that, and I stayed up for a little longer reading and rearranging some comics I had.

With a last bitter swallow of medicine, I say goodbye as I face another attempt of balanced sleep.

Capt. Josh A. Levy

— Over and out.

[bonefall]

the clans use salt for healing and cooking if i remember correctly. im only saying this because would someone ever name their kid "saltkit"

Yes! Saltkit is a valid prefix in BB, but only after moving to the Lake.

Before then, they make a sort-of-salt out of burning dandelion root. They consider this material a kind of soot, fine ashes produced by burning something. The rough translation of this spice is "soot-salty-taste."

Salty (taste) = Byyle (Comes from blood-taste)

Soot (ashes produced by finely burning something) = Keybo (Used alone in artsy contexts, usually describes bistre, a pigment made from soot and water.)

Plant Salt (of coltsfoot or dandelion) = Keybyy

To specify if it comes from Dandelion or Coltsfoot, you'd say Keybyy Raerra or Keybyy Hakprru. There aren't two dedicated words for the difference; these are both considered "types of dandelions" by Clan cats.

Dandelion = Awpo Any flowering ground plant with fluffy yellow petals.

This is why they didn't previously have a word for salt itself! They would only ever encounter raw salt as an animal lick, which they'd call Byylebon. Salty-useful-rock. Because it was associated with humans, they wouldn't steal them or interact with them much.

Rraash is a Townmew loanword, a word they adopted for raw, powdered salt during their time trading with BloodClan. At the Lake, they now collect raw sea salt during "Salt Patrols," which are beach trips where a big collection of apprentices are brought to the ocean to learn how to collect and process salt.

So, depending on how the parents would like to name their child, those translations could be;

Byylemew = Saltykit The taste of salt. Could refer to the flavor of blood, the taste of the ocean, or the spice made from burned dandelion roots. Has a very food-y connotation, probably named by gourmands.

Keybyymew = Saltkit, Spicekit, Seasoningkit, Rubkit This is a very ThunderClan sort of name. They traditionally used a lot of keybyy in their recipes, as it's very important for a good marinade and making ham. Though, it wouldn't be too surprising to see it used in WindClan too.

Rraashmew = Saltkit, Brinekit Raw salt. Made from boiling ocean water during large expeditions to the sea called a "Salt Patrol." Used as a medicine AND as a spice, important in controlling parasite infestations, fighting infection, and preserving food. Could just be referring to an off-white colored pelt, food, or even strength in battle for its association with treating wounds.

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us (3) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 3 (9.8k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence (this part contains graphic depictions of gore + murder + minor character death), military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1 ⏤ PART 2

The mirror betrays you. There’s someone staring back, but it isn’t you. You don’t recognize her. Whoever is there, she’s a traitor. A liar. She stole what used to be your body, and now you can only stare back as she lifts her hands to your face and touches your skin.

It’s warm. Your cheeks are warm to the touch, skin bouncy and firm. When you pull on the apples of your cheeks, they bounce right back, elastic almost. You’re glowing, too. Your skin has never looked so soft, so smooth.

Something’s different.

You bring your hands up and cup your own breasts. When you squeeze, you shudder, realizing how sensitive you are. They ache a little, feel heavier than normal. Your bra feels a little tight, too. Your hands drop and grip the sink firm, and you swallow hard before turning to face the door.

Your body is telling you something. It’s trying to talk to you. It’s natural, you know it is, and it is inevitable, and you shouldn’t hate your omega for it because she can’t help it, but you do. It’s what’s happening to you because you’re off your meds. Your hormones are firing like they never have before, and the voice in your head is starting to talk to you in a way that sounds way too appealing. She’s starting to sound right. You like the way she’s talking to you, especially after…

You haven’t spoken to him yet. You haven’t talked about it. It’s only been a few days, but you don’t think you can sleep next to him for one more night and pretend like you don’t know what it’s like for him to be dick-deep inside of you and satiating the shrill insanity that lives under your skin.

So big. So capable. Isn’t he so strong? I bet he tastes good. Let’s find out.

You open the bathroom door slowly. Simon is sitting there on the bed, phone in his hand. He’s typing, eyes narrowed in thought, and you make the door creak so he knows you’ve come out.

“Everythin’ olright in there?” Simon asks. He doesn’t look up from his phone. You decide to be mean, because you can be. You want to be.

Fuck off, you tell her, try to. All she wants to do is get Simon on his back on that bed.

Can we just suck his dick already? It’s right there.

“What do you care?” You mumble. You go to the closet to pick out something to wear. It’s a Sunday, which means there won’t be much to do today besides relax and eat. Johnny invited you to Mass, which you promptly declined, and you didn’t much feel like spending time with Captain Price or finding out which beta would be underneath Gaz tonight (more than one, would be your guess, but it could’ve been another alpha, too, he doesn’t seem to care as long as he can devour something whole).

You don’t turn around to see Simon’s reaction. Maybe he doesn’t react at all. You grab a pair of jeans and drop your sleep shorts. Ever since Simon had taken you on a roof, you decided it was no use trying to change in the bathroom anymore–he’d seen everything, anyways. You step into the jeans and pull them up, jumping a little to get them over your hips, and just as you’re about to adjust the waist, you feel him come up behind you.

Simon grips both sides of your jeans and hikes them up around your middle. You suck in a breath as he slides his hands around, zipping them up, deft fingers finding the button and fastening them. You huff as he keeps walking, forcing your front flat against the closet doors until he can press his chest up against you from behind.

Remember how good he felt? Let’s do it again. Take them off.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss. Your omega purrs. She softens your insides. You grip the closet, irritated, but you can’t help the way you bend at the hip and push back into him. He snarls as he puts his hands on your hips, holding you there. You can feel her, pushing against you. It’s getting harder every day to shove her backwards–there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to.

Is that part me? Or are we drifting together?

“Wot does it look like?” Simon murmurs. “I smell you.”

Yes, yes, yes, let him. Take it off. Take them off. Let him have it.

“What did I say before?” You let your arms fall, and you smack his hands off of you. You turn around to glare up at him, grinding your teeth. “Boundaries, Simon. You need to ask for permission.”

“I don’t have to do anythin’,” Simon bites back. “I said some things before, too, didn’t I? Y’r mine.”

Oh, that’s how he wants it to be. You can see it in his eyes, the way his alpha is feeding him lies. Feeding into his ego. He’s got tendrils that are choking him from the inside-out, trying to tell him to be the bigger species, the more dominant figure. Your omega wants to let him, but that isn’t you. Fuck submission–it’s just not your style. You’re a taker, not a giver, and your omega will need to learn that the hard way.

You lean up on your toes, pressing your forehead to his. You meet his alpha in the middle, not backing down. You can be nasty, too. You can be dangerous. You might not have his build nor his strength, but omegas have teeth, and they are sharp.

“Then you better sleep with one fucking eye open, Simon. Cause I’ll kill you if you put your hands on me without asking.”

You make sure you hit him on your way around him. You open the drawers of the dresser angrily, ripping a shirt out. You slip your pajama shirt off, tossing it onto the floor, and you fit your bra straps over your shoulder before turning around. Simon is still staring like a dog–eyes watery and intense, staring right at your tits, and you grab a pillow off the bed and throw it at him.

“Oh my god!” You cry, and he sucks on his teeth under the mask.

“Mmm…” He puts a hand over his chest, rubbing there. If he didn’t have it on, you have a feeling he’d a smug grin on his stupid face. “My mate is fuckin’ naked, wot you want me to do, look away?”

“Yes, exactly, you pig,” you mumble, clasping your bra and fixing it to cover yourself before slipping your t-shirt on. You frown as you pick up a clip to tie up your hair. “And we’re not mates.”

“Tha’ right?”

“That’s right,” you say curtly. You turn to give him a hard stare as you slip your boots on. “As far as anyone else can tell, I’m not claimed.” You run a few fingers over your scent gland. Soft. Unmarked. Pulsing.

It’s like you’re taunting him. He snarls a little at that, something low and territorial under the mask.

“Tha’ wot you want? Me to claim you?”

“No,” you stand on your toes, faces barely touching. The air in the room is humid and thick, curling, competing scents making you a little dizzy. “I want you to drop dead.”

It’s half of a lie. It would be funny, you think, to see Simon eat a bullet or catch on fire and perish in a frenzy of equal pain and misery, but you know Kate would just do it all over again to you. There are no shortage of alphas at her disposal. With a swipe of her signature, she can have you moved halfway across the world again, and you’d like to not end up on the CIA’s bad side because you keep spending all their money on flights and bribes to get you some kind of mate that will tolerate an indifferent omega such as yourself.

An unruly one. A terrible one. A decisive one.

You don’t really want Simon dead. Better the beast you know than the one you don’t, and from the time you’ve spent with Simon, he is all bark, no bite.

For now.

Meals are always awkward. You feel like all you and Simon do is snap at each other lately. Call each other names. Spit nasty insults. Maybe it isn’t fair to be angry with Simon; you have a feeling he didn’t have much of a choice, same as you, but it doesn’t matter, because nothing really changes in his life the way it changes in yours.

Simon isn’t the one that loses himself. Simon isn’t the one that has to wear a brand on himself, a permanent reminder of his submission. Simon isn’t the one that has to succumb to things he can’t control about himself–the heats that last for days, the ones that will burn you from the inside out until it gets that nasty fill that your omega was born for.

Ruts just aren’t the same, you don’t believe it. They can swallow them down. Save them for later. It isn’t a comfortable thing to do, but if an alpha is missing their omega, they can satiate themselves with a lazy hand or a soft mouth until they get what they’re searching for.

Omegas aren’t offered the same luxury. If you don’t get what your omega feeds off of, she might kill you–and you don’t need to be reminded that you and your omega aren’t exactly on great terms.

The boys are quiet at breakfast. John has secluded himself in his office for the day, but Simon’s sergeants are pretty quiet for how much they usually babble. They are, however, shoving their faces in with food in a matter that makes you scowl.

They’re dogs, really. Johnny looks positively famished. He’s got his cheeks pillowed with eggs and toast, and you look away from Gaz as he tips his head back to wash down a mouthful of ham with coffee.

You jump when you feel a fist hit the table. It rattles the trays, and Johnny’s orange juice splatters a little outside of the cup. Simon is back from the kitchen, sliding your own tray in front of you. Your mouth waters a little at the smell of the freshly baked croissant and moka pot of coffee that waits for you, and the sergeants grumble a little as they look up at their lieutenant.

“Would you both fuckin’ eat with y’r fuckin’ mouths closed?” Simon snaps. “Bloody rats eat more proper than you lot.”

“What’s the matter, LT?” Johnny gulps down his food, wiping his mouth with a wet thumb. He smiles at you with teeth, and you pick up your fork to busy yourself. You can see feel his crazy eyes on you, trained on your face. He licks over his teeth as he does. “Want us to be proper gentlemen around yer bonnie girl?” He wiggles his tongue at you. “What’s proper about knotting a pretty little omega like tha’, aye? Can smell ‘er from ‘ere…Smell like taffy.”

Simon takes a seat on the bench next to Johnny. You stare wide-eyed as Simon cocks his head to the side. Your eyes water a little as you see Simon slide a big hand up Johnny’s neck. He leans into it, clearly comfortable (you’re going to try and forget this observation), but his face contorts from contentment to sheer pain as Simon wraps his gloved fingers into the curls of his mohawk and pulls. Johnny’s neck snaps back at a hard angle, making him hiss and kick his legs out. They bang against the table, shaking it, and Gaz looks down at his plate as Simon tugs Johnny close to him.

“You listen ‘ere, Sergeant. I’ll say this once, and I won’t repeat it,” Simon growls. “If I hear you say one more word about my mate’s cunt, I’ll rip your throat out with my own teeth. Don’t care ‘ow many times you’ve covered me or saved my arse on the field. My rank is her rank, so from now on, I want you to drop y’r eyes when she looks at you, and I want you to say, yes, ma’am, and nothin’ else, you ‘ear that?” Johnny grits his teeth as Simon shakes his head violently, holding him firm. “And if I hear about it when I’m not around, I’ll let her cut y’r dick off, yeah? Or maybe I’ll let her shoot you in the head again. And trust me, mate, she won’t miss–”

“Simon,” you interrupt gently. Simon’s face turns, and you meet his eyes. You shake your head a little. “It’s…it’s okay. Johnny’s just a huge flirt, and it came out wrong. Didn’t it, Johnny?”

Simon closes his fist, letting out a sharp breath. His eyes are a little darker than you’re used to. You’re not sure he’ll listen to you, but when you see his fingers start to loosen, you relax a little. You don’t understand why he’s defending you, anyways, but maybe Simon has some twisted moral code when it comes to insulting his mate.

That only he gets to, and no one else.

“Yeah–” Johnny spits, and when Simon lets him go roughly, Johnny just laughs a little. His cheeks are rosy, and he tries to shake it off, but you can tell by the way he averts his eyes and the smell that wafts from him–Johnny is terrified of his lieutenant.

Simon stands, making the table rattle again. Johnny’s cup spills over the edge, and your cutlery falls to the floor as he makes his way out of the mess hall, throwing the doors open and letting them slam shut behind him. You scoff, rolling your eyes, and you swipe Gaz’s fork from his tray before continuing to eat.

“What the fuck is his problem?” You stab your sausage with the fork, cutting it angrily, and Johnny clears his throat. His rubs the back of his neck, rolling it out carefully.

“Yer serious?” Johnny scoffs. “Fuckin’ big man is in love with ye.”

Not me. He’s in love with…her.

“He’s just mad because he thinks he’s the only one entitled to say anything derogatory to me,” you explain. “He’s such an asshole, I swear. So are you, Johnny, by the way–I’m not gonna wet your dick for you, go flirt with someone else.”

Gaz snorts, shaking his head, and you pour him a little more coffee from the pot Simon left for you and some for yourself.

“Kind of sweet, innit?” Gaz murmurs. “He cares about you, you know.”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow. “Has a real funny way of showing it. You don’t see him when we’re alone. He’s mean. I don’t know what goes on in your heads, but your kind jump to conclusions. And you assume. And you’re too aggressive.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Gaz asks. He turns to look at you, shrugging. “That’s how we’re made.”

“I try everyday to be anything but how I’m made,” you say lowly.

It’s a lousy excuse, especially for an operative like him. Kyle and Johnny are no strangers to aversion or high-stakes. There is combat, and then there is what this team does. You’ve peeked at the papers on Simon’s desk. You’ve read the files you have no clearance to read. For the air-headedness that Simon radiates, he’s excellent at writing post-op reports, with fine detail. He doesn’t miss anything. This team isn’t something like SWAT–they don’t carry big guns for show and break down suburban houses. They hit foreign targets without a trace and eliminate threats before they blink. They are in and out of a building in thirty minutes, and they leave no man behind and no target alive. Each of them are experts in their own subject, and even with Johnny’s big, disgusting mouth, you cannot deny what makes him special.

He could make an explosive out of regular kitchen supplies; maybe even out of the toiletries you keep in a go-bag. His affection for chemistry is as equal to that of a good, protein-rich meal. Kyle is no different–you’ve seen him just for fun program an auto-correct feature into John’s laptop that replaced every word that he typed that started with a vowel to shitfucker. You saw him do it remotely. Over Bluetooth. With a Blackberry.

These aren’t just operators. These aren’t just idiot, self-engorged, misogynistic and animalistic men that panted and waited for orders like lovesick puppies, they are much too intelligent and way too self-aware. You won’t take that’s how we’re made as an excuse–it’s beneath them, if you’re being honest, and it’s infuriating. They aren’t a normal pack, and they never will be, and so you need them to stop using stereotypical excuses as reason for them being just like the rest.

It is conscious. It’s disgusting. It’s exactly as you thought it would be.

“Well maybe if ye tried that less, tried just being what ye are…things would be easier for ye,” Johnny mutters, picking up his overturned cup and sighing sharply through his nose. You drop your fork and lean forward on your elbows.

Oh, alright. If Johnny wants to play rank, then you can play rank.

“You know, you both have a lot of nerve,” you say lowly. “I would start being very fucking nice to me from now on. Simon and I may not get along, and maybe we never will. But he sure as shit won’t stand aside if tuck my tail between my legs and blame one of you for something you didn’t do.”

“Thought you said he hated you?” Gaz mocks. “Thought you said he was mean?”

You stand up and shove your tray towards them, starting to walk. You lean over to murmur in Gaz’s ear.

“He is,” you threaten. “But he’s still an alpha, my alpha, and pussy talks, Gaz. You’d know. You’ve been drooling for it since I sat down. I can smell you, too.”

You pat Gaz’s cheek a bit too roughly, and he snarls a little. You smile to yourself as you make your way out, and down the hall, you see a familiar shadow disappear around the corner into the darkness. You cross your arms over your chest, sighing, and then you start towards it.

When you round the corner, he’s standing right there. Leaned against the wall, big arms crossed over his chest. His face twitches under the mask. You move to stand in front of him so you can get his eyes.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t want to babysit me, you can’t seem to leave me alone.”

“I have others to answer to if something happens to you.”

“Don’t act like you care what other people think. Especially your superiors.” You roll your eyes. You don’t have much more time to talk to him. Or berate him, you were still deciding. A shadow comes up next to you, and when you turn, Captain Price is staring at you both, nodding his head behind him.

“I need to have a word. With both of you.”

You give Simon a look, but he doesn’t give one back. He merely slips a hand down your back and puts you in front of him, ushering you to walk. You’ve never been reprimanded by a superior, not because of a mission or anything of stake, so you can’t help the feeling that overcomes you–something of failure.

Had you done something wrong? Surely you had.

John’s office is bigger than Simon’s, but just as messy. Messier. There’s a pretty beta secretary out in front of it, and she smiles at you and waves. She’s too cute–too sweet. She probably puts sugar in John’s tea to make him smile or draws little smiley faces on messages from missed calls. You pity her and wish you were her all the same. When she notices your solemn face, she shrinks and dips her head, picking up her pen and continuing to fill out some forms.

John waits for both you and Simon to sit before shutting his office door behind him. He sucks on his teeth before tossing his hat onto his desk, nodding towards the two creaky seats in front of him.

“Sit.”

“Rather stand,” Simon counters, but one hard look from his captain, and Simon is begrudgingly taking a seat. The metal creaks under his weight, and you take a seat next to him. John sits on his desk in front of you both, and he looks at Simon before ending on you.

The scents in the air are driving you insane. You take a breath to try and keep your eyes from watering, but it’s difficult.

“You know, Kit, our team isn’t known for…following the rules,” John begins. “But I was assured that…if anything went wrong, that my lieutenant here would be responsible. He vouched for you.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You prepare yourself for the beratement. You sit up a little straighter, squaring your shoulders. The neutral expression your face falls into seems to irk your captain. He scrunches his nose a bit, smoothing a palm over the papers in front of him. He’s trying to establish his air of dominance, but it’s increasingly easy to stare him back down when your alpha sits right beside you.

There’s comfort in his presence, and your omega feeds on it.

“I saw you shoot. Got a good eye for those kinds of things, I’ll admit,” John nods. “And you did well in training. Followed Simon. His orders. Saw you clearin’ rooms like you’ve been on this team for years.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Blue, but empty. “He was right. Fast learner. You know your place.” You narrow your eyes at that, and he hums. “But it doesn’t change what this is. What you are.”

You’re surprised at the way your omega curls in your gut. Angry. There’s an alpha insulting you, but this one isn’t yours. She warms your hands, and you dig your nails into your chair to keep her calm. She wants to bite, and she’s confident with Simon at her side.

“An asset?” You try talking instead.

“A liability.” John leans forward. “You put my men in danger. Going into heat like that.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. It’s alienation. You are an outsider. Not part of his pack. John draws a circle around himself, and you are not included in it, and the sentiment leaks into his words like a flood, and it hits you through the chest. Your lip trembles just slightly, but you swallow down the rejection, keeping it close. Your omega whimpers–an alpha, though it is not your own, is isolating you, and it hurts her.

“She didn’t–” Simon is interrupted by John’s laughter.

“You were off comms for 15 minutes and 37 seconds, an amount of time that during an op is fucking critical and could’ve blown the entire operation!” John snaps. “I told you to be fucking careful, I told you both to take precautions, and you failed me. I can understand you–” He points at you, and omega lingers unsaid, “but you, Simon? You–”

“It wasn’t his fault, it was mine,” you interrupt. “I should’ve known.”

“He’s your alpha, it’s his fuckin’ job,” John clarifies. “But Simon has more than one job, and on that day, it was keeping the target in his sight and waiting for my fuckin’ say.”

“Don’t reprimand him for making the call,” you tell him. “I’m the one who misread what I was feeling. I’m the one who distracted him from what he was doing. I’m the one who was projecting so badly, he had to help. It’s me. I screwed up. I’m just as much of your team as they are, so hold me accountable, not Simon.”

“You are not on my team, you are my problem.”

She wails. She grips your heart in both hands and hangs on, crying, wailing, begging you to say something to make him approve of you. She so desperately wants to be included in Simon’s pack, and it aches inside to be pushed away. You dig your nails in further, and you don’t realize how much your scent is flaring. Simon gets one whiff of it and snarls. His hands close into fists.

You goin’ to let tha’ wanker talk to your mate tha’ way? You goin’ to let another alpha walk all over her? He’s challenging you, tha’s wot this is, innit?

“Choose y’r next words wisely, Captain.” Simon finally speaks, and his tone rattles you. His voice dips low, and you can hear his alpha soaking into his words, and the bitterness in the air has to be him deciding whether or not today would be a good day to stand up to his captain.

“Tha’ right, Simon?” John murmurs. “Is that an order?”

Simon stands. Immediately, the humidity in the room expands, and you nearly choke from the sting of their scents in the air. Simon is much larger than John. He’s so much bigger, so much wider. You stand, too, and when Simon feels your hand along his bicep, his shoulders loosen just an inch.

Your omega may beg for approval and inclusion, but even she stands down when you remind her of the importance of pack bonds. You are not mated, and Simon has his own to keep, so you must appease. It hurts to do it, but you know you will thank yourself later.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” you say softly. “I-It won’t happen again. I swear…I promise.” Your eyes water, and you try to hold in the cough you’re holding. “First time…and the last time.”

Simon’s task force is a unique group. Four alphas–a lot of ego and fighting dominance in one bunch. It’s normally not done. They like to have a nice mix of betas and alphas to keep groups balanced, but Kate needed an exceptional group, so she built one. Four alphas in one pack is not common, but it works–and she has the stats to prove it.

You wonder if she knew what would happen when she threw you into the mix. How each of them might react when an omega tried to slip in between them. If Kyle would try to sink his teeth in. If Johnny would pass out from panting so fucking hard. If John would let his resolve slip for just long enough to blur the lines between a commanding officer and his subordinate.

Maybe Simon reacted just as she expected. That he would see what was meant just for him and pull her apart so he could slip under her ribs and stay right there. You have not been claimed, and yet–it is truth. They know it, Simon knows it, you know it, and so does your omega.

Simon paces in his room. A slow pace, but paces, and you observe him from your place on the bed as he breathes deeply. His alpha is leaking through the cracks, and you can smell his anger. It fumes, makes your nose curl. It’s a bitter scent. Your omega purrs in your chest–she wants to soothe him.

We will do no such thing. Shut the fuck up.

“You need to let me handle things when we get cornered like tha’.”

“I’m a big girl, Simon,” you say softly. “And it was my mistake.”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” Simon explains. “I’m your alpha.”

“I don’t care,” you shake your head. “You don’t speak for me.”

“No, I speak for us both,” Simon points a finger at you, coming closer. “For you and for me, and you need to understand tha’.”

You glare up at him. In all the time you’ve spent with him, he’s still letting his alpha bleed when he’s angry. You need to understand nothing–Simon needs to learn. He needs to learn that the omega they write about in textbooks isn’t reality. You fight your omega tooth and nail for control, and you are still on top for now. Simon needs to learn this. He needs to learn that you are not easily influenced by command. You may smell like an omega. You may keen like an omega.

But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I submit like an omega.

“Fuck you.”

Don’t talk like that…you know you want to.

“Ya already ‘ave, kitty,” Simon spits. “Would you like to go again?”

“I know this is hard for you to get through your thick head,” you whisper. “But just because I fucked you doesn’t mean anything. What happened between us was clinical. Your dick is medicine, and there was nothing I could do, and that is where this ends. You can tell yourself over and over again that you are my mate…that you’re my hero, that you saved me, but maybe next time, I’ll just let my omega kill me. The thought of you inside of me ever again makes me physically fucking sick.”

You’re a bad liar.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say lowly. He leans closer, until his face is nearly against yours. “You’re a pathetic, insecure, waste of space. I will never be your mate, and I pity every omega that might come after me, that has the unfortunate mistake of thinking you could claim them with any sense at all. You use and you abuse, and you have your head so far up your ass, I don’t think you know what’s real and what isn’t.”

Simon stares. You stare back. Your chest heaves, and so does his, and you keep your eyes on each other as you stare back and forth. His eyes are so dark. Beautiful, but so dark, it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking. It’s not long that you notice his lashes fade to blonde at the end of them. His skin, where it bleeds from the eye-black he wears to the pale color of his face, has freckles scattered around the eyes. You can see the raised, white line of a scar that is just peeking from under the mask.

Isn’t he so pretty?

“On your knees,” Simon murmurs.

It’s whiplash. One moment, your entire body is buzzing. Angry, fiery–you can feel it shaking you. You hate him with ever fiber, want to smack the smug look you know he wears under that mask. You hate the power that he has over you and how much he relishes in it. The next moment, in a few slow words, it vanishes.

Like it was never even there at all.

“Excuse me?” You breathe.

“On your knees. Lose the pants. ‘n y’r knickers.”

“What makes you–”

“Won’t ask again.”

We need this. We need this. We need this.

It’s just that easy. For all the resolve that it feels like you have, maybe you really have none. You blink, but then he hears the sound of you toeing off your boots. They hit the floor, and then your cargos are falling on top of them, and then you’re turning over, sliding along the warm sheets of his bed until you’re lying on your tummy, ass up, and you’re closing your eyes as his gloved hands push your panties down your thighs until they’re around your knees.

You don’t really know who’s doing it. You’re afraid to think about it too hard, because you know that it just might be you.

He eats nasty. All tongue. He spreads your ass with big palms, and you gurgle when he kisses your folds with tongue. Your brain starts to fog, and you relax easily. He kisses soft and slow, but wet. You fist the blankets, pushing back, and he slides a thumb down to smooth over your puffy clit very gently. He hisses when he sees your hole flex in response, a drop of slick falling onto his palm.

“Kitty, why didn’t ya just say so?” Simon asks, stupid and fascinated by you. “Why didn’t you just say you wanted y’r pretty pussy kissed, hmm?”

“Because I hate you–” You whine, and Simon slips his tongue inside of you. You babble, your mouth dropping open, and he hums as he gets a taste of you before pulling back, smacking his lips. The taste of you spreads across his tongue, and his alpha howls. He’s never spoken to him this way, not really. The only time his alpha has ever really come to the forefront like this was the times he thought he was close to death; but Simon’s never been this close to life, either.

“I know,” he coos. “I know ya do. But this isn’t personal, is it?” He uses his thumbs to open you up, growling when he sees your hole pucker a little. A dribble of slick falls, and he catches it with his tongue, swallowing it down. “How’d ya put it, luv? ‘s medicine?”

“Your dick is medicine.”

“My mouth, too, I reckon.”

“Shut the fuck up, and eat me, baby,” you whimper, and he opens his mouth wide and licks with a thick tongue. He presses his mouth to your cunt and eats, bobbing his head as he alternates between slobbering licks and eager sucking. His tongue slides between your folds occasionally before slipping into you, and you curl your toes every time he brushes against your clit. His thumb will sometimes circle it, or his tongue will suck softly, but he never stays there too long. Simon likes to tease. He likes to make you a little desperate, likes to get you soft and drippy and dizzy, and then he gives in a little. He gives you two fingers, gloved still, and you push back against his face with gentle grinds as he fucks you softly with his hand. It’s agony and relief all at once.

“Like tha’?” He asks. He sounds amused. You hope his hard cock gets pinched by his zipper.

“Mmm–” You try. You arch your back, getting up onto your elbows, and Simon uses his free hand to give one side of your ass a nice smack, jiggling it gently before kissing where he hit. You giggle at that, soft and airy.

“Answer me, omega.”

“Fucking love it,” you gasp. “Big fingers–”

Simon laughs at that. You can smell his ego, but you don’t have it in you to say something smart. It’s true. Even with his hand, he fucks good, hitting deep. His mouth did wonders, and you’re dripping along his hand. His glove is soaked, and his forearm is wet, and when you glance down at the sheets, they are damp and dark with the mess you made. Simon doesn’t seem to mind. He leans in to eat more, pulling his fingers out so he can use his mouth again, tongue deep as he sucks and hinges that big jaw to get a mouthful of you and groan. You taste good–nice and sweet, thick juices wetting his chin, and he squeezes your ass in appreciation when you throw it back and smother him. He likes this. Likes the lack of air, the wet pussy, the soft whines. He’s content here, and he doesn’t seem like he wants to move anytime soon, and he doesn’t complain. He just opens his mouth and swirls and tongue and fuck–your clit is in his mouth, and you’re crying.

It’s too kind. An alpha kneeling for their mate. Taking pleasure in their pleasure. It’s not unheard of, but it’s…unorthodox. It confuses you. Your omega cries with happiness, but she’s confused, too. She doesn’t expect pleasure just for pleasure–but she wants it, she wants more of it, she’s digging her nails into your skin to try and get you to convince Simon to give you more, more, more.

“Give it to me,” Simon murmurs. “‘s olright. Give it to me.”

“Simon–”

“Mhm,” he nods, cocking his head and taking your clit into his mouth again. “Give it ‘ere.”

Your orgasm hits hard, but it’s nice and slow. Your thighs shake, but Simon sinks into you, breathing out through his nose as he delicately laps at your clit. He doesn’t stop, swallowing as you come into his mouth, keeping the pace to make sure your orgasm fizzles just as good as it hit you.

You sink to your tummy when he pulls away. Your knees give out, and he slips your panties completely off, and you flop onto the dry side of the bed. You start to cry. Not tears of relief, but tears of pain. Of what is inevitable. Of the hard truth that you loathe more than anything.

Simon can never force you. You will always want him, you think. There will always be something in the back of your mind that aches for him, and you try and you try and you try to fight it off, but you want him so viscerally, it cuts you deep where you’ll never notice it.

“Say wotever you want about me,” Simon mutters. “Tell yourself wotever you want that helps you sleep at night, hate me oll you want. But I take care of wot’s mine.” He strokes your hair out of your eyes, leaning down, and you cry harder. You clutch a pillow, hug it tight, and your eyes flutter open as you look at him. His mask is still hiked up just under his nose, and you can see half his face. Scars that cut across him like paintbrush strokes, adding texture and depth where there shouldn’t be.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” you whisper. “You have no idea what it’s like for every single part of yourself to betray what you want. You don’t get it. Y-You don’t understand, you never will. You will always have the upper hand, and y-you will never know what it’s like to not have a choice.”

Simon continues to brush through your hair with his fingers. Soothing you gently, coaxing you into a headspace that feels like white noise. You whine, and Simon comes closer. He presses his mouth to your forehead, soft, gentle, his scent close enough that your beating heart slows down considerably just in response.

“No, I won’t,” Simon agrees. “But that’s what you are. You’re an omega.”

He says it like it’s so simple. Like it explains everything in the entire world. Being an omega is the simplest answer he could ever give, and it explains every variable, every nuance, every quirk that makes you you. It explains every time you sink to your knees for him. It explains how easily you let him fuck you on a rooftop in a foreign country. It explains how even though you hate him with every fiber of your being, there is somehow no one else you want standing over you now.

“I’m still me.”

“No,” Simon shakes his head. “You cannot change wot you are. You’re fighting her, and you will lose.”

You wonder, for just a second, if Simon is speaking from experience. Have there been times when his alpha takes over? Does it take control? Are there times when he looks in the mirror, too, and doesn’t know who is staring back?

“I hate her, too,” you spit. “I hate her, and I hate you.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his terrible face. The first one you’ve ever seen. You hate the urge you have to lean forward and kiss it.

“She is you.”

“Then I hate me. I hate myself.”

Simon changes the sheets silently. He picks you up and moves you when he has to–two big, burly arms picking you up like you’re a feather. You cling to his neck, studying him, and you find yourself not being able to look away. He’s so capable. He’s so independent. He’s so reactive to your needs, it infuriates you, how could one man be so in tune with you, more than yourself?

He drapes all new blankets over you. He turns out most of the lights, except for the low glow of the yellow lamp on his desk. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm, and then he bends down to say something to you, in your ear.

“Dunno wot you think,” he tells you, “but there will be no omega after you.” His voice drops low, and when you close your eyes, you hear his alpha. Threatening, affirmative, exact. “You are mine. I’ll not ‘ave another. The sooner you accept tha’, the easier things’ll be for you.”

Mine, mine, mine–

“Eat a dick.”

Mine, mine, mine–

“Much prefer y’r cunt, kitty.”

Simon’s protection is instinctual. It’s not really a choice, it’s subconscious. He watches you braid your hair in your room, observes as you tuck it behind your ears and tie it off your face. He hovers as you gear up. Watches you buckle your belt, strap your tact vest, adjust your helmet. He comes over after you’ve laced your boots, tugging on your vest to make sure it’s secure and fastening your helmet for you. You let him as you clip your watch on, closing your eyes as he smooths a thumb across your cheek and turns you towards the door.

It’s a long flight. You fall asleep, your face smushed against his arm, and when you wake up, Simon is still sitting there, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead. John smokes, Gaz has a folded up little book in his hand with what seems like sudoku pages, and Johnny is twirling what looks like a fidget spinner in one hand. You blink awake, but it’s dark out, pitch-black.

That’s the job. Dark, where you can use night as cover. Stealth. You and Simon have been tasked with clearing out one building on your own. Several stories, possible targets inside, presumed armed and dangerous. You were given the clear to eliminate any threats on sight–the op is capture or kill, and John made that very clear in a small room that reeked of his authority.

The bird drops you a few kilometers from where your target building lies. You flip the night-vision down, flicking it on, and you stick to Simon like glue as you follow him silently through empty streets. You’re somewhere in Eastern Europe, somewhere cold and unfeeling and just on the border of Russia. You aren’t privy to any more details; all you know is that your mission is to be Simon’s cover, and you have the face of your target memorized and burned into the back of your eyes.

You spot your target building at the end of the block. The streetlight flickers, and it looks like a low-income apartment building. It’s very small, dilapidated, with a peeling entrance door that has the window broken, hastily patched up with duct tape. It’s no trouble for Simon to stick the scope of his rifle through the duct table and shred the remaining glass to pieces, putting his hand through the window and unlocking the door easily.

The first few floors are clear. Simon always enters a room first, with you in quick succession. You are silent, touch and go, soft taps on shoulders that the both of you can read immediately. You’re in tune with him. When he steps left, so do you. When he turns, you cover, when he sweeps up, you sweep down. It’s a dance, a very well coordinated one, and it lets Simon breathe easier when he realizes how well you’ve adapted to each other over a short period of time.

Just a few weeks, and you are two sides of each other.

Simon swallows down the prideful purr in his chest. Now isn’t the time to get distracted.

When you make your way to the top floor, just below the roof, your chest starts to feel warm. You pause at the top of the stairs as Simon keeps his rifle trained at the first door in front of him. You swallow hard, widening your stance to keep yourself upright. You shake your head, trying to toss the jitters off of you. Your throat hurts as the saliva goes down.

Simon clears the room with you shuffling close behind. You blink rapidly when you see two of Simon, and he whips around suddenly. You can see him through your night vision stiffening in front of you. Shoulders tensing, fingers gripping his rifle tighter. You pause as he comes close to you, and your eyes water when he lifts one hand from his gun to cup your face gently.

You know what he’s asking. You nod shakily, and he taps his wrist with two fingers.

Give me two minutes, is what he’s saying to you.

You don’t get two minutes.

The door behind you slams open. Two men breach inside, and they come at you with a force too strong, and you go flying towards the far wall. Your back hits it hard, and you collapse onto the ground. Your whole body aches, and you know there will an array of nasty bruises under the skin. Your helmet took the brunt of the hit, but you still feel dizzy as it falls off your head, clattering to the ground. You cough, scrambling for your rifle that is a few feet away from you now, and Simon drops one of them with a few easy bullets, but the second man uses his dead companion as cover, throwing the body at Simon until he can lunge at him.

Simon swipes the blade out of his boot and goes for his weak spots. He manages to get him under the arm, across his thigh, but Simon is wearing a lot of gear, and with the weight of a dead alpha getting tossed at him again, he gets moved backwards enough to lose his footing, and then it happens.

The man’s gun fires, and it goes straight for Simon’s head. A flash of light that seals some sick sort of fate that you know can’t be yours. It’s not you that screams in response.

It is your omega.

You launch yourself at him. In your daze, your omega finds clarity, and she seizes her moment. You slip the blade out of its place in your thigh holster, and you toss a nearby chair at him to incapacitate his gun. It gets trapped underneath it, enough time for you to jump and land on him from behind.

He’s an alpha. Physically, you should be no match for him given your size differences, but something else is taking over. Your nails don’t just grab, they pierce his skin. Digging it, shredding flesh, and you bring your blade down over and over again against his chest. He screams in pain, trying to wriggle you off. You lock your ankles around his middle, keeping your hand coming, tearing with your nails and slicing with your knife, but he manages to get an arm underneath you and throw you off.

You hit the ground again roughly, but it doesn’t stop your omega. She gets right back up, but he tackles you. He uses his weight to pin you down, and the knife rings as it slides across the room, but your omega doesn’t let it stop her. He got too close, and she will make sure he regrets it.

He went for your mate, and she cannot have that. She won’t survive without him. Unclaimed, but she doesn’t care–Simon is hers, and she won’t let him go without something all-encompassing and violent. He’ll have to pry Simon out of her dead hands. You feel like you’re watching from the sidelines. You’re not yourself. It’s the first time that you don’t really care.

You scream, leaning up, and he doesn’t get a moment to think before you sink your teeth into the plush of his scent gland and rip it clean out.

Fuck. There’s blood gushing everywhere, spurting from where you’ve severed the gland. The gland is precious, anatomically–it provides most of the oxygen to the brain, and it’s what seals the bond. While it can’t be marked the same way an omega’s can, an alpha can’t survive without it. You’re finding out just how precious it is as you watch an alpha cough and sputter once he realizes what’s happening to him.

He crawls off of you, trying to use his hand to put pressure to his neck, but it’s no use. He leans against the wall and chokes, blood filling his mouth, and you spit out the flesh from between your teeth as you watch him gurgle and kick his feet out. He reaches out for you, pleading in his eyes, but you feel no mercy. There’s tears coming down his face now, and you watch with a scowl as the blood spills between his fingers instead of bringing his brain precious life.

Good fucking riddance.

You turn over once you’re satisfied he won’t get up. You see Simon still sprawled on his back behind you, and you scramble to get to him. You grab his helmet and throw it off, and you start to cry, feeling around and realizing there’s something sticky oozing and pooling onto your fingers. You can’t see very well in the dark, but you put pressure anyways, unsure of what you’re dealing with. Your heartbeat is loud, and it echoes in your ears.

“No–No!” You gasp. You grab Simon’s radio, hands shaking as you press down onto the button.

“Bravo-6, d-do you c-copy?” You cry. “Bravo-6, answer–please–”

“Kit?” John’s voice comes out surprised, low. “What happened?”

“Si–Ghost–” You sob, “W-We need a medevac! Medevac–top floor–”

Your hands continue to shake as you reach for the bottom of his mask and rip it off. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without the mask, but you need to know. You need to know.

His face–it is a little ugly. The eye-black is smeared across his freckles, bleeding across his face from the sweat. He has scars everywhere; they criss-cross along his cheek, cut his lips, but you ignore that as you lean down and put your ear to his mouth.

His breaths come shallow and slow.

You cry with relief, feeling around with your fingers. When all you feel is blood, you pick up his helmet and cry harder when you notice the side of the helmet has been grazed, and the bullet casing lies near his head.

He had missed.

He missed.

You cup his face, tapping his cheeks gently, trying to wake him up.

“Simon?” You whisper, sniffling. “Simon, wake up. Please wake up. Please–”

You can’t carry him. Even if you tried to get your omega to help you, you aren’t physically strong enough to pick him up and carry him out. He’s too big and too heavy, and you wouldn’t be useful anyways; you’d be without cover trying to haul his ass to a bird that’s just too far away.

“Simon–”

He coughs. You gasp, wrapping an arm under him and trying to sit him up. He’s so much heavier with all of his gear on, but you do it anyways, lifting him up and laying his head in your lap. You lean down, pressing your forehead to his, and you cup the back of his neck.

“I thought he killed you–” You sob. Simon hums, his eyes opening and closing, and you smooth a few fingers down his cheek, relieved to hear him breathe. In and out, in and out, low and slow as he blinks away the spots in his vision.

Your eyes meet. It’s not a look you were expecting. You expected him to be angry, but he’s not. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. You must look a sight, you think. There must be blood on your face, staining your teeth, but all of your senses are dulled as you try and read him.

Your hands shake as you brush a bit of dust off his face. Your fingers are trembling, but it’s grounding to touch him and see him blink those dark eyes up at you. God, he’s not ugly, no, he’s gorgeous. He’s so beautiful. He’ll never be prettier than the way he is now. Raw and vulnerable–Simon is most himself here, you think, stuck in the in-between of an operation. This is where he must feel everything the most. You open your mouth to say something else, to ask him if he’s okay, but then his face scrunches when he finally realizes where you are.

“On the door,” Simon mutters. “Get y’r gun on the fuckin’ door.”

“Simon–”

“Now!”

You scramble to reach for the handgun in your thigh holster, turning to get up on your knees and cover the door. You will your hands to stop shaking, gripping the handle of the gun tight to keep them steady. You can hear Simon getting himself together behind you. Shuffling onto his feet, picking up his rifle and his helmet. When you look over your shoulder for just a second, you notice his mask is back on.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, east building clear,” Simon rasps. He shoves his way past you, rattling you a little, and you stare at his back, defeated, as he clears the rest of the floor before making his way up the last flight of stairs. You hear your captain responding on comms, but you’re not paying enough attention. Simon slams the roof door shut once its behind you, and you wipe your eyes as Simon gets situated for overwatch as you cover the door.

“Simon, are you–”

“I don’t want to hear another word outta you unless we got contact on this fuckin’ roof,” Simon interrupts.

“I saved your ass!” You cry. “I did that! He would’ve killed you, you fucking asshole, so for once in your life, can you just look at me and say a fucking thank you?!”

Maybe Simon’s right. If you fight your omega, maybe you will lose. She might just kill you. You know she can. You’ve seen it happen before. Omegas that didn’t listen, losing themselves to the insanity of their inner struggle. It’s a violent end. It’s like they electrocute from the inside-out. Their minds betray them, and they let it take over, and with no alpha to soothe them, they’re just gone. If they drift too far, you can’t get yourself back.

Use me. I know what to do. I can get him back.

You do the only other thing you can try; you let your omega do the talking. The sweet, syrupy voice. The soft lilt. The edge that glides, doesn’t cut, the one that will hit his ear just right and hopefully get his alpha tick-tick-ticking inside of his head. The one that didn’t work on Kate–but Kate was not your mate. Kate never responded to you at all, not the way Simon does, and Kate has never tasted your cunt. Her alpha doesn’t know what she’s missing.

I can do it. Let me in.

“Please, Simon,” you beg. You see his fingers twitch as he adjusts the scope on his rifle. They falter, adjusting it just a few degrees too far. Simon doesn’t make mistakes, but then again he’s never had his omega purring in his ear like that. “Please.”

You make your way to him, curling a hand around his bicep. You tug him closer, trying to get him to look at you. He resists, but it’s a pathetic kind of resistance. The kind that you can overpower with just another firm tug. You can sense it, his hesitance, and your omega giggles in your head.

I have him. I can do it. Don’t worry.

“John was right,” Simon breathes. “You’re a problem. A liability.”

A liability because he doesn’t belong to anyone but you, maybe. He’s John’s liability. Not yours. Simon may be a part of their pack, but they should’ve picked up a fucking book when they knew you were coming. Submissiveness might be an inherent “trait” of your kind, but you realize now that is just a lie that alphas tell omegas to keep them quiet.

To keep them soft. To keep them begging. It’s probably something that your kind have learned over time, so distinct that you inherit it from someone that came before you, but you’re convinced that this kind of obedience and docility can be unlearned. It can be used.

If an omega cries, it would be stupid for an alpha to ignore it. It’s in their DNA–with just a soft whine, you can make Simon drop that rifle and bend you over any surface. They say it is for your sake. They say it is because omegas must be serviced or else they will succumb to themselves, but that isn’t what this is, and that’s not why omegas aren’t allowed in the field.

They’re not allowed because you can make Simon defy orders; because John can tell Simon something, and you can tell him something else, and you’re almost certain you know which way Simon will lean.

“Please just look at me, Simon,” you whisper. “Please.”

You cradle his face when he finally does. Your palms touch his wet mask, likely soaked with his own blood. You stand on your toes and draw his face closer to yours.

Fuck them for making you feel small. Fuck them for making you feel less than. Fuck anyone that ever made you feel like you were anything but in control, including her. If she just explained what she could do, this could’ve been a lot easier. If she just told you what she was capable of, you could’ve worked together. You could’ve given her what she wanted, and she could’ve given you what you wanted, and it could’ve been so much simpler.

“Gonna get me fuckin’ killed,” Simon growls. You start to cry again. Not because what he’s saying hurts you, but because he’s still bleeding, and all you can see when you close your eyes is that gun firing right at his head.

This is your ticket. This is your way out. Fuck Kate for making you believe that all you were meant for was being in his bed. You’re so close–aren’t you? You didn’t realize how close you were, but now you do, and you know exactly what to do.

You’re going to make them very, very sorry. You’re going to make them regret ever letting you inside. Your divisive, spitfire nature was not your line of defense. It was the indication of the future you always dreamed of, the future that is one bite-mark away from being tangible. You can taste it, like you taste what Simon wants in the air.

I can do it. I can help you. Let me in.

There was never a reason to be afraid. If anything, they should’ve been afraid of you.

You kiss him. It’s not a proper kiss, because his face is still covered, but you kiss Simon anyways. His cheeks warm, and his lips part, and you kiss him softly over and over as you take his face into your hands. When his arm slides around your waist, your omega is comfortable letting your knees buckle.

She knows already that Simon will catch you.

NEXT

[soaps-mohawk]

Summary: Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it.

It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks. 

As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.

Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all. 

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, NSFW content, explicit smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), knotting, biting, claiming, mating cycles, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, age differences, military inaccuracies, canon typical violence, blood, weapons, language, no use of Y/N, brief torture, hurt/comfort, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Chapters containing smut are marked with a *

This fic can also be found on my Ao3 -> HERE

I will no longer be using a taglist for this fic, please follow THIS BLOG and turn on notifications

**This fic is currently in progress**

NAVIGATION PAGE

CRCB DIRECTORY

Part 1 - The Omega

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language

Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful

Chapter 5 - What I Want *

Part 2 - The Bond

Chapter 6 - One Step Closer *

Chapter 7 - Sweet Strawberry

Chapter 8 - The Thing About Ghost

Chapter 9 - Save Me

Chapter 10 - Treat Me Gently*

Part 3 - The First Heat

Chapter 11 - It's Coming

Chapter 12 - Fire In My Veins*

Chapter 13 - Piece Me Back Together*

Chapter 14 - The Aftermath*

Part 4 - The New Normal

Chapter 15: Bonnie*

Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes *

Chapter 17: Alone

Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

Chapter 19: Daddy Issues

Chapter 20: The New Normal *

Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment *

Chapter 22: I Won't Be Gentle

Part 5 - A Pack of Five

Chapter 23: Regrets

Chapter 24: The Last First Time *

Chapter 25: Animals *

Chapter 26: Fuck *

Chapter 27: Drown In It *

Chapter 28: Two Is Company, Three Is A Party *

Chapter 29: There's Something Wrong With My Omega

Part 6 - The Tragedy

Chapter 30: Butterfly's Wings

Chapter 31: Forced Proximity

Chapter 32: The Tragedy

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Part 7 - The Aftermath

Chapter 35: Threads

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Chapter 37: The Silence

Chapter 38: Shattered

Chapter 39: Life

Part 8 - The Next Chapter

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here

Chapter 41: Revenge

Chapter 42: Comfort and Joy

Chapter 43: Lies

Chapter 44: Little Shit

Chapter 45: Heat of the Moment *

Chapter 46: My Girl *

Chapter 47: The Reunion

Chapter 48: Wild Times *

Chapter 49: Reforming Bonds *

Chapter 50: Flashback *

Part 9 - Finding Home

Title card made by the beautiful @141wh0re

Chapter 51: Back To The Start

Chapter 52: The Rucking Princess

[crypticgrayson]

Round and Round ~ Part 2

Pairing: Front Man/Hwang In-ho x F!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Death, Smut, bit of angst

Summary: Continues on from the previous part, the aftermath of the Mingle game and Gi-hun’s plan to go after the Front Man..

Part 1

You moved your hair behind your ears before turning your head to look at the man sat next to you on the stairs leading up to your bunk beds, the circle on Young-il’s chest now replaced by a cross after the next round of voting. Even with over half of all the players dead after the mingle game, the vote turned out to be a draw. Young-il noticed you staring and drew up one of his brows, causing you to quickly turn back around.

You opened the box of food on your lap, surprised to see a fork on the side of the tin. “Something you wanted to say?” Young-il asked as he moved down a step to sit next to you, “No, not in particular” You replied. “Oh? They didn’t give me one” Young-il spoke as he nodded towards your tin, his eyes falling on the metal fork, moving your gaze towards the metal box in his hands to see he wasn’t lying.

Young-il closed the tin again with a sigh, laying it down at his feet as you started on your food, feeling Young-il’s thigh pressed against yours as he spread his legs slightly to close the distance between you. You knew he was testing you to see what your reaction would be, if you would move away, but you didn’t move an inch as you continued eating, not acknowledging the contact between you.

When you finished your food not much later, you had been starving after running around in the last game, you held out your fork to the man besides you, taking it from your outreached hand before grabbing his tin from the floor. Young-il barely managed to take a few bites when everyone’s looked up, some bloodied players with circles on their chests walking in, led by a group of pink guards. Your eyes fell on the bloody fork in one of the men’s hand, another group walking in from the other side, seeing some people you knew in this group with crosses on their chests.

“What happened?” Gi-jun asked when the x group walked over to the rest of you, the room clearly split in the middle by x’s and o’s. “Thanos and 333 broke out into a fight, 333 killed- killed him, which caused everyone to join in” Dae-ho spoke, everyone moving closer to listen in. “Did we lose many?” Jung-bae joined in, everyone turning their heads to the other group to see they were already staring. “Count how many they have, and how many we have” Young-il suggested, Gi-hun started to count your group as Young-il counted the other side.

“Well?” You asked, your gaze shifting between them. “They have 65” Young-il replied, Gi-hun sighing softly. “We have 66, they’ll never accept that for the revote tomorrow” Gi-hun spoke, most of your group nodding in agreement. “Did more people get forks in their boxes?” You asked, a few people raising their hands. “So they have weapons if they want to try and take some of us out” You continued, Gi-hun biting down on his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought.

“They’ll attack us tonight, when they think we’re asleep, they only have to take out two of us to have the majority vote tomorrow” Gi-hun spoke softly, making a shiver run down your spine as you wrapped your arms around your waist. “We should take turns keeping watch, then all of us can still catch some sleep for the next game” Young-il spoke, everyone nodding in agreement. Everyone moved to their beds after a little while had passed, Gi-hun and Jung-bae taking first watch.

You laid your head down on your pillow when the lights dimmed, letting out a nervous sigh, knowing falling asleep would be difficult as hell with your heart beating loudly in your ears. After what you estimated to be an hour had passed you sat up with a sigh, wanting to join Gi-hun but a voice softly called out to you from the bed beside yours. “What are you doing?” Young-il whispered, your eyes shifting toward him. “I can’t sleep, I’ll switch with one of them” You replied, nodding your head in the direction of the two men keeping watch.

“You should really try to sleep, you need energy for tomorrow, Gi-hun and Jung-bae are keeping an eye out” He replied, “I know.. but by the time he notices someone’s all the way back here, it’ll already be too late” You spoke, making him sigh in agreement. “Come sleep next to me then, I’ll stay awake so you can catch some shut eye” Young-il told you, shifting to the side of his mattress to give you space. You had to bite back a laugh at his words, wanting to tell him how that wouldn’t be any better since your trust in him had faltered because of what happened in the past game, but you still moved out of your bed.

You took the three steps to cross the path between your bunks, sitting down next to him before lying down, your back facing him. Young-il let out a deep breath before lying down beside you, placing a hand on your arm as he moved his other hand to prop his head up, doing as he promised. His hand on your arm drawing gentle patterns through your jacket somehow calmed your nerves, and you were already fighting to keep your eyes open, sleep overtaking you not much later. Young-il looked down at your sleeping face with a sigh, carefully lifting his hand to move a loose strand of hair out of your face, moving the back of his fingers over the incredibly soft skin of your cheek. He had to hold himself back to not press his lips where his fingers had just been before he heard footsteps come in his direction, moving his hand back down to your arm.

It didn’t take long for Young-il to shake you awake, opening your eyes to see Gi-hun kneeled in front of you too. “We need to do something, they’re planning their attack and we don’t have enough people strong enough to fight back” Gi-hun softly spoke, Jung-bae stood behind him. “What are you suggesting?” Young-il asked as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, sitting up too. “Let’s wait until they attack, the guards will come to stop the fight because they don’t want too many of us to die, we steal their guns, and-..” Gi-hun spoke before stopping, furrowing his brows. “And?” Young-il questioned, Gi-hun scratching his jaw before replying, “We attack the front man”

You let out a laugh before noticing the serious look on Gi-hun’s face, “You’re being serious?” you asked. “Yes, this could be our only chance, and it’s better than having to fight them” Gi-hun replied, a silence falling between the four of you. “Let’s do it” Jung-bae spoke, “I’m in as well” You added, the three of you turning to Young-il who stayed silent. He looked up and the stoic look on his face shifted to a smile you now easily recognized as fake, “Let’s tell the others” he spoke before getting up.

You spent the rest of night waiting for movement from the other side of the room, until all your heads perked up when you heard footsteps approaching. You heard a scream from somewhere in front of you before several fights broke out, Young-il grabbing your shoulder to pull you behind him, leading you away from the fights and down the stairs. “Let’s hide so we can grab one of the guards” Young-il softly spoke, his hand still behind him to hold on to you. You looked to your side to see Gi-hun and Jung-bae fighting with two other men, holding down the urge to run over to them as you kneeled behind a flipped bed next to Young-il.

What felt like hours were a few seconds in reality before the lights came on, hearing the loud footsteps of the pink guards’ boots. “Everyone halt and lay down your weapons!” The leader of the guards called, hearing the commotion stop. You peeked past the side of the bed to see the guards were too far away to grab, before Gi-hun started another fight to try to lead a guard his way. Young-il and you exchanged a look when you heard boots coming closer, waiting until the guard was close enough before you popped out behind the cover, Young-il throwing the guard to the floor with his full weight as you grabbed the rifle from the guard’s hands, firing at the other guards as Young-il pulled you back into cover.

When you hit a few of the guards who had ran over to close in on you some of the others from your group had managed to grab a couple of rifles, all of having shot down around 10 of the guards before they decided to retreat. “Let’s go, this is our chance!” Gi-hun yelled, walking over to the pink bodies to grab whatever ammo and walkie talkies they had on them. “Who’s with us?” Jung-bae called out, the only ones to respond being Hyun-ju, Dae-ho, 156, 047 and 246. “We’ll never make it with just 9 of us” Jung-bae softly spoke, making Gi-hun shake his head, “We don’t have a choice, let’s go”

Hyun-ju explained to you how to reload the gun and check on the magazine when you made it to the stairs, before a few bullets flew just inches past your head, all of you crouching down before shooting back. “Stay close to me at all times” Young-il told you as he moved in front of you, giving him a quick nod in response before you made your way up, shooting at whatever bit of pink you saw peeking through the openings around you. “They’re coming from over here!” Gi-hun yelled as he stood at the front of your group, peeking around a corner. “Jung-bae, come with me, the rest of you cover us until I’ll call you over the walkie to tell you if it’s safe” Gi-hun continued, disappearing around the corner with Jung-bae before you could even protest. “Let’s hold our ground here!” Hyun-ju called out, each of you taking your positions as you shot at the guards making their way over. You felt in your pocket to check if the full magazine was still there, feeling the heavy weight of it in your jacket to your relief. You saw Young-il throw away his empty magazine and load his gun with a new one, checking yours to see you still had half of it left. A few minutes had passed, yet your walkie stayed silent, concern raising within you as you grabbed Hyun-ju’s arm.

“Some of us should check on them, it’s taking too long and our ammo is running out” You told her, Hyun-ju humming in agreement. “I’ll go, Y/N can come with me and we need one more” Young-il spoke, 047 raising his hand. “Let’s go” Young-il continued, running over to the door Gi-hun had jammed open with an empty rifle. You followed the dead bodies sprawled out through the hallways and stairs, until you heard gunshots come from close by. The three of you turned the final corner before your eyes fell on Gi-hun and Jung-bae, who signed for you to stay back. “They just keep coming, we need to find a way to attack them from behind” Gi-hun whispered, ducked behind the wall. “I think I saw a way back there, we’ll attack from there” Young-il replied, “Good luck” Gi-hun spoke as his eyes shifted to yours.

You followed Young-il back the way you came, 047 close behind you. Young-il shot at a guard who popped out behind a corner, before you heard his gun was empty. You had just reloaded your own and doubted for a second when Young-il threw his rifle to the floor with a loud curse, moving the band off your shoulder before handing your rifle to him. “You’re a better shot than I am” You told him, Young-il taking it from your outreached hand. You made it up another set of stairs, Young-il taking out the two guards before making it around the corner, seeing the guards at the top were stood with their backs towards you.

“This is it” Young-il softly spoke as he turned to face you and 047, “How much ammo do you have left?” He asked 047, who opened his magazine to check. “Over half” 047 told him, Young-il doing the same. “I have less than half” He told the man, 047 moving up. “I’ll take lead then, if they turn around I have more bullets to fire at them” 047 spoke, Young-il giving a nod in agreement. 047 was clearly shaking as he moved up the stairs before gunshots sounded from right next to you, 047 falling to the floor as you saw the bullet holes in his back. You took a few steps back as you looked at Young-il with his rifle lifted, feeling your heart shoot into your throat as you moved to the other side of the stairs with you back pressed against the wall before the pink guards turned in your direction.

Before Young-il could yell out a loud “No!” a gunshot sounded before you felt a sharp pain at your shoulder, falling to your knees as you moved a hand up to the painful spot. You moved your hand back down when you felt a warm liquid cover your fingers, seeing blood dripping from your hand before you lost your balance, moving your hand towards a step in an attempt to hold yourself up. “Get them!” Young-il yelled at the guards before throwing his rifle to the floor, moving over to you as he pressed his hand to your shoulder to try to stop the bleeding. You used your last strength to look at him before huffing, “I knew I-.. I shouldn’t have trusted-…” you muttered before everything went black.

~~~

You blinked a few times as you felt warmth coming from your left side, feeling that you were lying on something soft and a warm yellow light was around you. You wanted to lift your hand to rub your eyes but pain spread from your shoulder as soon as you lifted it too far up, hearing rustling coming from a bit further away as footsteps neared you. You turned your head towards the source of the warmth to see you were lying on a couch next to a fireplace, a hand moving towards the side of your face as you turned to look at who it belonged to. “Shh you’re ok, you’re safe” A voice you recognized sounded, but your vision was still too blurry to make out who it was.

Where even were you? The last thing you remembered was speaking to Gi-hun and Jung-bae as you and Young-il fought through the guards, before he-, before he shot 047. You moved to sit up but Young-il gently pushed you back down, your vision shifting into focus to see he had changed out of his player uniform into a black t shirt and pants. “Young-il, what are you-“ You tried to say but he interrupted you, sitting down on the edge of the couch to lean over you, “Let’s start with; that’s not my name, it’s In-ho, and yes I wasn’t just a player”

You parted your lips to say something but you didn’t know where to start, his whole demeanor had changed compared to who you thought him to be, looking at your shoulder when he finished taping the bandage on it. “Why?” You asked, feeling tears edging to roll out of the corner of your eyes but you quickly blinked them away, slowly sitting up which In-ho allowed this time. “That’s a very long story, the only thing you need to know is that.. I have grown very fond of you, I never meant for them to shoot you” In-ho told you, the same softness you had seen in his eyes earlier returning. “I’m so very sorry for that” He muttered before leaning towards you, pressing his lips against the only part of your shoulder that wasn’t covered in bandages. You let out a shaky breath before he moved upright again, his hand slowly running down your arm. You only now realized you were only dressed in your white but blood stained tanktop and the green sweatpants you had been in since the start of all this, wondering if he was the one to undress you and take care of your wound.

You had so many questions but your head was too clouded to even think straight, made only worse when he ran his fingers through your hair, your attraction to him somehow taking up all your thoughts instead of his sudden betrayal. You knew it would only be rational to hit him in the face and ask him where your friends were, but somehow you could only focus on his dark gaze looking over you as his hand combed through your hair. “What are you going to do to me?” You asked him, your eyes meeting his, his brows furrowing as he met your gaze. “That all depends on you, sweetheart” In-ho spoke, moving his hand out of your locks to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. Your eyes fell on the gun laying on the table behind him, In-ho noticing and turning your head to make sure your gaze was only on him

He gave you a second to reply but when you stayed silent he moved the slightest bit closer to you, his face now close enough so you could feel his breath, your lips parting automatically as you held his gaze. His hand moved down around the base of your neck, setting gentle pressure before closing the distance, his lips meeting yours in a hungry kiss. You let out a gasp before allowing his tongue to slip inside, his arms wrapping around you before he nudged you to lie down, moving on top of you without ever breaking the kiss.

Your hands disappeared into his soft hair which caused a moan to leave him, grinding his hips into you as his hands grazed over your sides, moving up slightly to look down at you. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you, jesus” He groaned, his fingers trailing down your ribs before stopping at your waist, grabbing onto the hem of your tanktop before gently stripping it off you. He moved a hand behind you when he helped you out of the top to continue on your bra, sliding it down your arms before throwing it to join your tanktop on the floor. In-ho propped himself up to take in your exposed body, pulling at your sweatpants before pushing them down your legs, the only garment covering you now being your panties.

Your fingers clawed at his back before he lowered himself down on top of you again, moving his head down to let his teeth graze over the sensitive skin of your neck before sucking at exactly the right spot, unable to hold down the moan that escaped your lips. One of his hands trailed down your chest to your stomach before stopping at the hem of your panties, his fingers teasing at the edge before moving further down, rubbing you through the soft fabric. You both let out a gasp as you moved your hands under his shirt, his warm skin under your fingertips driving you even further to the edge as you closed your eyes, pressing your face into his neck, his heavy breathing loud against your ear.

“I can barely hold myself back, I need to be inside you” In-ho groaned, a gasp escaping you before pulling off his shirt, In-ho moving back to let you move it over his head, disposing it next to your pile of clothes, his pants following soon after. “Please..” You muttered as you moved a hand up in his thick dark hair, both of your underwear joining the floor soon after, his hand back between your legs as he spat on his fingers before easing two of them inside you. You couldn’t make out which of your moans was louder when your walls clenched around his index and middle finger, his other hand digging into your waist.

“I need to fuck you” In-ho growled against your neck, moving his fingers out of you before moving them between his lips to clean off your juices, his hands on both sides of your head, dug into the pillows of the couch beneath you. “I want you to, In-ho please..” You mewled as he moved himself against you, one hand wrapped around your throat as he slowly pushed into you, closing your eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. One of your hands was on his back, your nails pressing half moons into his skin when he picked up his pace, your other hand pulling on his hair every time he thrusted into you. In-ho pressed his body even closer to you, his arms wrapped around you as you felt his warm pants on your face, your eyes meeting his which caused a deep groan to leave him, his tongue meeting yours in a messy kiss.

“You feel like heaven, fuck” In-ho muttered against your lips, feeling that he had to hold back in order not to fill you up already, wanting to savor this moment as long as he could. “I want to feel you cum inside me, In-ho” You moaned as he looked down at you, feeling his body stutter at your words before fucking into you completely, causing a loud moan to leave you as he thrusted into you as deep as he could. “Such a good girl for me..” In-ho moaned as you felt pressure building inside your belly as he fucked you into the couch, both of your bodies starting to get covered in sweat as your moans filled the room. You hooked your legs behind his back to somehow urge him even deeper, feeling a shiver spread through him before burying himself inside you, a load growl escaping him as he pressed his face against your neck. Both of your hands buried in his hair as you let him ride out his orgasm, his arms wrapped around you so tight you had trouble breathing. You felt him fill you up completely as he slowed down before stopping, still buried deep inside you as you felt his cum leak out of you, dripping down your lips.

When he finally caught his breath he moved his head up to meet your cloudy gaze, his pupils dilated so wide his eyes looked black, lowering his head so his nose rubbed against yours before pressing a soft kiss on your lips. He carefully moved out of you as he moved to lie down behind you, rolling over on your side as In-ho moved against you. His arms wrapped around you as he buried his nose into the crook of your neck, moving your hand up to grab onto his lower arm as you eased against his warm chest. “In-ho, I-…” “Shh, let keep the talking for tomorrow yeah? For tonight.. I am far from done with you” He interrupted you, unable to hide the grin on your face when his lips pressed to your neck, pulling you even closer against him, knowing you were in for a very long night..

[trashytracktales]

teammate!lando x reader where they had a bet and she loses…so he makes her crawl to her, hump the pillow, rub her bare clit against his clothed crotch ALL WHILE HE RECORDS HER (with consent ofc)

Lights, Camera, Action! | LN⁴

🔹️ summary ──── It was supposed to be a joke, then it became everything.

🔹️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem teammate!reader

🔹️ rating ──── explicit

🔹️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, nerdy!Lando, soft!dom Lando, recording (consensual), cushion humping, manhandling, orgasm from external stimulation, swearing, unprotected sex, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, playful teasing, camera kink??

🔹️ word count ──── 6.3k

🔹️ date ──── May 6, 2025

🔹️ a/n ──── How tf do I set my intention to go for PURE SMUT NO PLOT, yet still manage to write over 6k 😀 I don’t even know what’s this, nothing makes sense and we are living on a floating rock.

Hear me out, I usually only link the song, but then I remembered about this music video and I almost had an aneurysm because of how well it fits. I recommend watching it after reading though. Anyway, ENJOY!!

THE LAST RACE before the break fucked them both. Pretty hard. What was supposed to end with another 1-2 finish for the team turned into a disaster of strategy, pace, and pure bad luck.

Since getting back to Monaco, the fallout hasn’t left them alone. It’s pretty hard when everyone is talking about it; it can get lonely, too. Luckily for them, they’ve been texting back and forth for days, laced with sarcasm, blame, and just enough flirtation to keep the tension at its peak. However, neither of them said what they really wanted to say. But it was always there, between the lines as usual, and in the way her name popped up on his screen, making his stomach flip.

Every single time.

The bar is loud enough to blur that tension and even Lando, with his no-alcohol rule, is loose and laughing. They dance and talk about anything but racing, and for a while it feels like neither of them are carrying the weight of disappointment.

Friends come and go through their circle, a few fans spot them and ask for pictures — which they take, grinning too wide and standing too close for their own good. Somewhere between the fourth round of mocktails, a familiar song starts pulsing through the speakers, and that’s when she brings up the bet, half-laughing, stepping in front of him like she did back in the garage when she dared him.

“If I finish behind you, I owe you a private dance,” she said, confidence dripping from every word. She’d qualified ahead of Lando, and was so confident she can finish ahead of him, too. But since every race is unpredictable and full of unknowns, she ended up taking the checkered flag after him.

It was a joke, anyway. But she can’t say with all her heart that she hasn’t thought about it at least a few couple of times. Besides, it’s Lando who’s been constantly reminding her throughout the past few days and, even if it was in jest, the curiosity made her spend hours staring at the ceiling of her room, imagining different scenarios.

Now, it’s late when the door to his apartment clicks shut behind them with a clean, satisfying noise. Lando tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl on the console with more force than necessary, and while the keys clatter, one nearly skids off the edge, forcing him to reach for it instinctively. She doesn’t say anything, although she can’t help but finding amusing that the inanimate objects always decide to act up only when her teammate’s patience seems so fragile.

The sudden movement makes Lando whine in exasperation as she watches him kick off his shoes and drag a hand through his curls.

The place is quiet, as if reflecting their inner agitation, silently burning within. He’s not bothering turning on more than a lamp, but it’s enough to bathe the whole living room in a pale silver glow, making everything seem even more intimate than it should be.

As they step further into the apartment, the same silence hits them both, because it’s not just the sudden absence of noise, but the weight of it. They’ve never been this quiet around each other before. Usually, they’re the chaos in the garage, either laughing too loud or teasing mid-debriefs, always bringing the kind of energy that makes their engineers roll their eyes but secretly love it. Now though, it’s the first time neither of them knows what to say. Or how to act.

“Cute place,” she says, partly to break the silence, but mostly because it really is. Spacious, stylish, not super tidy, but very Lando in that sense.

“You know you don’t have to make small talk, right?” he laughs. “It was a stupid bet to begin with, since I was always going to finish ahead of you anyway.”

Her jaw drops slightly at the cockiness in his tone. This is the Lando she knows and, in other circumstances, she would find his confidence hot, but right now it only makes her want to knock that look off his face. Or sit on it just to shut him up. Either works.

“Always eager to finish first? Got it,” the playful jab lands right where she intended without too much effort; it’s a split-second flicker in his expression, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his arms tense.

That’s the spot, she thinks. That’s where it bruises his ego, not because it’s crude, but because it’s enough to sting. Which only makes her want to push harder.

Lando’s grin flattens a bit. “Well, someone’s gotta lead the way,” he replies casually, even though he caught her double meaning phrase.

“Right. Leading the way because you can’t pace yourself,” she fires back.

He chuckles. “Sounds like an excuse from someone who couldn’t keep up.”

They’re toe-to-toe now, all bite and smirk and so much tension. She’s half a second from throwing a cushion at him just to knock that pretty smile off when she glances past his shoulder and, without another word, she steps forward, fingers brushing lightly against Lando’s arm as she urges him to move out of her way, wandering farther into his apartment like she owns the place.

“Interesting,” she mumbles. “I saw you with the camera before,” the girl continues as Lando turns to follow her silhouette. “How about you film me while I dance? Give you some new material for land0.mov?”

Lando’s expression twitches barely, but she’s still able to notice it. That small flash of disbelief, quickly masked by a half-laugh, like he’s not sure if she’s joking or just testing him.

“No way, mate,” says Lando, but it’s already too late.

She nods slowly, letting the weight of her intention settle in the air they share. His boyish smirk fades into curiosity in an instant. It’s like watching him put a helmet on: composed, dialed in, serious in a way most people rarely get to see.

To give him more space to process, she veers toward the low shelf by his TV, crouching slightly. “Let’s see. Which one’s your favorite?” she asks nonchalantly, running her fingers along the row of cameras lined up like little trophies; old film bodies, modern DSLRs, and a few point-and-shoots with scratched lenses.

Lando stares at her like she suddenly grew two more heads in the meantime. “You play too much, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Which one?” she repeats.

He blinks, opening his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. After he rubs the bridge of his nose, Lando exhales slowly. “The, uh… the Leica. Second from the left. Black one,” he instructs. “I rarely use it, which makes it special, I guess.”

She lifts it delicately, turning it over in her hands. It’s heavier than she expected, sleek and cool against her skin. “Nice,” she grins. “Bet it makes everything look expensive.”

Lando hums in agreement, “Only shoots what’s directly in front of it. Look,” he says, getting so close to her that he’s now towering over her frame, while pointing at the camera. “Fixed lens, see? No lazy zooming, but the resolution is insane. The tricky part is that you have to move it yourself to get the shot you want,” he continues.

She looks up at him, noticing a slight shy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. And, just when she thought Lando couldn’t get any nerdier, she hears his voice again.

“It’s a twenty-eight millimeter lens. That’s not crazy wide,” he informs her. “If you stay in the middle, the background’s gonna fall off all soft and blurry. Makes it feel…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Personal. It’s not even about perfect framing or whatever,” he rushes to add. “It just catches whatever’s there, no hiding.”

“Did you use it before?” she asks, curiosity pulling the words out of her mouth without having the time to think them through.

“I did,” he replies with a grin, giving her enough time to come up with her own scenarios before adding, “On my cars.”

She smiles, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room. “So. If I move, you have to follow, hm?”

Lando nods.

She sets the camera down gently, then leans against the wall beside the shelf with her arms crossed. She’s aware that what she’s suggesting it’s pure insanity, especially after what’s been happening between them lately.

“Okay,” she finally says, holding her hand toward him, palm open. “Can I see your phone for a sec?”

Lando frowns, trying to hide a curious smile. “Why?” he asks, sliding the phone from his pocket and unlocks it, handing it over with suspicion in his voice.

She only flashes him a smile back, thumbing through his apps until she finds the little Spotify icon. A few seconds later, the speakers come alive with a sultry bassline that wraps the room in a charged ambiance.

The teasing in her voice is easy to catch next time she asks, “You seriously have a sex playlist called sex playlist? Men are so predictable.”

He chuckles, “Yeah? What’s yours called?”

“I’ll send you the link,” she winks at him jokingly, but that still has an unexpected effect on Lando. Maybe because he’s starting to understand that his teammate is hardly ever joking, actually.

For a second that feels like a week, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches her, every muscle in his body taut like he’s holding himself back from something that’s about to come out anyway. It has to. Because everything has a limit, and theirs was crossed from the moment she entered his apartment.

With a quiet exhale, she presses herself lightly against the wall, then pushes off and crosses the living room in steady, cat-like steps, taking his hand in hers, fingers threading through his. Her touch is warm and somehow reassuring, her palm so small and silky against his. She guides Lando toward the couch with intent as if this isn’t his own home, nudging him gently until he sits.

She breaks away then, walks back across the room, and returns with the Leica in hand. “Turn it on,” she says simply, with enough clarity behind her words.

Lando stares at her, dumbfounded for a beat, before the corner of his mouth twitches upward in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I trust you to capture the best in me,” she admits.

He lets out a heavy breath, something between a laugh and a groan, and flips the switch at her insistence. The familiar click of the camera waking up is giving Lando chills, but when he glances up again, his hands still adjusting the ISO, she’s already pulling the shirt over her head, revealing a black bra and her toned shoulders dusted in the dim light.

She tilts her head. “Just make sure I look good, Lando.”

With that, she starts moving as slow as possible, every inch of revealed skin feeling like it’s offered, not given.

Lando’s hands are steady on the camera, but for some reason, breathing doesn’t feel automatic anymore, and he’s currently aware of every shaky breath he takes. His fingers work on instinct, dialing the aperture wider, letting in the glow of the cool lighting. His pulse is racing, heavy in his throat, because he can see everything through the lens, but is still not ready to look at her in the flesh.

For her, it’s easy to notice how focused he is, so she glances straight into the camera on purpose, with a spark of mischief in her gaze, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. To him. As a result, Lando’s knee starts bouncing, restless, his breathing too shallow to be subtle. He can’t remember the last time he felt so tightly wound, but it doesn’t even matter because what happens now will stay with him for a long time, and this is all he needs to remember from now on.

And then, it gets worse.

He stares at her while she’s arching slightly as she undoes her bra clasp, letting it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor without breaking eye contact with the camera. At that, Lando looks away out of instinct — out of that last shred of decency clawing at him. But the camera stays trained on her, and when he lifts his gaze again, it’s like a dam breaks inside him. Violently. The hunger that flashes across his face is instant, and impossible to hide. He doesn’t even try, because what fool could ever take his eyes off her?

Lando adjusts himself without thinking, moving in sync with her teasing gestures as she peels her panties down her legs from under her skirt. He tells himself to stay focused and capture the sensuality of her body with the last fragment of professionalism that he possesses. But that’s a losing game when his own body is burning with need, and every subtle curve and line of her turns into a map that he’s desperate to explore as soon as possible.

His focus lingers on the swell of her breasts, her nipples tightening in the open air. It forces him to swallow hard, a deep ache growing both inside him and his pants, knowing how badly he wants to lean forward and suck them into his mouth, to feel the heat of her skin against his tongue.

The camera dips lower as she dances to the hypnotic rhythm of his music, and Lando keeps working with her, baring the elegant slope of her waist and the strong lines of her thighs. The way she stands there, so natural and confident, feels like a direct hit to his chest that he welcomes without hesitation or any intention of dodging. She’s pure femininity, and that throws him into a black hole made only of her, where the gravity is so strong that there’s no escape.

He’s so focused on her that he almost stops breathing in order to make sure he gets the perfect shot, every shot. That makes Lando’s hand tighten around the camera, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. But his body has a mind on its own, apparently, and his thighs flex like he’s one wrong move away from standing. From closing the distance between them. Against his will, though, he sits there, shivering with the effort to stay still.

“Come on, Norris,” she says, and her voice wakes him up from the trance her shapes put him in. “I’ve seen you take tighter corners at Spa with less hesitation.”

Even though he tries to, he can’t stop the throaty laugh that comes out of him. Only for a moment, Lando lowers the camera again, and lets himself, finally, finally, see her. And this time, he doesn’t look away. He watches her shamelessly, while reaching behind him to take a cushion that he ends up tossing onto the floor near his feet, nodding toward it.

“Go on, then. Show me how desperate you are.”

There is something about the way he says it that sends a thrill straight through her. She heard that Lando is direct when it comes to his wants and needs, but to feel it on her skin hits different. Her pulse suddenly stutters with excitement as she lowers herself in front of him, straddling the cushion, her body already anticipating the liberating feeling.

The moment her hips roll forward and her mouth falls open in surprise at the faint pleasure, Lando is right there, capturing every gasp, every twitch, and every sweet reaction like it’s the only thing that matters. His mind runs wild with all the places he aches to touch — his hand curled around her throat, palms squeezing her breasts, fingers digging into her hips to hold her still while he teases her until she begs.

The temptation claws at him, full throttle. But he forces himself to handle the camera like a pro, because more than anything, he wants her to see what he sees: how devastatingly beautiful she is like this, undone and bold. Through his own lens, she’s a vision, and giving her that full picture keeps him going.

From her perspective, noticing Lando’s determination sends a fresh wave of heat throughout her body, making her rock her hips a little harder, and that puts a tension in his shoulders. A type of need he didn’t feel before.

To stop herself from making more embarrassing sounds, she meets his gaze over the camera, mouth slightly open. “Is this good?” she asks, voice breathy and half-mocking, although there’s something real underneath. A dare. A plea.

Lando looks at her again, revealing a flushed face and his blown wide pupils. “Yeah, don’t stop,” he replies hoarsely.

Her thighs squeeze around the cushion from the moment she hears the first note in voice, the soft fabric teasing against her clit with every slow roll of her hips, pulling breathy sounds from her. Behind the camera, Lando tails closely as she grinds back and forth, his jaw clenching at the small sounds slipping past her lips.

“Shit, that’s hot. Are you always this needy?” he asks out of pure curiosity, but the question is mostly rhetorical; of course she is. Judging by the way her chest heaves and how she leans forward slightly to catch as much friction as possible, the answer is obvious.

She wants to push back against the power shift, but she’s too lost in the rhythmic movement of her body. And it’s not as if Lando’s wrong. Every gentle brush gets increasingly out of control, each desperate grind into the cushion sending small waves of pleasure straight to her nerves, making her fingers curl into the couch for balance. For the control she’s rapidly losing.

Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, mouth constantly parting as the pleasure spirals inside her like a coil wound too tight.

Lando’s fingers flex over the shutter release, but he’s barely present anymore. He’s completely absorbed by what is happening on the other side of his lens, and it’s her moan that pulls him out of it, just as the pressure builds. So he reaches out, his hand entering the frame like an unexpected guest. With ease, his fingers grab the edge of the cushion beneath her, and she pauses, blinking up at him, flushed and dazed, breathing heavily like she just stepped out of the car after a last-lap push. With one strong pull, he slides it out from under her, making her gasp in surprise, her body jolting at the sudden loss.

“Lando,” she exhales irritated.

She gets her hands onto his knees to steady herself, thighs still wobbly, but he’s not looking at her anymore. He’s too busy staring at the soaked fabric instead, darkened with heat and want and everything she didn’t say out loud.

“That good?” he asks, but the arrogance in his voice diminished, giving way to his sincere curiosity.

She shakes her head, looking up at him again. “Not faking it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The fact that she is as sincere in her statement, encourages Lando to take things to the next level, just to see how much he can push before it’s too much. He throws the cushion aside with a thud, his eyes lit up with need.

“Come here,” he orders in a gentle tone, patting his lap.

She’s stunned at his words initially, and the way they leave no room for teasing. But then she catches the way his tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, leaving it wet and shining, and something inside her pushes her to get up. She realizes that there’s nothing she wouldn’t do if he asked.

With calculated steps, she climbs him patiently, her thighs spreading over him. They’ve been in each other’s personal space in the past, when they had to do silly challenges for McLaren to entertain the fans. Still, even though there’s a camera between them just like before, the air feels different, charged with desire, unknown, and heavy lust. Because this time, it’s just them.

When her body sinks onto his, the scabrous fabric of his jeans meets the soaked warmth between her legs, the weight making Lando groan silently, his little sound hitting her low in her stomach. His reaction encourages her to continue, shifting on top of him in order to find the best position, enough to grind against his bulge. It’s thick and hard beneath her, and the simple contact is already maddening. Yet not nearly enough, and the realization that he’s just as affected by this makes the coil in her stomach tighten further.

“Keep going,” he speaks again as he lifts her skirt up to her waist, going back to the camera and angling it to capture the way she moves against him, right where her skin meets the fabric of his pants.

Her palm comes around his bicep for suport, letting the instincts guide her further. The pressure she chased a moment ago is still there, but it’s different this time around. More intense.

Lando grunts, his free hand gripping her hip to show her the pattern to follow. She whimpers while that sweet ache comes back, her body trembling with need. In no time, she can move on her own, and because she’s such a fast learner, Lando points the camera closer, eager to capture the wetness soaking through.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he says. “You’re making such a mess,” he exhales, bringing his hand between her legs to feel it before he could even process his own action. His thumb finds her clit, rubbing it gently, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time, craving to catch every reaction.

She moans, one hand squeezing his arm harder as her body rocks forward, chasing the release that she hopes it’s not that far into the future, especially if his hips continue to twitch beneath her the way they do, so impatient and reliant on her.

Unfortunately, the time almost stops the moment their faces get close enough to kiss. She can feel the heat of his breath and the pull between them, and she’s sure he can feel it too. Her eyes flick to his mouth, and Lando’s eyes stay on her, but no one dares to close the small gap. Because somehow, that would be more intimate than all of this. Kissing would mean acknowledging what’s been burning between them for a while now. It would mean admitting this is real, and admitting will complicate everything in both their personal and professional lives.

And neither of them are ready to take that chance yet.

With that in mind, she doesn’t lean in. She just closes her eyes and grinds harder, her hips rolling against his hand and the hard line of his cock beneath her. The sensation amplifies fast, and Lando never stops working her with his thumb. Soon enough, her breath comes out in spasms and her thighs start to shake. Her pace intensifies, chasing the high that’s been teasing at the edges of her patience, feeling the mess she’s made slick against Lando’s pants with every desperate press on it. Still, his hand stays steady, rubbing perfectly against her clit, matching the rhythm of her hips like he knows exactly all the ways she wants — and craves — to be touched.

With Lando’s help, it doesn’t take long until her body finally seizes, hips jerking forward uncontrollably as pleasure crashes over her. He moves with her, a silent apology for stopping her earlier written into every precise touch, making sure this time she falls apart completely. Because of him.

Luckily, the camera captures everything: his hand on her, the wet spot she’s left on his pants, the way her skin flushes and seems to crave more with each passing second, and the way her thighs shake when the aftershocks hit. It catches the way she starts trembling, too, body overwhelmed, aching for something deeper, something only he can give her right now.

Only he gives her time to ride it out instead, feeling all the ways her walls flutter, hungry and empty, and the sound that tears from his throat is nothing but a helpless moan. The sensation alone, even without him inside her, is enough to make his head spin. It wrecks him completely, makes him ache with the violent need to know how it would feel to be buried deep inside her, to have her tight, needy pussy squeezing around him while she comes undone all over again. Because of him.

The girl barely registers the camera being placed in her hands until Lando nudges her chin. “Here. See for yourself.”

Except, she doesn’t want it. Not yet. By her own choice, she takes it gently from his hand, presses RECORD again and turns it around, placing it on the padded arm of the couch. Facing them. Remembering Lando’s voice earlier, casual and offhand when he said that the camera only captures what’s in front of it.

Her fingers move impatiently, drifting to the hem of his shirt, bunching it in her hands. “Since you let me finish first,” she rushes to explain.

With that, she pulls the shirt up, and he lifts his arms to help her, muscles tightening under skin slick with the faintest sheen of sweat. Once it’s off, she tosses it to the side, her eyes drinking him in. Lando is warm under her palms, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, and she senses the same tension in him that’s barely holding him together.

She studies his face while her hand drifts lower, trailing down the center of his stomach, pausing at the waistband of his jeans. Carefully, she slips her hand inside, where she finds him hot and so painfully hard that it makes her mouth water. Without any instructions, her fingers curl around his soft skin, and the sight alone makes his stomach flip. She starts to stroke him teasing, but before she can go quicker, Lando grabs her wrist, groaning low in his throat.

“Just a sec,” he pants, voice cracking slightly. His hands are already moving, guiding her hips back over his lap with a need that borders on desperation.

This time, there’s no fabric between them, and her soaked heat presses directly against his length, making them both shuddering at the contact; skin on skin and no more barriers, just the unfiltered reality of what they both want. His hands find home on her hips, big and heavy, his control hanging by a thread.

Agonizingly slow, her clit slides along his hardness, slick and warm, sending sharp jolts of pleasure from one body to another. He can barely contain himself at the way she finds it so easy to rock against him, faster when she feels how thirsty Lando gets in a matter of seconds. He’s leaking already, the head of his cock glistening, smearing against her folds as she moves.

Completely flushed and utterly drunk with pleasure, he shifts beneath her, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, pulling her closer, even though there’s no physical space left between them. But it’s useless. No matter how close they are, there is only one way that would truly satisfy his urge.

“Please,” he whispers next to the shell of her ear, desperate and breathless. “Can I slide in?”

She’s a lost cause by now, and her reply is reduced to a broken hum, while she sits up just enough to guide the thick head of his cock to her entrance. Lando’s patience snaps at her quick response, and he thrusts his hips up in one motion, his hands holding her hips and pulling her down onto him at the same time. The stretch is overwhelming and takes her by surprise, knocking the wind out of her and making her vision blur at the edges as she tries to take all of him.

They moan together, helpless, her hands landing on his chest as she laughs shakily. “You trying to break me in half or?”

“Didn’t think you’d be so tight,” he groans in a strained voice.

Lando tries his best to take it slow, but the way she welcomes him, so warm and perfect, nearly undoes him the moment he’s all in. A shudder runs down his spine as he grips her hips with more force, thinking maybe if he doesn’t hold her right, the world will actually end.

And it may, based on how her hands are sliding up, clawing at his shoulders with her nails digging in to anchor herself. Her breath shudders out in short bursts as she does, her body struggling to adjust, to take everything he has to offer. All of him.

To test the waters, she starts circling her hips, hoping she’ll find the angle that makes her breath hitch, and when she does, it’s like lightning strikes between them. He’s impossibly deep, touching places inside her she didn’t even know could feel this good. Her pussy hugs him so tightly that Lando has to grit his teeth to shut himself up. Then she tilts her hips forward just slightly with every grind, rocking her clit perfectly against his pelvis while he’s buried inside her.

The effect she was looking for is instant, and she hears Lando choking on another moan, finally, “Fuck, yeah. Right there,” his fingers dig into her skin, hunger battling in his wide eyes. “Do that again, it feels so fucking good.”

“Shit, Lando,” she breaths out. “So deep, I can feel you everywhere.”

She pulls him in again and again, until he is practically whining beneath her. Seeing Lando so lost inside her makes her losing the rhythm, her breathing turning ragged, thighs ready to give up as exhaustion and pleasure blur into one. It’s messy and greedy on both sides, and when she finally collapses against his chest, she sobs out a cry, her voice cracking with it.

“Need you,” she exhales. “I can’t hold it anymore.”

Lando doesn’t waste a breath. One sharp, hungry movement and he’s planting his feet against the floor for leverage, thrusting up into her with everything he’s got. She gasps at the same time he groans deep in his chest, the sound vibrating between them as he finally takes her the way they’ve both needed.

Her mouth goes dry.

His jaw tightens.

Their breath grows heavier, shared in the tight, sweaty space. Her body tenses, then squeezes around him with such perfect pressure it leaves him breathless. A high-pitched moan spills from her, unexpected and honest, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, biting at it in order to shut herself up.

Gently, Lando catches her wrist, holding it firm. “If you’re gonna bite something,” he tilts his head, offering his shoulder, “Be a good girl and bite me instead.”

Her breathing is too fast and her mind runs at the speed of an F1 car. She can’t think straight and, for a moment, she just stays there, her forehead brushing the curve of his shoulder as she tries to catch herself from falling in too deep. Then slowly, like she’s giving in to something bigger than her, she places a kiss on his skin. Her lips press gently on it, trailing along the line of his neck to the dip of his collarbone. It’s the closest thing she’ll ever give him. The closest thing to letting herself feel for him.

He’s still warm, salty with sweat, and soft under her lips. And he smells so good, like skin and heat and something clean that clings to her nose and settles in her chest like smoke.

It drugs her.

The way his scent mixes with the feel of his breath against her temple, the way his pulse flutters beneath her lips — she has to stop. It’s too much, too close, too real.

“Think we should bet every race weekend, what do you say?” asks Lando, his pace quickening, hands guiding her up and down his cock like it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. “Would die to have you like this all the time, hm?”

“Mhm,” she grinds down until his name is all she can say. “Fuck. I’m so close.”

“Yeah, baby. I feel you.”

Her voice breaks off into a moan right when she’s about to speak again, to tell him not to go there and call her that. But Lando rolls his hips, pushing deeper, filling her inch by inch until there’s no space left, which shuts her up in an instant. They fuck in a rhythm that shouldn’t work, all sweat-slicked skin and shaky breaths. The air fills up with obscene sounds of them, their bodies colliding with enough force to make her whimper and moan his name all over again, each time he thrusts.

To help himself, he spreads her wider, holding her open for him, watching the way he disappears inside her, utterly wrecked by the sight. “Taking me so fucking well,” he says between thrusts, dragging his mouth over her jaw. “Look.”

She whines while looking down at where they’re joined. Lando moves his gaze on her expression with a grin on his face, so proud when he feels every spasm in her body; it’s a total mess. Her slick is all over him, coating his cock, his thighs, soaking through the waistband of his jeans that are still shoved only halfway down his hips. Each time they meet, there’s a wet sound echoing between them, sticky and warm, ricocheting against the walls in Lando’s living room like a drumbeat pulling them closer to the edge.

“You like how wrecked you’ve got me?”

She nods frantically, squeezing him so tight it makes Lando see stars. At that, he reaches up, brushing the strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears with his long fingers. His hand stays there a moment, continuing to slide lower, fingertips skimming her jaw, then wrapping gently around her throat, enough to feel her pulse. To hold her in place.

In a matter of seconds, their eyes lock again. Her chest heaves and her eyes shine, but not just from pleasure. It’s because she wants to tell him that this isn’t what she expected. It’s much, much more, and it will leave a deep mark, no matter which path they’ll choose to take tomorrow morning.

His hands move hungrily, down from her neck to her chest, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. He holds them carefully, wanting to memorize the shape, the weight, and the way they fill his palms, to make sure he won’t forget a single detail about her body.

“Lan,” she warns.

Lando hums, “Mhm. Right there with you, beautiful,” he assures her.

Her breathing is jagged, the rhythm of their hips desperate, chasing the edge that’s been teasing them since the moment she sank down onto him. Every motion drives him deeper, sends wave after wave crashing through her, because she’s right there for quite a while now.

“Hi there,” Lando’s voice brings her back. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, gently pulling her to see her face. “Look at me, I want to see you. Let me see you.”

Her body tenses, and just for a split second the frantic rhythm stutters, then finds its pace again as the orgasm rips through her with a blinding force. She keeps her eyes on his the whole time, riding it out with her hands burried in the curls at the back of his head. His hips jerk beneath her as he throbs inside her, overwhelmed by the way she fights to keep him in. It drives him crazy, and he moans loudly, trying to pull out, but her thighs close tighter around him.

“Inside,” she rushes to say, unable to form sentences longer than one word.

Lando’s jaw clenches so hard he feels like his teeth might snap from the force, every muscle in his body pulled tight and shivering. He holds on by a thread for half a second longer, but then her body flutters around him again, and with a loud, guttural gasp, he lets go, spilling inside her in thick pulses that only make her hold him tighter. His hands shake where they clutch at her hips, trying to pull her down even harder, like he can’t bear even a sliver of distance between them right in this moment.

None of them knows how much time passes like that, but neither of them moves again. She’s stays slumped against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck, while his arms stay locked around her waist, as if letting go might break whatever just happened between them.

Lando presses his cheek on the top of her head, his heart hammering so hard he’s sure she can feel it. But it’s fine, because he can feel hers, too.

His hands drift up and down her back in aimless strokes and, while she starts to come back to herself, she notices the music still playing softly around them, the same sultry beat from earlier floating through the air.

Her brows pinch together in confusion before realization hits. “How the fuck did you time your playlist so perfectly?”

Lando lets out a breathless laugh, “Talent.”

She snorts, dropping her head back onto his shoulder with a groan. “Goodness gracious, it is so hard tolerate you.”

“Liar,” he says, “You wanna kiss me so bad.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but the way her cheeks heat up gives her away immediately. Lando laughs under his breath again, cocky and so annoyingly right. She opens her mouth to fire back, to tell him that no, she definitely doesn’t want to kiss his smug ass, but then her eyes catch the little red light blinking from across the couch.

The camera. Still recording.

She nudges him softly, grinning against the flush in her cheeks, and points at it. “Smile and wave, Norris,” she whispers, and Lando immediately flashes the most ridiculous smirk at the lens, making her laugh for real this time.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[yieldtotemptation]

PYTHON ft. Danielle

danielle x male reader smut

17k words

“You really need to stop showing up like this,” you’re saying, knowing full well that it’s falling on deaf ears. But it doesn’t hurt to try.

Danielle tilts her head. Glossy lips part, flashing a smile. It’s pretty. So clearly practiced, and so fucking obvious. Worst of all—it absolutely works on you. “Like what?”

“Unannounced,” you start, before swerving, “Naked.”

“Well.” Danielle takes a step closer. Then another. Suddenly making you feel like a stranger in your own apartment. “If you really had a problem with it, you’d have changed the door code by now. Or told my sister what we’ve been up to.”

You need to correct her before this can get any further out of hand, there’s no we to tell anyone anything about, but—look. She’s half-right. You were going to get around to changing the locks. Eventually. The other part, the nuclear option, the sister of it all—“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then you’re just going to have to deal with me until you can,” she says, casually.

Doing that thing all pretty girls seem to have built into their genetic coding. Standing there, posing, like she’s the sum of a dozen happy accidents—the hip cocked just so, the hand at her impossibly tiny waist. The wet hair, the pout, the fucking collarbone.

Accidents—yeah right. 

Anyone else but her, and maybe you’d buy it. 

“Besides, I’m not completely naked,” she adds, smile sharpening into a grin, and—fuck.

She is far too gorgeous for her own good. She is also extremely, without a shadow of a doubt, bad news, persona non grata, unbelievably off-limits.

“I'm wearing your towel, after all.”

—

(Okay, okay, okay.

You’re well aware you’re the only person on this planet that wouldn’t be delighted to have Danielle stepping out of their shower.

But maybe consider the following points:

1)      You’re still raw, wound’s barely scabbed over from the last woman you let into your home;

2)      Your whole career kinda rides on the fact that you keep your head fucking straight and free from any distractions, especially the kind that’s crazy enough to break into your apartment and hot enough to make it seem like a perfectly good idea; and

3)      If you were going to ignore points 1 and 2, and just decide you’re going to let that towel drop and let whatever happens, happen (hopefully something with a lot of moaning and a lot of sweat and a lot of giving up on what little modicum of peace you’ve managed to claw back from the world)—she’s your ex-girlfriend’s sister, for fuck’s sake.

Counterpoint:

She’s Danielle fucking Marsh.)

 —

Clearly you should’ve ended things a week ago when she first showed up—kicked that irredeemably cute, tight ass out of your apartment and slammed the door behind her. 

You should’ve seen Danielle for the walking, talking red flag that she is: a jump-scare in skin-tight jeans, or a barely-there top, or more frequently than necessary (or not frequently enough, depending on how honest you’re feeling) in nothing but your towel that’s now clearly found its home around her razor-thin waist.

The girl is apparently allergic to clothes.

“I’m gonna make some ramyun,” she’s calling from the kitchen, rifling through your fridge. Voice carrying over the sound of a week’s worth of meal-prepping and pre-blended protein smoothies being carelessly shuffled out of order. “You want some too?”

No, not a ‘would it be okay for me to help myself’, or even a simple ‘do you mind?’. Just straight up making herself at home, helping herself to your bathroom, your kitchen, and after a very strong suggestion, one of your old sweatshirts.

Your casa; now her casa. Or something like that.

“I don’t have any ramyun,” is your answer. It comes out weak.

To that, she whips around, cradling in her arms her bounty—a pack of noodles, a tub of kimchi, and a cut of pork belly you’ve been saving for a special cheat day. Throws you a far-too-easy grin that you’re realising is her signature. “I know. I picked some up on the way here.”

“Of course you did.”

“It’s a good idea to eat normal people food every once in a while, instead of whatever this is,” she says, nodding her head to your stacks of perfectly portioned containers; your towers of health and virtue.

“I think I’m good,” you reply, cautiously. Resisting the urge to let your eyes wander and get caught for the nth time. Don’t want to give her even more ammunition in her campaign against your very clumsily-established boundaries.

At least not until you’ve made your cursory attempt to get her the fuck out of here. Trying (and inevitably failing) to come up with a compelling argument that would convince her to leave. Something to illustrate that this isn’t going anywhere, she doesn’t do a thing for you, let alone register as anything other than a mild strain on your already tenuous relationship with your ex-girlfriend.

Yeah, you don’t even believe that shit yourself.

Regardless, recognise that your first instincts, like always, are terrible ones. Ignore all the parts of your brain that are telling you to do things that could end with you buried in some unmarked grave along the DMZ. Ignore how good she looks wrapped up in your oversized sweatshirt; how it looks so lovely draped over her body, stopping short of the tops of her thighs, letting the damp, pale skin peek out and glisten and—

Fuck.

Maybe you should take the sweater back. Peel it right off her body and—

Again. Fuck.

“Trust me, you’ll want some. Everyone thinks they don't, right up until they do,” she says, and there she goes, pursing her lips together, throwing you a wink. God knows what she’s insinuating.

“Do whatever you want,” you’re saying, leaving out the implied—‘not like I can stop you’.

“Careful with your promises,” she’s laughing to herself, turning away and setting her culinary treasures next to your stove. “I just might have to hold you to them.”

That you pick up on immediately. But she lets it rest, putting a pause on the flirting-that’s-totally-not-flirting, busying herself with the task on hand. Reaching for your pots, your spices, navigating around your kitchen like she’s done it a million times before. So at ease, so… natural, in your space.

It’s eerily intimate.

Wearing your clothes, cooking for you, chatting over her shoulder as if she’s the sister that you have the years of history, of baggage with. First times and fuckups. All the messy, complicated shit in between.

(No matter how well she fits the role, a reminder: she’s not.)

There’s all these incidental miracles too—a curtain of chestnut brown hair sweeping aside as she stirs, a hint of bare shoulder, a column of porcelain along her neck. The sag of her collar until it’s falling down one arm, and there’s no sign of a top underneath, no strap, nothing to curb your imagination from running wild.

And it's all extremely unfair, how the hemline rises with each sway, how it clings right to her waist and curves around the flare of her hips. It wasn’t built for someone like her, wasn’t designed to withstand being worn like this.

But it tries it’s best. You do too.

You really should force your eyes elsewhere. The living room, the TV, the window. Anywhere but her. But you can’t help yourself.

“So,” she starts, happy to let the dish come together on its own. Asks, apropos of nothing, “You ever wonder why my sister never wanted to leave us alone together?”

You blink, torn from the hypnosis of her bare skin. “What?”

Danielle’s facing you again, leaning over the kitchen island. Playing with a loose strand of hair, looping it around her finger. Taking the dumb look on your face as an answer. “I mean, before all these little hangouts we never even had a full conversation, just me and you. One-on-one. Isn’t that weird?”

No. It never occurred to you, because it’s not weird at all.

Because Danielle is, and this is plain fact at this point—not in any way, shape or form exaggeration—unfathomably, quite offensively hot, and very much aware of the devastating effect she has on the people around her just by simply existing.

You hardly trust yourself at the moment.

“Then again, she probably knew what I’d do if given the chance.”

Danielle bites her lip, and you make the mistake of staring for just a second too long.

Yeah, it makes a lot of fucking sense.

(Back in the kitchen, the pot boils over.)

—

(It was somewhere close to the end of things; when it became more common to talk in loud accusations than sweet whispers, that your ex was telling you—“I do love her. But I swear sometimes, I can’t stand her.”

“Who?” You’d asked, because playing dumb was much easier than accidentally stumbling into some new argument you weren’t quite prepared for.

“Dani.”

“Your sister?” you replied, too quickly, and without thinking, “I don’t know—she seems sweet.”

There’s a pause, a tension in the car and your hand clenches around the steering wheel as you realise what you said, and the entire world holds its breath. Then, she laughs. Something sad and bitter that makes you wince. “Sweet? Yeah, sure. She’s a fucking angel.”

And before she can even elaborate on that, she’s looking out the window, leaving you to wonder how you’re at fault this time.

So, you decide then and there to never mention her again, never even look in said sister’s direction when she’s around. Push her out of your mind completely. As far as you’re concerned, she never even existed.

That lasts right up until the next time you see Danielle, and she’s all smiles and friendliness and barely-dressed and so painfully attractive and so very happy to see you. And sure, maybe you smile back, reciprocate the hug, blush when she kisses your cheek, hold your hand on her lower back for that extra millisecond too long, bounding over that ephemeral line and right into flagrantly inappropriate territory.

All the while, somewhere over your shoulder your ex spits out the corner of her mouth—“Typical.”)

—

“I thought I already explained?” Danielle starts, the next time she shows up uninvited, half-naked, bright and early and ready to completely fuck up your day.

Despite the number of times you’ve witnessed the same routine, it still floors you every time she sashays into your kitchen, towel draped low on her body, wrapped around her ridiculously tiny frame, water droplets clinging to her flushed skin like a layer of glitter.

Fresh from a shower. She’s always just fresh from a shower.

She’s already rolling her eyes at whatever she’s about to say. Takes a deep breath, then: “There’s a whole thing going on with my living situation at the moment. You probably don’t need to know anything other than sharing a bathroom with four other girls can be a bit of a nightmare, and your place is so conveniently close, and your water pressure is actually unbelievably good, so—”

You’re very slowly realising that she’s never imagined a reality where this would actually be a problem for you. “And so you decided that the next best option was a complete stranger’s apartment?”

Danielle drums her fingers over your kitchen counter. Your eyes follow the beat. “You’re not a complete stranger.”

“You don’t even know me,” you say, trying to play the part of the responsible adult. Danielle scoffs, because you’re failing spectacularly.

“Well, according to my sister, I have nothing to worry about when it comes to you,” she says, adding, “she told me the two of you broke up because you were gay.”

“She said what?”

She recites, “He prefers rolling around with men than with me—were her exact words.”

“M-M-A. I do MMA.”

“Hm.” Danielle’s baring teeth now, a dangerous slant to her smile. “Is that a new addition to the acronym? LGBTQI-MMA? What colours are your flag?”

“It’s fighting,” you clarify, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “Mixed martial arts. I’m not—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m not—”

“Sure.” She pushes herself upright and rounds the counter, swinging herself around and over to you. “And here I thought you had all those muscles for show.”

“I’m very straight.”

Her laugh fills the room, makes it warmer, the air sweeter somehow. You choke on it. “Good to know.”

She closes the distance in much fewer steps than you’d like, bare feet gliding across heated flooring, until you’re forced to notice that she’s taken the liberty of using all your shower products too, and you’re starting to rationalise the perfectly normal response it's eliciting. The shortness of breath, the thumping in your chest, the stickiness of your palms.

All perfectly normal.

Stand your ground, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re taller, probably twice her weight. You could pick her up and throw her out if you had to. Or onto one of the many softer surfaces in your apartment.

Erase that thought.

“If it really helps, maybe all we need to do is get to know each other better,” she says, all honeyed-sweet and fucking hazardous, and when she’s this close, you can’t avoid looking.

You try not to, but you’re absorbing all the details—how are her lips this pink, how do they look this soft? How does her skin look so smooth, how does vanilla and coconut and sandalwood smell so much better on her?

It’s fucking troubling how much of her sister you can see in her, except it’s all skewed in directions that make your brain short-circuit. Similar eyes, same shape, but darker; less warmth, more heat. That same mouth, the curve is a mirror when she smiles, but on her its natural state is a pout or a grin over anything close to reassuring.

The dial’s been turned up, the sliders are all wrong, no one should look this good with this little effort.

“For starters, how about we just exchange numbers? So I can call ahead before I come up next time. Avoid any unnecessary surprises,” she throws out, noncommittal. “Even though that’s the best part.”

It should stun you, the smoothness of her request. So innocent in its construction. Yet she loads it heavy, suggestion stacked on suggestion.

She continues, when she catches the look on your face, “I promise I’ll only contact you in strictly emergency shower situations. Would that be okay?”

“That’s fine,” you answer, making liars of you both.

“Then it’s decided then!” She practically cheers, jumps in your arms, wraps you in a hug. Looks up at you, all smiles, all teeth; all wide eyes and hopefulness and fucking hell she’s so close.

Instinct has you leaning closer, has you maybe letting your hands rest a little too comfortably around her waist.

Panic has you recognising that you need to get out of here before she catches on to the involuntarily reactions she’s coaxing out of you. Eyes dipping down to the towel, heart bursting out of your chest, and your co—

“It goes without saying, but you can contact me too. For anything. Emergency or not.”

Yep, it’s about time to get the fuck out of here. Peeling her arms off you, bailing on this conversation before you start agreeing to even more things you know you shouldn’t. You declare, rather robotically, “I should be on my way out.”

“Guys waiting for you to roll around with?”

You sigh, “Something like that.”

“Well, I’m always available if you want someone more fun to practice with,” she says, before amending. “Or, on.”

Again, this can absolutely not happen. You’re not usually one for rules, but it goes without saying—no fucking around with your ex’s sister. It’s like the golden rule of dating, or human decency, or something.

Besides, it’s not really about you that she's into. It’s about the idea of you—the one person who won’t immediately give her what she wants.

That’s all.

She’s just a brat that’s dealing with denial for the first time. Right?

Danielle pouts when it’s clear that you’re not going to feed into any more of her flirty delusions. Twirls on her heels, the towel dancing around her waist. You’re pretty sure you could write a whole essay on the physics of it all.

“Guess there’s no point in me sticking around if you’re not going to be here.”

You avert your eyes. No need to watch her disappear into her room.  

Correction—your room.

But then you hear it, and your head whips around so quick you get fucking whiplash.

Witnessing Danielle time her exit just right so the last thing you see before she rounds the corner is the sweep of her back, the drop of her towel, and the flash of her tight, bare ass that will burn itself into the back of your retinas and stay there for the rest of the day.

—

(You really should’ve seen this coming.

Or maybe you did, and the lesser angels of your nature thought it wouldn’t be so bad to let it happen.

Whatever, it’s too late to come back now because Danielle’s taken to sending you messages throughout her day. All mundane updates; what she’s doing, who she’s with, what’s she eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner. Little things throughout the day that somehow remind her—through bizarre and barely tangential logic—of you.

You read them, pretend to ignore them.

You choose not to reply.

She chooses to start sending photos.)

—

It really, really doesn’t help that Danielle is everywhere.

She’ll be in your kitchen, your living room, your bedroom when she conveniently forgot to bring a change of clothes and the ones that she came over in are way too sweaty and sticky to put back on. Hopefully you don’t mind washing it for her?

You’ll leave your apartment thinking you’re finally free, only to find her flashing that grin on giant screens hanging off buildings, or on the side of the buses you take to the gym, or on the cover of every magazine at the convenience store where you used to dive in for a quick snack without ever even having to worry about her existence.

Her music plays in the café you get your afternoon caffeine fix; her commercials show up on every single app on your phone—she’s selling everything from headphones to sneakers to fucking bank loans. All with that same sweet, annoying, lovely voice that haunts you with unabashed innuendo and questions about where you keep your fabric softener and why your apartment is completely barren of anything that could be considered a snack.

It's a sick, sick joke the universe is playing on you. Throwing her in your face every five minutes when all you can think about is how she looked that morning when she took her time putting herself together—just lounging on your couch in nothing but a pair of glasses and a towel, kicking her legs up in the air while she laughs over some meme that's completely skipped your generation.

The legs. Can’t help but think what it would be like to run your tongue over them.

She'd probably be thrilled to let you try.

“Hey,” Danielle says, choosing the moment when you’re trying to figure out just how high her legs go to catch your attention. “Did you and my sister ever do it on this couch?”

“What?” —the fuck.

“Just asking,” Danielle sing-songs, taking the opportune moment to adjust the knot on the towel. Higher up her chest, higher up her thighs. “It’s got good cushioning, you know.”

“That’s,” and really, stop right there, because you’re not about to rehash the greatest hits with her. Not going to even get close to dipping your toes into an innocent, casual chat about ghosts long exorcised—about all the nights you had your ex spread out like a buffet, her legs around your neck, her nails digging into your back; her whispers and pleas, the sweet taste of her—and fuck, now the memory of her face is twisting and morphing and you’re seeing Danielle in those same positions and—

You shake your head, clearing the fog.

"Not going there."

Danielle feigns innocence, batting those doe-eyes. You’re already sick of that sugary-sweet giggle. "Where?"

“Anywhere. With you.”

“You never know, it could help,” she’s teasing. Possibly the most dangerous sentence you’ve ever heard. “Replace all the old memories with some new ones? A little less her, a little more," she pauses for great emphasis, and it feeds right into the mouth of the devil on your shoulder, "me?"

“Danielle—”

“You know, you can just call me Dani. All my close friends do.”

Alarm bells are blaring. Take the easy way out, just leave again. Maybe leave forever. Get out of here and don’t look back. She can have your apartment as far as you’re concerned—the backseat of your car isn’t that uncomfortable.

But before you can make a break for the door—"I just meant we could watch a movie or something.”

And again, you find yourself asking so often these days, “What?”

“You know a little bit of Netflix,” she suggests, and you’re already anticipating the grin before it spreads across her face, because she’s far too smart to play dumb, “and a bit of chill?”

“Danielle—” you try once more, then correcting before you can think better of it, “Dani.”

Danielle blinks. Adjusts herself. Pats the cushion next to her.

Her legs spread, then cross over each other. Just to give you some room.

The towel holds on for dear life.

—

It all goes to shit in a matter of days.

Truthfully, you can’t be blamed for this one, no matter how predictably it plays out.

Danielle’s fogged up your mind with thoughts you’d rather not be having, really been hard at work convincing you of just how available she is.

(Translation: Look at me, aren't I just so damn fuckable?)

Even though it’s all been common knowledge from the get-go, her cards have been on the table since she first stepped out of the steam and rented a space inside your brain, whether you want to be honest with yourself or not.

She wants you, badly.

You want her too.

It’s all you think about.

So, it’s no surprise your coach sends you home early from training after taking one too many unanswered shots to the head. Pushes you out the door and yells at you to get over or on top of whatever the fuck is going on in your personal life.

You know he’s right.

And it’s in this state, where your brain is mildly-concussed and filled with the images of Danielle—the ones of her wearing next to nothing except that fucking wry, knowing smirk of hers, like she’s just counting down the moments until you finally, inevitably give in—that you stumble into your apartment.

You don’t even have the strength to close the door properly.

You barely notice the closed blinds, the heating turned up too high, the light coming from your room, the scent of something much more sweeter; something that doesn’t belong here at all.

No, you don’t notice anything at all—until you do.

A moan from down the hall.

Louder as you approach, joined by noises of shuffling bedsheets, the unmistakable rhythmic squeaks of your mattress. The slick sounds of skin on skin, and—oh fuck.

You push open your door.

Danielle’s there to greet you, flat on your bed, fingers deep inside her cunt.

Wearing your sweatshirt and nothing else.

Crying out your name.

It’s game over.

Every filthy, lurid though, every half-imagined fantasy, everything your brain has conjured up whenever you've caught a glimpse of Danielle's bare skin, brought to life.

Fucking gorgeous, pretty, even like this. Wrecking herself so sweetly, fucking herself with her fingers so deeply and carefully, half-naked and wet and begging.

“Ah, God—” She’s sinking into herself, not even registering your presence, nor the fact that the door’s even opened.

Her face is locked into this smile, and you clock it as the same one she wears every time she catches you watching her, every time she manages to make that crack in your armour widen just a smidge. It’s a trap. A challenge. An invitation.

You hover by the door, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but watch as she works herself over, eyes fixed shut, cheeks red, burning hot.

You shouldn’t look.

You should turn around.

You should do anything but stay.

But you don’t.

You just witness her, in your bed, chanting your name in tempo with her own fingers. Your body betrays you—you take a step forward.

Her eyes open. Unsurprised. “Hey.”

She keeps going.

One more step couldn’t hurt. Moth to her flame, fly to her sweet, sticky trap.

The sweatshirt is a crime against humanity, hiding her like that. You could reach down, rip it off her, expose all her secrets to the cold air. Finally see it all.

But instead, you keep your eyes trained, transfixed, as she arches her back, her breasts pushing up against the cotton, points of her nipples poking through. Abs—chiselled, firm, tense—revealed inch by glorious inch.

Your name on her lips, moaned into your ears.

And her pussy. So pretty. Pink, plump. Perfect.

Sopping wet and making a mess of your bedsheets. The mattress will never be the same. 

“Welcome home,” she gasps out. Loving this turn of events. Spreads her legs wider, no intention to stop. Just going on and on.

She stretches out your name for good measure, fucking herself faster. Fingers plunging in and out of herself, hips rocking back and forth. Eyes locking onto yours, daring you to do something about it.

“How’s the view?” She’s grinning, aiming for seductive, nonchalant, but her voice is all broken-up and fucked up. Too turned on to be anything but earnest.

“Fucking hell,” you find your own voice much the same. Really, it’s a miracle that your lungs aren’t clogged up with the thick, heavy air that’s settled in your room. Or that your tongue isn’t a dry, useless slab of meat in your mouth.

“I’d say it’s rather—gah—” Danielle says, taking your words, twisting them into something that sounds like a whine as her eyes slowly shut, a fresh wave of pleasure washing over her. She opens them again, focuses on you. “Heavenly.”

You should have more to say. Something locked and loaded to navigate your way out of this specific situation, because face it, this was always going to happen one way or another the day you let her have free reign of your apartment, of your life, of your thoughts.

Your mouth opens, hoping something disarming and with enough wit comes out to end this whole farce, only Danielle beats you to the punch—“I bet it tastes heavenly too.”

And then the words come to you. You grit out, “Stop.”

Danielle laughs. Unconvinced. “Why should I?”

You repeat. “Stop.”

She just keeps fucking herself. “Make me.”

“Stop,” you let your voice come out deep, firm. Like it's a threat. Taking the closest ankle in your grip, lifting her leg up.

Danielle gasps. Her hand stills.

“Stop and let me.”

Danielle’s whispering now. “Then go ahead.”

You’ve never imagined yourself as that guy. You’re a romantic, you swear. Grand gestures, sweet kisses, candles, roses, the works, making love slow and soft until the sun comes up.

Nothing like this.

Like wanting to ruin something beautiful. Take the hottest girl you’ve ever met, probably ever lived. Cross lines so thick you’d typically need a buzzsaw to cut through. Make her forget about anything that isn’t you, anything that isn’t you. Make her need you in the worst way.

Make her come apart in your fucking hands.

The look on Danielle’s face gives you all the permission you need. Her words are just the cherry on top. “Please.”

You start small.

A kiss on the sole of her foot, and Danielle’s already trembling, giggling, at the light touch. More kisses, building, keen attention on the arch, the ankle, the calf, and she’s shivering. Muscles tensing under your lips, body tightening in anticipation.

She’s a ticking time bomb, was on edge when you walked in, so you don’t drag it out. Just long enough to make her whine. Get a few, “God you’re so—”, gasps and half-formed sentences that die the higher you get.

You kiss your way past her knee, and she’s properly whimpering now. Her fault that her legs are so long. A ladder of sweetness, salt on her skin, and you’re starving. She is right. It tastes heavenly. You’ll do your part by devouring it, bite by fucking bite.

“This is torture,” the words slip out of her, but it hardly sounds like a complaint. Moreso a confession. Something to say while her shoulders sink into the mattress and her fingers dig into the sheets. “Sweet torture.”

A chuckle into her inner thigh, where the skin is softest, smoothest, and her wetness has leaked down far enough to coat your cheek. Because this is the first time Danielle’s been anywhere close to a position of submissiveness to you. Let the mask, the control slip. The game, the pretences. All it took was the right use of your tongue.

“Higher, please, just eat me already,” she’s pleading now, and it sounds so lovely coming from her lips. And fuck, the scent of her, her arousal, sweet and heady. Calling for you to just dive in face-first.

But you want her to beg. Make her as desperate as she’s made you. It’s only fair.

Your nose meets the bottom of the sweatshirt. You push up, ghost your lips, the warmth of your breath higher up her thigh until her hips are practically stuttering.

Lean in, nibble the flesh just beside her pussy.

She convulses then and there. Arches off the bed, a sharp cry leaving her lips.

Only a moment to revel in it before your hair is snatched in her hands, pulling you closer, and you finally give her what she wants. Tongue darting out, tasting her.

“Right—yes—fuck!”

Her scream drowns out the groan climbing out from your throat, as your lungs are filled with the depths of her. No waiting, really, she’s fucking soaked already. Primed, prepared for your tongue. For the sucking, licking, kissing; every part of her that’s been begging for attention, waiting for you.

Her hips buck, but your palms shoot up, press down against the flat of her stomach, feel the ridged abs, the tiny waist under your fingertips. Holding her down with a firm hand. Letting her know the truth of it all. She’s yours now.

All she can do is whine, “I—I—God, I need—”

“Need me to taste you? Lick you, suck you right up, ruin you with my tongue?” The things coming out of your mouth, the aggression in your tone, it surprises you. But there's not enough time to ponder on what manner of beast she's turned you into so quickly, there's only what's next—press the flat of your tongue against her folds, give a rough, firm pressure, make her squirm.

It’s from here that you can witness it all: the bend of her neck as she throws her head back, the tightness in her stomach, the sharp inhale and heavy exhale of her chest. The tremble in her thighs against your cheek, her breath hitching and her pussy quivering over your mouth.

And it comes to you, so easily, like it was always there. Filth being composed in the back of your mind anytime she was in your presence. Everything you've ever wanted to do to this girl. Everything you've wanted to inflict upon her cunt.

“I'm gonna make you into a fucking mess all over my face, down my chin, all over my bed. Fuck this pussy, Danielle. I could get drunk off it. So fucking sweet.”

“It’s—fuck—” and you’re really enjoying this now, having her be the one that’s lost for words for once. “—whatever—all of it. Do whatever you want, please, because I’m so, so close.”

“I didn’t need your permission,” you tell her, speaking into her cunt. “But it’s appreciated anyway.”

And Danielle’s well and truly wrecked. Drenched cunt so swollen and desperate and really, truly in quite a state. So desperate for you, her body thrumming with it. Cunt pulsing like a fucking heartbeat.

You could take it slow. Could drag out the torture a little longer.

Fuck that.

Tongue goes higher, fixes upon her clit. Danielle falls apart.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” Her words are slurring together, choked out, gasps, whines. Barely coherent, and yet, “your mouth—tongue—please—”

The pleases you recognise, they come in staccatos as you lick her from bottom to top. Long, slow drags that make her legs shake.

“You’re going to scream for me,” you declare, a prediction more than an instruction. “Beg for me. Going to make you cum so hard. So loud. Going to make you remember it. Remember me every time you think about touching this sweet cunt.

“Sadist,” she manages, breathless, but it’s hard to detect anything from her other than pure glee. “I can see why my sister would always come home so—fuck—so worn out from seeing you.”

“Don’t,” you spit on her cunt. Take a long, gratuitous lap of your tongue against her folds. Force her hips against your face.

“I’m only wondering—” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice, and you know that whatever’s going to follow is going to make you fucking crazy— “Did she taste as good as me?”

You try your best to ignore the taunt. Just push your tongue inside her, feel the way she clenches around the muscle. Fuck her for making you even think about your ex.

“Or did she ever even get to feel like this? Did she let you? Or maybe you never gave her the honour. Because I can't imagine ever letting go of someone like you."

“Enough,” you murmur, not even sure if it’s a warning or a plea. Your teeth graze her clit. Danielle jolts. “This isn’t about her. It’s about you.”

A barely there—“Me?”

“You started this,” your voice is gravelly now, coloured with something mean, “Just had to be too pretty to ignore. Fucking cocktease.”

“Then—oh—give me what I deserve.”

“That would take hours.” The laugh that comes out of your mouth is anything but warm, and she tries to fire back with one of her usual quips—something that dances on the line of flirty and sarcastic and completely charming all at once, the full Danielle experience.

But that all dies on her lips when your finger pushes through until you’re knuckle-deep, curling up inside her.

“Ah—fuck—” That’s all she’s got, and it’s all you need.

You kiss her cunt, suction around those puffy lips. Her pussy is just so, so pretty; like the rest of her, same as every single fucking inch of her. Even now, all huffing and groaning and fucked-up on your tongue—so effortlessly beautiful.

“Baby,” comes out, all velvety and warm, and then again and again. Pitch rising, falling, voice getting louder, a crescendo dictated by your mouth.

Creamy thighs fit snug over either side of your head, but you’re not going anywhere. You need to make her cum—as hard as she can. Make sure she remembers.

You lick, kiss, suck. Danielle doesn’t require much precision, just intense passion. Showing her how much you love her cunt, love making her fall apart. Really sloppy with it, it’s the pace that matters at this point—giving her everything that’s been boiling deep inside her since she ever laid eyes on you.

Swirl your tongue around her clit, flicking it in a way that has her knees shake and bang together. Suck deep against her folds, making her fingers knot themselves in your hair. And when you moan into her cunt, vibrate your lips against her while your fingers—one, then two, now three—work her over, well—

She can’t fucking do anything but try to breathe, try to keep herself together. Be anything other than the excruciatingly cute and beautiful and fucking delicious mess you’re turning her into.

“Right—right there—right there—” Unnecessary instruction, really. Because you already have her dissolving underneath your tongue. Filling your bedroom, your apartment with noises of her cunt being properly fucked, the sighs and moans that bounce off the walls, echoing around your skull. Putting you in some heavenly torture chamber where the only way out is through her orgasm.

And it’s somewhere in her pleas for a higher power that you feel the beginnings, or the very rapidly approaching endings of it all. The tightness in her thigh, the convulsions. The waterfall dripping down your tongue, your fingers, onto the palm of your hand and pooling underneath her ass.

“This is—this is too much—"

Too much means not enough. Not enough of her, not when you’re so in love with the sound of her breaking apart. The smell of her on your nose, your chin. The feeling of her cunt colliding against your lips.

“Oh God, fuck, please, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—"

You breathe in, take all you can from what little oxygen she’s left in the room, and bury your face in her. You don’t let up until her cries become screams, until she’s bucking against your face, until her nails are digging into your scalp.

You don’t stop until you feel the first pulse in her climax, until her cunt clenches around your fingers like a fist, until she’s painting your face with her wetness.

And that’s when you reach your other hand around her, urge your fingers underneath those tight, firm cheeks. Push a finger up into her ass, press into that puckered button, making her seize like you just sent a bolt of lightning through her.

“What the fuck, it’s so—God!”

For a moment, she’s yours. Completely and utterly yours.

Her stomach tenses, abs bunching and knitting together. Not a single muscle in her body moves, just frozen in place, locked in pleasure.

Tiny, little shakes, building and building, until it’s a full-body experience; quakes all over her skin, shaking your whole bed. And then—

“Daddy!”

There’s a right word for this—flawless, absolute, divine. Or just plain perfect.

The way she cums is so at odds with who she is. It’s not pretty, it’s not subtle. God, it’s fucking apocalyptic. Orgasms herself into an out-of-body experience onto your chin.

It’s all so fucking obvious; people in the next building over will be able to feel what she’s going through just by the timbre of her voice when she cries out for some sort of God, or spits a filthy curse, or just screams your name in a dozen different ways.

“You’re fucking—yes!”

You need both hands back on her body to fix her to the bed, make sure she doesn’t fall off the fucking edge of the world. Help her bear it, through gritted teeth and sharp hisses, that one final push into oblivion.

A whine signals the end for her; a final real, loud, teary-eyed whine. The most honest sound you’ve ever heard from her and fuck you’d do anything to hear more of it. Give up everything for just an echo of the sweet obscenities that fall from her lips when she cums.

Danielle exhales.

Tries to relax her way out of it. But the trembles haven’t left her, still bubbling underneath her skin. Her legs fall away from your head, leaving your ears ringing, and you ease back. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You massage her, run your hands up to her waist, underneath the sweatshirt. Stroke the lines on her body to coax her back down to the land of the living. Let it all slow down.

Her eyes are still hazy, glazed over, pupils all fucked-up and blown wide.

“Animal,” she says, when her lungs begin to fill again. She giggles, and there’s all the sweetness returning to her body. Radiating off her in this afterglow. Twisting herself a little beneath you to work out all the tension that you’ve just built up and wrecked her with.

“You asked for it,” you tease, hovering over her. Rightfully smug.

Danielle huffs. Looking so pretty behind all the tears. “And I will again.”

And you exhale too, because now you don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into.

But Danielle doesn’t give you time to dwell on your thoughts. Scoots up and shifts so she’s on her elbows. Takes your chin in her fingers. Kisses you.

Inhales you deep, tongue immediately pushing past your lips, scraping around the edges. Licking up all the evidence that’s still stuck on the roof of your mouth.

You fall into her, hands rising up her body. God, you just need to feel her nipples harden beneath your palm, her body fold back into yours. Get to know every curve, every dip. You’ve tasted heaven, now you want to map it out with your fingers.

Your hips urge against her waist, pushing her legs apart, and that tells Danielle all she needs to know.

But her tongue leaves yours, escapes the chase of your own.

“Not yet,” and she’s laughing because you actually believed for a heartbeat that you were the one in control here. That you weren’t the one that was going to be left begging. Aching. Left with nothing to do but commit the taste of her to memory.

She draws her tongue across your jaw, your cheek. Licks your face clean, leaves it sticky. Smiles against your skin.

“But maybe later.” She pushes back, hand at your chest. Gets herself up and off your bed, turns away from you so you can only imagine the grin playing on her lips.

Her ass tilts. Her pussy drips onto your floor.

She looks over her shoulder, blows you a kiss, a wink. “Gotta take a shower first.”  

—

(This is the part where Danielle pulls her greatest trick yet—radio silence.

A week without hearing from her—not a text, not a peep, nothing. Turning your brain inside out. Leaving you with nothing but this tangled mess of thoughts about thighs and abs and moans and questions of did whatever the fuck that was really happen?

The worst part of it all is, you know exactly what she’s doing when she’s not busy haunting the edges of your apartment, leaving her fingerprints in every room, over every surface, just waiting for you to find them.

She’s quite easy to be found. She’s still everywhere.

Everywhere except the one place you need her to be.

It’s too early in the evening to be lying in bed, staring at your phone, nothing but the background noise of heaters, TVs and air purifiers to make you seem less alone.

You should really have much better things to do then to hover your thumb over her name.

Your screen lights up with a message—immediately disappointing you when you realise it’s not her. Just your training partner, sending a cursory group invite to anyone else that fancies a night out to break up the routine of getting punched in the head on the daily.

Fuck it.

It’s as good a time to drink as any.)

—

You’re barely in one piece when you get home; which is really par for the course for the past few weeks.

Dazed, horny, tired, concussed—and now, stone-cold drunk.

Habit has you collapsing on your bed in a heap, flicking on your phone, dragging your finger over the screen and taking an embarrassing amount of attempts to unlock it. The blue glow lights up your room, the screen immediately blasting you with the most recent thing you were looking at—the last photo Danielle had sent you.

The one she took in front of your bathroom mirror, where she’s leaning over the sink. A hand perched on the counter, hip cocked to the side. Towel hanging on by a thread, dipping, just so. Tongue poking out, lips looking so shiny and soft.

Eyes right down the barrel of the camera. Knowing the reaction it’ll force out of you. The power she has to stir your cock to life with just a single image.

It’s so fucked up. How in such a short amount of time, she’s occupied every corner of your mind, every corner of your digital life. Unavoidable. Inescapable.

And there’s truth in that: you’re flying too close to the sun; you’re going to get burned but you can’t help but soar a little closer anyway. Heading headfirst into tears, heartache, or worse, a very awkward family reunion.

And you hate that you miss her.

Hate that you’re calling her.

She answers.

“Hey—” you slur, making a stellar start.

You’re picturing the smug smile on the other end of the line. “Is this a drunk dial?”

“I—yeah.” No point in lying. You’re not good at it, and she’s not that dumb.

“Well, I’m flattered,” and there’s pure amusement seeping out of the speaker and into your ear. She sounds like she’s laughing at you. But it’s warm, familiar, and for a second it’s like she’s right here, in your room, in your bed, her naked body pressed against yours. “To what do I owe the honour?”

Since you’re too inebriated to be anything other than honest, you just outright say it—“Got drunk. Can’t sleep. Missed you.”

There's hesitation on the other end. Surprise, you guess. "Then that makes two of us."

"You're drunk too?"

"Unfortunately not. Just the insomnia and the yearning on my part."

“Why aren’t you here?” comes right out your mouth, before you can even stop it.

Her breaths come through the phone. Slow. “Because I’m in a hotel. Hong Kong.”

You roll onto your back, close your eyes. Picture it. Danielle, prettier-than-perfect, curled up on some plush, extravagant bedspread. A complimentary towel getting the luxury of being around her tight figure. Her long legs stretched out in front of her, painted toes digging into the sheets.

You still remember how they felt against your lips.

“I don’t believe you,” you decide, and demand, “Turn on your camera.”

“Oh, you’re very drunk,” is Danielle’s reply, right before the chime of your phone and—

There she is. Scarily accurate to your imagination. Only now, the details are colouring in the rest of the picture—the contrast of hotel white against her dark hair. The glint of light off her sharp cheekbones. Her lips absolutely wicked.

No towel, though. A bathrobe this time.

“It’s fucked up how pretty you are,” you say, because it’s true and you can’t hold back. “Like, Christ.”

Danielle giggles, and it’s also fucked up the things the sound does to your stomach. Forcing you to realise how much you missed having it in your apartment. She leans closer to the camera, head tilting a little to the side. “Very, very drunk.”

“Don’t have to be drunk to recognise how good you look.”

“I always look good.”

“If you were here right now—or if I was there—”

“You’d what? Bury your face between my thighs? Ruin me with your tongue?” She’s smiling. Teasing. Thank God you can see her face again. “Make me call you Daddy?”

“I didn’t make you do anything. That was all you.”

“And you just happened to love it,” she says so easily. Full of confidence. “What else would you love to make me do?”

It comes to your mind immediately, the thought of it—“Your shoulder.”

Her eyebrow jumps up at that, expression settling into something curious. “My shoulder?” She angles herself, gives you a better look. Leaving it bare, the bathrobe droops, doesn’t bother to hide the line of her throat. “Nothing about my neck, my eyes, my lips?”

“I’d get to that. But I’d start with your shoulder,” you recite, letting her in on the journal entries you’ve been writing in your mind. Notes on Danielle. “You’re always just leaving it out there. Your shoulder, collarbone. I’d kiss there first.”

Your words do something to her, you can see it through your bleary eyes. She shifts on top of her bed, twists herself around to settle into a more comfortable position. Leans back into the headboard of her bed. Juts her shoulder out so the bathrobe drops further down her arm.

Has you follow the path of her camera as she angles it lower, and it doesn’t help that she’s biting on her lower lip, and you can’t see where her other hand has gone, and she’s spurring you on by asking:

“Would you kiss me lower too?” The bathrobe parts, plush cotton revealing a single line of her sternum, and then further still, the shadow of her cleavage just out of view.

You nod, swallow. A strained, “Yeah.”

“And here?” The robe slips, falls further down. Revealing the swell of one perfect breast. A nipple, stiffened from the cold. Or the thought of your lips.

Your eyes are locked onto the image of her creamy skin, the darkened areola. You don’t care that you’re groaning, that your hand is already reaching down to palm your erection through your sweatpants. You don’t care that she probably knows.

It’s what she wants.

“Yeah, I’d kiss you there. Lick it. Get it between my teeth, and—”

“Sounds like you’ve thought a lot about me,” she murmurs, but she’s only saying things that you both are keenly aware of. You are—have been—putty in her hands. A man lost at sea with only her voice as a compass. The camera moves in closer still. You can feel the heat of her skin through the screen. “What if I told you I’ve been thinking about you too?”

Her free hand returns in view. Up to her chest. Teasing her own nipple; pinching between her thumb and forefinger. She gasps, breathes heavy down the line, and you swear you can feel it too, a phantom softness at your own fingertips.

“I’ve been thinking about what you did to me with your mouth, been thinking about it—” she’s panting, and her hand’s moving. Thumb tracing lazy circles around her breast, and you’re thinking that it’s the exact path you’d take with your tongue. “Every. Single. Night.”

It’s too much and nearly not enough. No where close to satisfying the ache she’s built inside you. You want her here, in your bed, underneath you. You want to show her what you can really do to her. How you’d kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, lick her until she couldn’t think, fuck her until she’s nothing more but a shivering mess, leave her begging.

And then, as if announcing your own thoughts back to you— “I want to cum,” she sighs, barely a whisper. “But I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Show me.”

There’s a beat, two, where Danielle mulls it over. Nothing but pants heard through the speaker. Her nipple still in view.

Until she turns, phone hitting the bedside table with a gentle thump. Screen still on, camera pointing right at her face. But the angle’s off—she shifts it downward and returns to the bed.

It sobers you up, puts you on alert. Danielle. Lying on her side. The soft, pale swell of her breasts, the dip of her vanishing, practically non-existent waist. The curve of her hips down to the long, smooth legs. The robe slides down, baring her other shoulder. Her neck. The cut of her clavicle.

Fuck.

Her breathing hitches when she sees you, the look on your face. So low, so quiet, when she says, “Now, you too.”

A mirror of her actions—your phone finds a spot to lean on. Hands wobbly, vision blurs as you rush to get the angle right. Sweatpants disappear, freeing your cock. The waistband catches on your length, causing it to spring out hard.

It’s Danielle’s turn now to groan out a “Fuck.”

And for a moment, it’s just heat and silence. Hot, laboured breaths filling the space between the two of you. Her hand drifts down, skating between her abs, lower—

“Tell me,” she says, fingers crawling to the hood of her pussy, gliding over where she’s most sensitive. Her thighs part slightly, slowly, showing herself to the camera, to you. How wet she is, how delicious she looks. You want to taste it. You’d die to feel the heat of her against your tongue once more.

But you’re not there. You’re both stuck in this digital limbo. Two people desperate to fuck each other through a screen. It won’t be enough. It just can’t be. But it’s all you’ve got, so it’ll have to do.

“Tell me everything.” Her eyes close, hand starting to move with purpose. Spreading her folds. Glistening clit standing proud. “Everything you’d do to me. All of it. I know you’ve been thinking about me. Give me every little detail. Make it dirty, make it good, make it—”

“I—” you start, only to stumble, “I want to fuck you.”

“Obviously,” she’s smiling into the camera, and yeah, you’re realising it was a stupid way to begin things. “Please don’t make me do all the work here. Where’s the guy that said he’d make sure I remember him every time I touch this tight, little cunt?”

“Sweet cunt.”

“You would know.”

You clear your throat. Adjust yourself. Angle your cock towards her so she can see how much you mean what you’re about to say. “Danielle—”

“Dani, please.”

“Dani,” you restart, “After your shoulder, your collarbone, after I’ve left those fucking tits all marked up—I’d run my tongue back up to your neck, suck on that spot right here—” you bring your other hand up, tap it over your pulse. Danielle’s eyes shoot open. Follows your finger. “You know the one.”

Her hand falters, she chokes on a breath. She’s picturing it. Feeling it. “Yeah,” she stammers. “Yeah, I know.”

“And then—then you’d feel my fingers. Pushing in,” you continue, hand tightening around your own shaft. Pre-cum making it slick. Recalling her heat, the tightness of her cunt. The clench around your digits. “So fucking slow. Watching your face as you take them. One, two. Three. Yeah, you’d look just like that.”

Her own fingers dip, bringing your words to life. Eager to follow word for word, whispering these hushed little pleas, and then a moan, and then— “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Slowly, Dani,” you make her whine, as if you’re right there, holding her hand, forcing her to balance on that edge. “Just like that. God, you look so pretty. You would look so pretty. Coming apart on my fingers. I don’t think I’d ever be able to stop telling you, because fuck.”

You break it down—break her down. Tell her the steps, one by one. The way you’d kiss her, taste her. How lovely it would be, lips as sweet as her cunt was. Kiss so deep that you’d steal the breath from her lungs, make sure she knows what it’s like to be consumed. The way you’d kiss her neck, her ear, make a mess on her tits. Every spot that makes her quiver.

There’s tension in her shoulders, tightening across her muscles. Eyes clenched shut, fingers dancing over her every inch that you tell her you’d explore once you’ve finally stripped her bare.

Leave her in her natural state: naked, beautiful, fucking breathtaking.

Her hand’s a blur now, thighs trembling with each pass of her fingers, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip so hard you can see the indentation. Whining, pleading, these divine little noises, intermittent—“Keep going, don’t stop, tell me more,” —pure bliss articulated,  and you’ve lost track of how many times she’s asked, “and then?”

“I’d spread you wide open, Dani,” you tell her, and watch as her legs part, leaving her splayed out on her bed. Image so fucking wanton it’s biblical sin. “God, look at you. You’re so fucking wet I can hear it through the phone.”

Danielle can’t help herself, “It’s you,” she’s gasping, panting, fucking herself with her fingers so intently that the sounds of her cunt are coming through loud and clear. “It’s all because of you. So, so wet. I’ve been like this all week.”

A thought, you realise, “So that’s why you stopped messaging me.”

The tightness in her voice confirms it for you, “Yeah. Couldn’t stop thinking of you. Reaching out would’ve made it too fucking much.”

This revelation hangs in the air, thick and palpable. Pushes aside any remaining inhibitions. You stroke yourself harder, faster, matching her rhythm, her breaths. Joining the slicks of her own cunt with the sound of your skin slapping against your palm.

“But it didn’t help. So, fuck it. I needed to let you see. Let you know. How much I want you. Need you.”

“Was never much a secret.”

“Never said I was good at hiding it,” and Danielle’s grinning now, looking so beautifully lost and downright filthy and there’s really only one thing left to ask, “Tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Hard.”

One word and she fucking loves it.  

“Flip you over, from behind. Against whatever hard surface I can push you up against. Nothing sweet about it. Giving you what you fucking deserve.”

“God!”

“Leave you out of fucking breath. Just take my cock deep. You can see it can’t you? How big it is. How fucking hard it is for you. I’d make you take every inch fucking fast and rough. Make you mine. My own personal cocksleeve. Daddy’s little cocksleeve, how do you like the sound of that?”

Danielle’s back arches, chest rises and falls. Hand moving faster, fucking herself, really going for it. Head thrown back, eyes open, on you. Like she’s memorising the way you’re looking at her. Unable to do anything but look when you’re puppeteering her body across an entire ocean, words dictating every little shiver, every little pulse.

“Pin you against a wall, Dani. Make it so you can’t move. Can’t do anything but feel me. So deep inside you that you’d feel fucking empty without me.”

“Fuck, that sounds so—” Dani’s barely breathing now, and whether by some reflex or just a need to make your words feel a little more real, she rolls onto her stomach. Ass up in the air, pushing her face down into the mattress. You can see the muscles in her back ripple, the fingers disappearing between her thighs, and she’s biting down on the sheets but you’re making out the— “Just like that. Yes, yes, like that. Fuck me like that. Make me—”

It’s the view of her tight ass and it's like she's inviting you to tell her, “I’d spank you—leave you all nice and red. So you’d feel it after. Have you screaming until you can’t even speak. Make sure the last word you’ll ever say is my name.”

“You’d pull my hair too, right?”

“You wouldn’t have a choice.”

Danielle screams your name; the first time you’ve ever heard it sound like that. Somewhere between worship and pure desperation. It’s fucking heavenly. Your cock flexes in your hand, and you want to drop everything and rush over to her hotel room right now and shove it directly in her face.

But you’ll have to be content with what you’ve got.

With Danielle, an utter disaster; soaked cunt and all, splashing down onto the bed. And it’s going to be a problem, an explanation she’ll have to provide. How the perfect, idol-princess left her room stained and forever ruined with the scent of her cum-drenched sheets.

She’ll lie, of course. Spin something about a spill, or a new perfume she’s trying, or maybe she’ll fucking own it.

How some guy over the phone left her shaking with his words alone. Made her scream his name until she got noise complaints from rooms on the opposite side of the hall. Caused a fucking mess that the hotel laundry service would never be able to scrub out.

She’s so close, so fucking close. You know because you’ve been on the same tracks as her, charting it through the throbbing of your own cock, the tightening in your balls.

She’s just dying for release. For your permission.

“I’m just—I can’t—Can’t believe you’re going to make me—”

“Just fucking cum then, Dani,” you command. An order.

She follows without question.

Hand builds speed—faster, faster, faster. ‘Fuck—fuck—fuck’ spilling from her lips until it’s all just one noise buried in a mess of pleasure and bliss. Until she’s just a heartbeat in the palm of your hand.

Fucking God, she cums hard.

You do too.

You swear the camera shakes, it’s not just your vision, the head spin, the alcohol. It all vibrates around you and you can’t see straight.

Watching Danielle; her abs tense, back bow, collapsing into her bed. Eyes squeezed shut, choking on sheets as she tries and fails to muffle herself. Orgasm ringing through your phone, a chorus of sin. Your own cock is bucking, moving with her hips, and you’re fucking her, fucking her through it all, making her fall apart again and again, making her shiver, beg, cry out your name and—

It’s a fucking masterpiece.

“Cum for me please, Daddy!”

Like a gunshot, a trigger, and you’re gone too.

A mess—sticky, warm. Fucking satisfying.

And then it’s over.

You both slump down, dissolve into your own individual puddles. Needing deep, heaving breaths. Sweat sticking to your skins, to the sheets. It makes her glow.

Just laying there. Not bothering to clean up. Evidence of your lust smeared across your hands, your stomachs, your beds. The trophies earned.

The silence stretches out, and it’s weird because it’s just like she’s breathing right in your ear, coming down next to you. Warmth against your neck, hand sliding down your body. Fitting right in your arms.

Her eyes finally open. Slow movements have her hand dropping away from her pussy, sliding over the wetness to her side. A mess, and there’s a new kind of smile on her face. A little lazy, weak. Satisfied.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me about it.”

She watches you for a beat. Runs a tongue over her lips. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

“When?”

“As soon as I fucking can.”

 —

(It feels good—too good—to be honest for once.

The games are still there, but now that you’re a willing participant, Danielle’s tactics shift.

It starts innocently enough—a good morning text here, a photo of her breakfast there, a meme you’d both find funny.

And then the escalation.

Here’s what I’m wearing. Here’s what’s underneath. You want to see more?

Reciprocate.

Every notification from her has you running to the bathroom, or at least somewhere with a little privacy, because it’s always a photo or a video, a little slice of heaven to get you through the day or completely ruin it just by seeing her picture.

And fuck, you do look.

And then there’s the last photo—and of course there’s a bathroom and a mirror and your sweatshirt hiked up to her chest and she’s completely bare otherwise and you’re thinking she’s laughing here because she knows you’re going to zoom in and find the tiny caption left for you to discover between her thighs.

One word.

Your cock jumps, a silent cheer.

Tomorrow.)

—

It's borderline problematic how you have to hold yourself back from sprinting down your hallway when you get home. Just because you hear the sound of running water.

Danielle's here again.

She’s fucking back.

And that’s how you find her; the door to the bathroom’s been left wide open, an invitation you don’t really need—nothing could stop you at this point.

But it doesn’t take away from the surprise of it at all, you're knocked off your feet when you meet her in the shower.

Danielle, head thrown back, letting the hot water cascade over her. Down her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. She’s soapy, skin a canvas of bubbles, your bottle of body wash in her hand, flipped upside down and dripping on her tits.

There’s a smile in the opposite mirror for you, and fuck, for a second you’re believing in love at first sight or the existence of angels or just the fact that maybe you were put on this planet to procreate.

“You’re late.”

You clear your throat, steam starting to warm it up for you. “I was at the gym.”

And she giggles, and she’s smug, and you missed her presence so much more than you anticipated. “Then it sounds like you should join me.”

She reaches out, grabs you by the wrist, and you have mere seconds to get rid of your shirt and your sweatpants and anything you don’t want to get wet because you’re falling into her. Threading your fingers through wet mattes of hair, pushing her into cold tile, and kissing the prettiest fucking girl you’ve ever met in your entire life.

“Missed you,” she murmurs into your lips, warm and steamy words that taste like mint. “Really fucking missed you.”

She’s too real now.

In your shower, beneath your fingertips, water running in rivulets over her body. Moisture evaporating off her skin, sticking to yours. Photos, videos, everything from that fabricated reality of pixels and soundwaves, could never do enough to come close to having her right in front of you.

You run your hands over her body, hers are doing the same down yours—as if needing multiple points of contact to confirm that you’re really here, that this is really happening. Her skin’s like silk under the water, slippery and smooth. You trace the outline of her waist, her ribs, the curves of her ass.

And her abs. Fucking hell. Sculpted, each ridge a testament to her dedication, to hours spent. To the sweat, the tears, the sheer fucking willpower it takes to become an idol. A map of her life’s work, and they’re begging to be touched. Appreciated.

You do.

A soft touch. Reverent. She responds with a gasp that sends a shiver down your spine. Danielle’s eyes are on yours, watching, as your thumb traces the line of here stomach.

You get the obvious out of the way. “You’re so fucking pretty, Dani.”

She arches a brow. “Just pretty?”

You smile, kiss her shoulder. Lap up the water pooling in her collarbone. Stuck between the need to take your time to worship her body like it deserves, and the primal urge to just claim her, take everything about her that’s good and soft and hot and make it yours. “It doesn’t even cover it. I don’t think any words do.”

“Then show me.”

So, you pull her closer, hands cradling her face, thumbs brushing against the soft skin of her cheeks. Kiss her until she’s melting into you, until her body’s pressing into yours so tightly that you can feel the heat of her.

A palm falls to her hip, thumb resting at that glorious spot where her waist sinks right in just before curving out to her ass. Your fingers dig into flesh, and Danielle’s moan; the sweet, sweet sound fills your mouth, vibrates down your throat.

Her hand wraps around the back of your neck, gripping tight; she’s not shy of about touching you either. About asking for more. More of everything. More of this. More of you. You kiss her harder, like you’re trying to break her apart and rebuild her in your own image. Like you’re trying to brand her with your mouth.

“This is,” she breathes between the kisses, slurring against your chest, “so much different in person.”

“How so?” You ask, and follow her eyes southward.

Her cheeks flush, and she looks up at you through wet lashes. “Bigger.”

You laugh, feeling something unlock in your chest. It’s so absurd. Like all at once, your entire destiny's been flipped on its head.

Danielle’s fingers take hold of your cock, stroking you gently. Staring at it in wonder. She’s worshipping it. This goddess, and it’s your cock that’s her idol. She squeezes at the top of your head. The glee in her eyes when you groan.

“God, it’s—” Danielle voice cracks, and she gives the words their proper weight when she says, “Taken too long.”

You can barely think anymore. Not when her hand is winding up and down you in these long, smooth strokes. Like she's somehow been practicing, rehearsing for this exact occasion, studied upon every sensitive spot and how to hit it just right.

“Could’ve had this from the start,” Danielle tells you, and you’re throbbing so hard in her hands. “Could’ve had this any time you wanted,” she says again; like it’s fact, a simple truth of the universe.

And suddenly nothing really makes sense anymore. Whatever logic you had leading up to this point—why didn’t you just reach out and take her? All the times she was right in front of you, on your couch, in your bedroom, or in this very shower, with the door unlocked.

“Could’ve had me whenever you liked,” she whispers, pushing herself closer, her pert little nipples pointed against your chest. “I’ve been so wet and desperate and ready for your cock this whole time. All you had to do was take it.”

You’ve got nothing but an uncommitted, “Couldn’t.”

To that she laughs, presses her lips into your jaw and her grip’s tightening. There’s pre-cum beading from your tip and leaking onto her palm, you both see it clearly before it gets washed away. “I know. That’s why I tried my best to be patient.”

You need a reality check, make sure she’s at all aware of the damage she’s been wreaking. “You? Patient?”

“Oh, you think this only started a few weeks ago?” Danielle taunts, and it’s with an air of ridicule. Incredulous that you could be so naïve. “You have no idea.”

But the honest truth is—you do. You’ve been aware of it—aware of her—from the start. Her sister had probably been aware of it even longer.

Probably why you chose to bury your head in the sand.

But there’s no avoiding it now. This girl—woman. This dream. A picture of youth and beauty; a masterpiece painted by time and genetics, with a touch of that special something that makes you want to frame her and hang her up on every wall in your apartment—make everyone see her the way you do.

And even then, strip that all away, and it's just those lips—the grin, the smile, the pout—and the intention behind each expression that is your true undoing.

It’s the smirk this time when she makes her point, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since—” And that does it. That does you in. “Forever.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, falling straight into confession. “I think I have too.” 

Danielle’s pace picks up, the rhythm building until it’s starting to drive you crazy. Making you lean into her, pushing into the warmth of her small hands. She’s back to kissing into your throat, your ear lobe, any part of your skin she can get her lips to when she whispers, mockingly, “Is this the part where you tell me—I want to fuck you—again?”

That’s an unfair callback.

Danielle quirks an eyebrow. Daring you to do something about it.

You push off her. Slip out of her grasp. Hand trapping her wrists above her head before she can grab you again. You're the one grinning now.

"No. This is the part where I spread you wide open. Pin you against this wall. Make you scream my name.”

Her eyes dilate, pupils blown wide. She licks her lips, “Spank me?”

“And pull your hair.”

“Then go ahead and do it.”

But you pause. Wait. Hold her wrists above her head and stare into her eyes. Give her the chance to put the magic words together herself. Your grip tightens.

Danielle’s smile widens. “Please, Daddy—”

She’s so fucking small, light, practically weightless in your hands. Easy enough to take her hips and lift and spin her around before she can even register that she’s moving. She catches herself on the tile when you set her down, bracing herself against the wall; palms flush, fingers splayed out. Legs naturally split just slightly.

All this build-up and you can’t help but rush.

She turns to look back at you. Needs to see you, needs you to see her, all of her. Giving up on all ideas of teasing, of whatever game took you to this point. Just need. Just burning desperation.

“Need it,” is everything she’s wanted to say, everything she’s tried to tell you over and over again. Everything that makes her vanilla thighs tremble, her knees all wobbly, her cunt drip onto your shower floor.

Your cock twitches, and there’s first contact, sweeping against her folds. Heat sticking to the tip and fuck, yeah, this is not going to be one of those slow, tender moments. You press into her, align yourself between her thighs. One hand at her hip, the other joining her palm against the wall because judging by the way she’s shivering, she just might slip away completely without it.

“Need it now, Daddy,” Danielle whines, so fucking cute and honest, and when you drag your cock so it’s kissing against her entrance, it turns into a demand of, “Inside—please, fuck, put that big cock inside my—”

A push of your hips, and she’s so fucking soaking wet that you slide right in.

Her moan.

You think she’s trying for ‘Daddy’ again, but it’s all fucked up and muddled. Lost in the clench of her muscles, the tension across her body, the way her face screws up and holds and makes all the noises that come out strained and whiny.

So fucking nice.

“God—fuck—finally—”

Fitting so perfectly around you; folding her body into yours. It’s partly the angle—her back arching into yours, her hips urging backwards so nicely, ass squishing against your waist. Her pussy. Hotter than hot, wetter than wet. A fucking vice, a perfect grip that makes you feel like this is where your cock was always supposed to be.

Buried deep inside Danielle’s hot, tight, fucking glorious body.

It’s all just so easy, everything about her, so easy to fuck. Not that she’s not tight—the feel is so fucking divine it’s enough to make your eyes roll back in your head—but because she moves with you, like you’re two parts of one machine, two bodies meant to be joined at the hip; or at the cock and the cunt.

She’s made for you. Tailored to each line and curve and angle of your length.

It takes several strokes—euphoric, mind-breaking, soul-shattering strokes—before Danielle gets some bearings on herself. Panting through it all, making some effort to tear off the bathroom tiles with just her nails, but she’s got enough breath to whisper over her shoulder, “Feels so good. I knew—knew it would be like this.”

A small hand leaves the wall, reaches behind her. Fingers dig into your thigh because she needs something else to hold onto. Something real.

“Knew I’d be perfect for you.”

You want to laugh, chalk it up to her doing her usual cocky little thing. But she’s got you too deep inside her, you’ve sunk all the way in so quickly your lungs are still in recovery trying to catch your breath. Got you so far up her cunt that it’s difficult to manage anything that isn’t a moan. So you just nod. Thrust harder. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“God this is exactly how I thought it’d go,” she keeps going, slowly finding her voice again. Each word like a spell, a curse. “I thought about it—what you’d be like—how you’d fuck me—”

“Danielle,” you grunt out, surprising yourself with how easily it comes out. Then again, it's always been on the tip of your tongue.

“I used to think it’d be nice and sweet—gentle—” she says, shakily, “But this—rough—fucking me like you own me—like you can’t get enough—it’s so much better than I ever imagined. So much better—”

Her words cut off into a gasp when you kiss into her throat. Her hand snakes back up to your neck, pulling you closer, nails scraping along your skin, leaving little white lines. The sting is nice. A welcome distraction from the fire burning through your veins.

Your lips drift higher, and she twists her body to draw you into this clumsy, uncoordinated kiss. Sloppy in construction, she’s kissing at the corners of your mouth, your tongue is dragging up to her cheek at one point. But it’s all communicated in the clash of lips and teeth and the way she’s panting into you, moaning down your throat, “So good, you’re so fucking good, Daddy—”

And then just—

“More,” and she’s at your mercy, and she just loves it, is so fucking earnest for her need for you to just keep going. “Harder, please, I need—”

But you already know. She needs to be fucked, handled rough and just nailed like she’s wanted you to for weeks. Months. Maybe a year at this point. She’s done watching from the sidelines while you were too stupid to realise that she was what you needed all along. Done being the outsider, the third party, watching you go by unappreciated, watching you not get what you needed.

Your name bounces off the shower walls and back into your ears. Impossibly loud; the sound hardly sweet or loving, but it’s pure music. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear.

It’s joined by the wet smacks of skin on skin. The slick of her cunt around you. Her breaths hitching and catching every time you bottom out and rut your cock so deep in her bowels that it takes a herculean amount of effort to pull it back out again.

Her ass just bounces back against you. The perfect handful—slapping into your thighs with every push. And then, the idea thought of in tandem, two minds as one—“Didn’t you say you were going to—”

A smack ripples across Danielle’s ludicrously tight cheeks.

“Fuck!” She cries out, eyes start to moisten, but she just pushes her ass back. Ready for more.

So you give her another.

A snap; your palm against her. Making the flesh pink up, making it jiggle just right.

Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth opens. Forces out these adorable little sounds, mewls, whimpers.

And then another, and another, and her pussy tightens around you with every hit. You can hear her breath catch in her throat; and fuck she clenches even tighter down on your cock. It’s so dangerous for her because the way she’s reacting, practically thanking you with her moans and sighs and lovely tightening of her cunt around you—it’s making you so greedy.

Greedy to mark her up, to really draw a work of fucking art on her skin. Leave your handprints on something beautiful.

“Again,” she begs, and her voice is absolutely shot. Just raspy, desperate, needy. “Harder, please, Daddy. I’ve never, no one’s ever—"

You smack her again.

And again.

And again.

Leaving her cheeks red and stinging. Leaving her trembling. Just a boneless mess of beautiful sighs and blissful pleasure. You can see it, in the bumps rising on her skin, the way her toes are curling in ecstasy, her cunt gushing down your own thighs. There’s no hiding it. Without a doubt, this is what she’s always deserved.

It’s a hard thrust, a harsh smack, each following one after another in rapid succession. Fucking her apart, fucking her in two. Fucking her into oblivion.

Each spank, each perfect spasm of her abs, her cunt, it’s all a quiet mercy. Pain pushing her closer and closer to pleasure, balancing on that precipice where her pussy is strangling the fuck out of your cock so perfectly.

There’s only one word for someone who’s loving this kind of treatment, someone who’s this fucking filthy and vulgar and dying for more.

“Slut,” you bite into her ear, and the gasp that rises from her throat confirms it. The second word, “Cocksleeve," nearly shatters her completely.

You could never imagine someone like her, someone that could live in the torture if only because it brings out so much joy.

You know it, she knows it, but you still let her know, “You’re going to cum for me.”

And she whimpers and bucks against you because she sees it for what it is. A promise. And it’s all because she’s so fucking responsive, so eager for it, so fucking reactive. A pinwheel in a tornado, spinning and spinning until it’s just a blur of colour and motion and all you can do is watch in amazement.

“I will,” she promises back, and fuck you’re not far behind. “I'll cum for you. All over your beautiful fucking cock.”

It keeps you going, makes your strokes erratic, wild, just harsh, punishing thrusts into the depths of her cunt. And she keeps taking it, walls gripping around your cock with unreal pressure, like she’s trying to keep you there forever. Like she’s afraid you’ll pull out and leave her unsated.

But she’s wrong.

You let her know with your next spank. The hardest one yet.

“Fuck you’re—” and it’s your name, and curses, and filth, and begging and just “yes, yes, yes” again and again. Screaming it into your ear, crying it into your neck; she’s baring the deepest, darkest part of her soul.

Locked in place, cumming.

Unable to move, because her back’s to your chest, and she’s up against a wall so all she can really do is tremble and shiver and shake until she’s completely dissolved.

And it’s somewhere in all this that you come to terms with the fact that it’s not enough. You’ve crossed the line and you don’t even dream of settling. You’re going to make her cum again. And again. And again.

She’s spent all this time offering herself up to you, crafting herself into this toy for your amusement, a fuckdoll for you to play with; as if you were only going to take this one taste and let her go.

But you do give her a break, if only for a moment.

You massage her ass; soothe the sting with your fingertips. A little tenderness amidst the storm.

“Good girl,” you catch yourself kissing into her, and the words are like a password to some hidden part of her, something that makes her nearly collapse onto the shower floor.

Her cunt pulses, once, twice, milking you. Her muscles start to give out, and you need to wrap your hand around her body to keep upright. Fingers at her tits, squeezing, twisting her nipples because you’ve always wanted to and you know she loves it. Because she needs the sensation to keep her on her feet.

“Mine,” you grit out, and there’s no disagreement from Danielle. No, her eyes are too glassy, glazed over and not even looking at you anymore. Just feeling you, feeling what you’re doing to her.

There’s tears in her eyes too; it’s not just the water raining down overhead. She’s sobbing well and truly, because you’ve fucked her so thoroughly that it’s all she can do. It’s all her pretty eyes can show you to tell you just how fucking good it feels for her. So perfect. So much more than she ever hoped for.

Letting you see every bit of her. Every tear that falls down her face, every quiver in her legs. Every time she chokes out your name.

“Mine,” you repeat, kissing it into her shoulder.

Her response is a nod. She’s caught her breath. “Always have been.”

She’s just so soft, even as she’s still quivering. Legs somehow still holding her upright, even when the architecture's been threatening to crumble and collapse this entire time.

So you start to move again. Slower, gentler, almost apologetic.

Danielle ends all ideas of that very quickly. “Hey,” she kisses your cheek. Aiming for your lips, but misses entirely. You don’t mind much.

“Dani,” you groan, because God, even when you’re trying to take it slow, a little easy, it’s still so fucking agonising. So dangerous. Like you’re the first to ever get his hands on her. You’ve discovered fire, now you just can’t keep your hands off it.

“Don’t you dare go taking it easy on me now. Not after you just made me cum my fucking brains out,” is what Danielle rasps, “Remember, I’m yours.”

She kisses you again, gets your mouth this time, tongue pushes in. Convinces you with the sweetness of it that it’s far from over. Not until you’ve done exactly as you’ve promised to her—fucked her so hard, so deep, until she couldn’t move, until she’d feel empty without your cock inside her.

“Your slut,” she slides down you, until it’s only the tip of your cock that remains nestled at her entrance, “your cocksleeve,” her hips snap back, a rush of air exits your lungs and fuck, you’re in deep again, “and you still haven’t pulled my hair yet.”

Yeah.

Grab a fistful of chestnut silk, yank back, and she’s yours. Back to speed, fucking her open and raw, having this effect on her.

Seeing it blossom from her thighs, up her abs, her ribs, her tits, around her throat until it’s bubbling out of lips and the corner of her eyes. This girl is yours. This petite, perfect, fuckable body is yours to do as you wish—to use, to pleasure, to ruin.

You tell her to take it—she takes it. You tell her to beg for it—and she cries and pleas and makes it seem like the only thing that could settle her soul is your cock.

And when you command her to scream your name, and it's just so fucking soul-destroying—the loveliest noise from the filthiest tongue, and everything that comes with it. The ‘just like this’, the barely coherent ‘your slut, Daddy, I’m your slut’, and these encouraging quivers from her lips that take the shape of ‘give your good little girl all of your hot fucking cum and—”

“Fuck, this pussy is incredible,” you breathe into her, and your grip is tightening into a fist, tugging her back even further until she’s leaning into it, her back arched so beautifully like some mathematical wonder.

Head tipped back, throat bared, and she’s trapped. Trapped underneath your weight, trapped in your hands, trapped against the wall with nowhere to go but further down your cock.

It only seems right. After all she’s put you through; the mind games, the seduction, the fucking audacity. You’ll give it right back. Fuck her as hard as she’s been fucking with you. Roughness as penance, finding forgiveness in the soaked and messy and now red and swollen recesses of her cunt.

Fingers drift higher, two past her plump lips, into her mouth. She bites down. You don’t even care anymore. Pulling harder on her hair, fixing her body to yours, and God, even like this, wrapping her up in your body, having her as close to you as possible, being as deep as you are in her. It’s not enough.

She chokes on your digits, collapsing. “Fuck. Too good. Fuck!”

Getting wetter and wetter, messier and messier, thank God you’re already in the shower.

Telling you these things with every whimper, with every twitch of her body, every squeeze of her cunt around your cock. Find out, is what you’re getting. Find out how good she is at being a slut. Where her limits are—how much she can take. Find out how quickly she can make you cum.

“You want this, don’t you?” Danielle reads your mind. Had your number since the beginning, figured you out before you knew. “You don’t need someone nice. Someone sweet, someone good for you. You need someone who’ll—fuck—push you to the edge and then—and then—fucking kick you off. Someone who’ll let you do the same to her.”

Yeah, you’re fucked. Never had someone lay it out so bluntly. So perfectly.

“Daddy wants to cum so bad,” Danielle’s being whiny, slutty, drooling down your fingers, because there’s nothing else she can do. Just taunt and tease and be fucked senselessly. Helpless to take it—harder, deeper—faster, faster, faster. “Daddy needs to fill his slut’s cunt, doesn’t he?”

“I will,” you growl into her ear, and the quivers around your cock are nothing short of rapturous.

It’s all coming to a head—the shower’s a steamy mess around you; water’s cold now, but Danielle’s getting even hotter around you. Can’t stop moving; don’t you dare give her a moment to catch her breath. Not when she’s this close. Not when you’re this fucking close.

Her nails dig into your arms, you’re leaving bruises on her hips. You know it. You can feel them. She’s thanking you for them.

And then a glimpse, the light hits the glass walls of the shower just right and you’re seeing it. Danielle, grace and elegance in a package so tight and wet and perfect and it's all going to hell. Your hand in her hair, the water running over your fingers, splashing onto her back, hitting the gorgeous, sweet pink of her well-spanked ass.

You’re just fucking her. Like it’s all you can do. Like it’s all she’s good for.

Eyes fastened shut. Mouth—beautiful, kissable lips frozen into an even circle, letting out these wails. Danielle’s perfect. So flawless it hurts to look at her. And you’re ruining it all. Dumping a bucket of paint on a priceless work of art, watching the colours run down the canvas.

“God, just—“ Danielle tries, but it takes several attempts until she can piece together the words she really wants you to hear, loud and clear: “Just fuck your cum deep into me. Daddy, I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”

You’re not sure what noise you make as a reply. It’s very likely not something nice.

“Please, please, Daddy,” Danielle’s pouting, and there’s the brat again. The girl that gets what she wants with just the jutting of her lower lip and a voice so sweet it’s undoubtedly terrible for your blood-sugar levels. Just pleading for you to let her bring all your filthiest fantasies to life—fuck her deeper, fill her with all the cum you have, spank her, pull her hair, choke her, even. Letting you know there’s no limit to what she’ll do just to have her cunt spilling out your cum. “It’s what I need right now. It’s my reward for being such a good girl. That’s what good girls get, right? Their Daddy’s cum?”

Christ, this is going to become a problem.

You can never go back.

Not to anything less than fucking to incoherence; to cumming as gratitude. To using someone so pretty, so God-damn lovely, the embodiment of everything wholesome and good in the world; with all the angelic hopes and dreams and aspirations, and reducing it to a simple dumpster for your cum.

To destroying someone with just your cock, and being thanked for the privilege.

“Fuck you, Dani,” you spit at her, and you mean it. “You’re too fucking perfect. Too good of a slut, too needy of a cocksleeve. I’ll give you everything. Fill you with it. Every tight, needy hole, paint every inch of your body. Fuck you against every single surface in this apartment. Fuck.”

“Good,” and it’s fucked up how she blushes, only seeing the praise, the compliments in your words. Yeah, she’ll be all those things, and then some. She’ll be every pornographic fantasy you can think of and then show you even more you could never imagine. She’ll make sure to drain you dry and then drill deep inside you to get out every last drop. “All of those things. Do all of those things. But now—just—cum!”

Your hips meet, you nearly fuck her off her feet.

She cums, or you do, or you both do, it all gets lost in this noise. A wave of sound that could wake the fucking dead—you’re not sure who jumps first, no point in trying to figure it out. Just a blur of sensation and release, crashing through your veins and you’re going to tear her in half, or she’s going to swallow you whole; it’s two and one and fuck.

You try to hold on—her hands around your neck and then your thigh, yours straight to her tits; more of her, you need more of her.

But your knees are buckling. Your breaths are haggard. You’re pushing her into the wall, her cheek is squished against the tile and she’s slurring things that get lost in the water like God, fuck, this is so perfect and if you were paying more attention you might catch it when she says it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

You do hear your name.

“Thank you, thank you, it’s so fucking good, just fucking thank you—”

She’s on her tiptoes when you feel the rush down her thighs, when her cunt makes its final effort around your cock, and it’s all coming out in whispers and prayers and unholy verbal contracts to never let this end.

Her body jerks, hips slamming back into you, and the wall's cold on her face, but it's the heat from your chest that’s all she needs to soothe her shivering; her chattering teeth repeating, "Fill me, fill me, fill me, Daddy!"

Fuck, you’ve lost count how many times now, but you’re spurting inside her. Unbearable pressure, blissful release. You can’t see the end of it, but you don’t want to escape—only sink into the feeling of her cunt around your cock, the gasps of her breath in your ear, the pleas and overtures for you to keep going. And you do, because this is now your heaven, and you’re feeling more religious by the second.

Shot after shot into her, feeling it fill her up, pool inside her pussy. She tells you it’s not enough, her cunt tries to milk every single drop out. You’re okay with that. You’ll give her everything you’ve got. Just to see her stumble out of this bathroom with your cum leaking out of her. Witness her waddling down the hall, globs of it dripping down her thighs. That’s the power play right there.

And somewhere in all this obscene debauchery, she says, “I love this,” and there’s a kiss that follows.

Suddenly tender; still sloppy, and yet—gentle. Softer than any of the bruises you’ve left on her skin.

Danielle’s still holding onto your neck, your fingers are glued to her tits, but for the first time you give her the space to breathe.

Her body relaxes, the fight leaves her legs and she’s just a ragdoll in your arms. And you hold her. Just hold her there, still inside her, cum leaking out of her and running down her thighs, mixing with the shower water and going down the drain.

And you’re unwilling to let her go, you might never, because maybe if you pull out, she’ll vanish. Maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe it’s all some sick, twisted, fucked up fantasy spurred by every thought she’s filled your head with over the past month.

But when you blink your eyes, she’s still there. Real and present and just as fucked up as you are. And she’s smiling.

You lean into her, catching your breath. Danielle’s panting too, happy to let you carry her weight, and so content. Back to being so smug. Another round of fucking might fix that.

“Told you we’d be perfect together.”

“You told me a lot of things.”

Danielle's lips meet the back of your hand. Your wrist, up your forearm. Says, “I also told you that I’d have you screaming my name so loud you wouldn’t be able to speak.”

"I said that."

"And yet here I am, voice still intact."

You roll your eyes, take a slow, careful step back. Your cock slips out, accompanied by a groan and a splash of cum hitting the floor between your feet. Danielle’s laughing, still shivering in your arms, body still quaking with aftershocks. You kiss her back, her neck, her shoulder, her ear.

Anything to keep her here.

Finally, the taps are turned off, and Danielle shifts in your arms. Cheeks flushed, eyes half-open, but undoubtedly—satisfied.

You manage a weak chuckle. “What now?”

Danielle takes you by the chin, plants a kiss on your lips and yeah, this feels right, this feels like providence, and this is going to last until the universe says otherwise, and even then. “Now?” She says, and another kiss, on your chin, on your cheek, down your chest and lower and lower and, “Now, I go back to your room, and you come with me, and we do this all over until we pass out.”

—

Again, there’s the kiss.

Only you’re both on your bed, and it’s peppered down the underside of your cock. Then her tongue's dragging along your shaft, staining it in her glossy saliva. Slow and languid. More occupied with enjoying her new favourite toy than your pleasure. It’s the simple things, you guess.

And as she’s doing it, she’s talking. Planning out the rest of your day, your lives, you realise, and you’re just nodding along like you’re listening, but all you’re hearing is the wet smack of her lips around your cock, her tongue lolling and swiping around the head.

You look down at her, and she’s smiling, so goddamn happy, your heart fucking splits in half.

She’s curled up against your thigh, and she kisses into your cock, "God, I could never get tired of this."

"Really?"

Danielle pulls away, a sad pout on her lips, and you realise you may have offended her. Repeats, with emphasis, "Your slut."

And it's funny how easily that assuages you. You probably should be worried. Maybe deal with the very likely outcome that this will not end well—reality tends to have complications that the simplicity of just lying in bed with an impossibly beautiful woman cannot anticipate.

Yet, it's okay to just believe for a second that things will be alright. It's okay to lean back into the pillows and let her have her way. Let her suck you until you're seeing stars, and then climb on top of you again and fuck you until you've forgotten how to function and you can't even see past your nose, let alone whatever comes the morning after.

"Of course, I'll remember that."

"And here I am doing my best to make you never forget, Daddy."

Only, one final, stupid, silly little question—"I never asked, how did you know the code to my apartment?"

Danielle laughs, letting your cock pop out from her lips, stifling her giggles against your thigh. "My sister's birthday. Got it first try."

"Ah," you answer, and then, "Fuck. Probably should get that changed."

"Definitely should get it changed," she answers, then tacking on, "Especially if I'm going to be spending more time here."

"Even more than you already are?"

Danielle just grabs her hair in her fist, loops it around and tightens it into a makeshift ponytail. Lifts her chin and looks up at you. Defiant. "Where else would I go?"

And for now, it'll have to be enough, because really, all you can think of, as she sinks her lips back down onto your cock, takes you deep into her throat, and her eyes start to water and you're already throbbing and ready to release, is that she's claimed total victory over you, and for that alone you'll let her have it all.

To the winner, goes the spoils.

Everything she wants, everything she needs.

With a gasp, Danielle lifts her head up; pre-cum, saliva, drool falling off her lips and grins so fucking adorably that you're already thinking of rushing towards words that she’ll never let you take back.

She reads it on your face, sees it take shape on your lips and stops you. Her hand reaches up to cover your mouth, her eyes wide and gleaming.

“At least let a girl earn it first.”

And so you let it rest, because right now you’re exactly where you should be—in your bed, nearly reduced to a puddle of basic needs, with Danielle in your sweatshirt with all her otherworldly beauty and loveliness straddled right on top of you.

Her mouth full of you, your heart full of her.

“Then don’t ever stop,” you tell her, knowing full well that she never had any dreams of slowing down. Your thumb pads her cheek. She leans into your touch. “Keep going, just like this.”

[froggibus]

Dating Wade & Logan

Pairing: Wade Wilson x reader x Logan Howlett

Genre: hcs, mostly fluff, some suggestive content

Summary: how it would be in a relationship with these two

CW: poly? relationship, mentions of harassment, mentions of injury, jealousy, good luck dating these two, suggestive content, struggles with emotional intimacy, it’s been three years since ive read an xmen or deadpool comic sorry,

spoiler free!

it has been over a year since i posted anything marvel related but i saw deadpool & wolverine today (fantastic film, would recommend seeing it if you can!) and all i could think about the whole time was being in a relationship with these two ^^ if anyone has any thoughts, thirsts or requests for Wade & Logan, i will gladly take them rn!!

these motherfuckers (affectionate)

anyone who is bold enough to date one of them (let alone both) deserves a medal

however it is probably the safest you could ever be in a relationship

neither of them are that good at sharing but they are trying their best!! 

Logan can be so possessive and it does not help that Wade likes to push his buttons 

you will end up mediating a ton of fights ( & hopefully talking them out of a few) 

whenever they start yelling and getting into each other’s faces, you’re probably the only person in the world who can step in with no consequences 

most of the time it WILL end in sex and the only thing they will ever agree on is that they should fuck you right then and there

God help anybody who hurts you 

seriously both of these men are so protective and willing to throw down with a creep at ANY moment 

Wade will probably make a big joke out of whoever is bothering you and if they don’t back off, well…

rip to them 

Logan on the other hand has absolutely NO patience 

he’ll give them about 2 seconds to screw off before he’s knocking them out in one punch

neither are necessarily great with feelings so you’ll have to do a lot of the heavy lifting 

sometimes you’ll start crying and they’ll both be standing there side eyeing each other like ‘what do we do’

Logan will almost always offer you a drink the minute you seem stressed, tired etc 

meanwhile Wade tries to cut the tension and deflect with humour 

however if all you really want is a hug, all you gotta do is ask and they can never resist you 💓

you will have a lot of movie nights with them 

Wade or you will usually pick the movie  & Logan just sucks it up and watches

you’ll be snuggled up on the couch between them, your head on Logan’s chest and Wade’s head in your lap

if you fall asleep watching the movie, they’ll move heaven and hell to get you to bed 

but if either of them fall asleep? the other is shrugging it off and leaving them on the couch 

strong mfs love teasing you whenever they can too 

they’ll sandwich you between them just to watch you get flustered

both are clueless when it comes to the scale of injuries 

stab wounds are like paper cuts to them so neither really fret when you get hurt

there’s at least one incident where you get hurt pretty bad and neither of them realise it 

(it doesn’t help that you brush it off either) 

one trip to the hospital and two very stressed boyfriends later, they’re a lot more cautious afterwards 

you get to meet SO MANY cool people 

Jean and Scott especially love you, they think you settle the crazy that is Wade & Logan 

you’ve probably spent more than one drunken night on a couch at Xavier’s School 

one or both of them are also prone to disappearing randomly, sometimes for up to a week 

please call them out for it 

you’ll get so much attention you won’t know what to do with it

Logan especially can’t keep his hands off of you (even more so after a bad mission) 

he always needs to have a hand on your waist, a hand on your lower back, grabbing your thigh etc

Wade is a lot more casual and outward with his affections 

hand holding, resting his chin on your neck, standing behind you while you talk 

both LOVE holding you in their laps & have gotten into at least one (1) argument about it 

god help you if these mfs ever get jealous too 

Logan can be terrible whenever he gets jealous 

bonus points if it’s Scott that’s making him jealous too 

he’ll probably get all gruff and short with you

that or he’ll stride over to you and make a big show of shoving his tongue down your throat 

Wade will probably just make jokes when he’s jealous 

he’s not really a possessive guy so it’s pretty rare he’s genuinely jealous 

if he does get really jealous, he’ll probably make some weird threats that he passes off as ‘jokes’ (no one thinks he’s joking) 

it’s such a rare occasion that Logan probably films the whole thing cause it’s such a dumpster fire 

if they’re both jealous however?? 

you are in for a crazy night (JEALOUSY SEX JEALOUSY SEX)

masterlist

if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! ^^ likes, comments & reblogs are much appreciated !!

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

can I request ‘accidentally calling the other wife/husband’ for lando please 🥹

girlfriend? wife? ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Prompt: 63. accidentally calling the other wife/husband

𓆉 ln x reader 𐙚

𓆉 fluff 𐙚

masterlist ☾☼

1. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚.

just as the car reached the hotel, lando immediately held your hand. there were crowds of people on both sides, restricted by a barricade.

"you know what to do, right?" he asked you, softly.

"yes, lovie. we've done this hundreds of times before," you replied, unable to keep the smile hidden.

"i know, i know. i just worry. ever since my tiktok started showing me all those videos of celebrities getting attacked, i've been paranoid,"

"i'm aware. you forget, though, that you're the celebrity,"

lando tsked, "half the time, these people talk to me about you. the only reason they're fans of me is because of you,"

you laughed, and lando opened the door, stepping out. you followed. immediately, you walked inside the hotel with your head down, and watched lando from inside the safety of the hotel.

lando was taking his time and signing whatever was getting shoved in his face, smiling and interacting with a few of the fans as well. he took selfies, marvelled at the nail art that some of them had done, had brief discussions about tattoo designs for the fan. he loved it.

somewhere between the cheers of the fans, lando looked at the hotel entrance, searching for you. when he couldn't see you, he pouted, whispering to himself, "where's my wifey?"

the fans nearby heard him, and began cheering louder. lando's eyes widened as he realised his mistake.

well, fuck.

2. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚.

they had another mini break after singapore. the team were all gathered at the mtc, just reviewing the past few races, and discussing what they were planning for the upcoming races.

zak and andrea had given speeches, as were expected, and then oscar and lando were called on stage as well.

oscar gave his speech first, though, it was just him thanking the team, andrea, zak, and lando, and how he was grateful for all their help in hungary and baku especially.

then, it was lando's turn.

"i think, oscar summed it up pretty well, actually. nothing left for me to say."

people laughed.

"um, yeah, no, i'm really thankful for all the hardwork that every person in this room has done. i mean, like oscar said, it wouldn't have been possible with any of y'all. our wins are yours, because really, we just go out and drive. everything else is all you," he said, gesturing to the room full of people.

"and, while i am so happy to be able to work with all of you, i really need to give special mentions to andrea, zak, oscar, jon, my mechanics, my wife-"

the crowd burst out in teasing "ooohs" and lando slapped a hand over his eyes as he laughed.

"we're not married yet. i keep doing that. we're not married yet. besides, when we get married, i'd call all of you. most of you. some. no, all." lando broke off again, as the crowd laughed.

he turned towards his girlfriend, and said, "babe, i've made a commitment now. we gotta have a huge wedding,"

everyone laughed again, including you.

"i'm gonna go bankrupt with so many people at the wedding,"

people continued laughing.

"how about this, the reception would be from mclaren?" zak said, wrapping an arm around lando's shoulders as he laughed.

"oh, how nice of you, zak,"

"no! it's gonna be all papaya! i'm not getting married in papaya colours!" you shouted from the side, smiling.

"huh? it's gonna be all papaya? well, babe, we gotta make sacrifices here," lando said.

the laughs of everyone mixed together, and eventually, lando composed himself enough to continue his speech.

3. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚.

max was streaming on twitch. he wasn't doing anything in particular, really. he was just there, chatting with the chat, but mostly talking to lando who was sprawled on the bed behind him.

niran was on his way to max's apartment, and max and lando were just patiently waiting for their friend.

max began reading some of the comments in the chat, and responding, when one of them caught his eye.

"who is lando texting so angrily?" max read out loud. he turned and looked at his friend, who was still quickly typing on his phone.

"mate, who are you texting?" max asked, watching lando's concentrated face.

"the wifey," lando mumbled.

immediately, max turned to the chat and said, "he's not married! he's a dumbass who gets words mixed up! they're still only dating!"

"huh?" lando looked up, confused.

"you called her your wife." max explained.

lando groaned, "it keeps happening, i don't even know why,"

"right, cause that makes so much sense. what are you fighting with her about anyway?" he asked.

lando looked at his friend, confused, "we're not fighting,"

"then why do you look so mad?"

"do i? we were just planning our trip next month, and i was focused on that," lando revealed.

"that makes sense. do y'all fight though?"

lando's attention was back at his phone as he began typing again, "no. i do something stupid, she yells at me, i apologise,"

"what if she does something stupid?" max asked.

lando looked up from his phone, and the two best friends stare at each other for a few seconds before they burst out laughing. lando rolled on the bed as he laughed, and max fell off his chair.

the chat buzzed, trying to figure out what was so funny, but max and lando couldn't stop laughing.

"what if she does something stupid? oh, max, that was the funniest shit you've ever said," lando laughed.

"i knew it the moment i said it," max responded through his laughter.

"the only stupid thing she does is me," lando said, calming down a little.

"oh, for fuck's sake, lando!" max yelled at him, making him dissolve into laughter again.

+

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚.

lando was sweating, his cap on his head was hiding the mess that his curls had become. he ran a hand through his face to wipe off the excess sweat as he paid attention to the question.

"so, lando, first pole position of the season in the very first race. how do you feel about that?" the interviewer asked.

"um, i mean, i feel good about it, obviously. seems like a good start, honestly, and the car is working beautifully, so i have no complaints there. it all just comes down to me, really," he said, grabbing his water bottle.

"that's good to here. do you think you'll be able to win tomorrow?"

"that's- uh, that's hard to say. i mean, we've got competition from both ferraris, and then there's max and george, who are also excellent drivers, so its hard to say. our goal for today was a pole, and our goal for tomorrow is a podium, if not a win,"

"right. and, who do we have with you as a support for the first race of the season?" the interviewer took a lighter tone, and lando immediately smiled.

"i've got my family here, a few of my friends who could come down here, and i've got my girlfriend," he responded.

"that's beauti-"

"no, wait. my wife. my girlfriend. no, my wife, my wife. i've been so used to calling her my girlfriend in public and my wife in my head that i keep getting them mixed up," lando laughed, holding his left hand up where his wedding ring glimmered.

"oh yes! you got married at the start of this year!"

"yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. finally married her, and then got her to sign the license. burned it the next day so there's no way she can divorce me now. we're stuck together for life," lando said, making the interviewer laugh.

"it's a beautiful wedding band," the interviewer complimented.

lando put his hand up again, showing the ring to the camera, "right? she picked it. she has amazing taste in stuff like this, i can't even tell you. she's just perfect, man,"

"alright, well, it's nice to see you in such good spirits! crush it tomorrow, yeah?" the interviewer said.

"for her? anything," lando said, scoffing, as if the mere thought of him not doing anything for his wife was just plain stupid.

the interviewer laughed again, as lando walked away.

𓇼🐚☾☼🦪

honestly, one of my favourite things i've ever written. i hope i've done justice to the prompt, anon! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04

[sloaneispunk]

“friend or foe” pt.2

soft!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when frontman joined the games, he thought it was solely to see gihun fail, but his intentions shifted when a certain player number 455 caught his attention…

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

the next day, you ate breakfast with in-ho and the team. they discussed different strategies and games in which they might have to play.

naturally, in-ho had given his milk to you even after much protests. he explained how it would help you get stronger and ready for the games.

“where’s my milk?” jung-bae sulked as everyone laughed.

you stayed beside in-ho the entire time. since after the second game, you had grown very fond of him. and luckily for you, so did he.

he felt protective of you, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. even more so in a place like this. when you were caught up with thanos’ team, trying to save yourself after bumping into nam-gyu

in-ho made sure to step up, teaching thanos and his friends a lesson for laying a hand on you, or even threatening you.

he would have went feral if you hadn’t stopped him by pulling him away into a corner, helping him cool off.

“it’s okay, i’m okay.” you told him as you tried to get him to tear his eyes away from glaring at thanos.

“did they hurt you?” he simply asked, ignoring everything else you had just said.

‘no’. you shook your head.

after that, he made sure he always had you within feet from him.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

when it was time for the third game, in-ho held your hand as everyone walked towards the game room.

“i hope it’s something we can play in teams.” he said to you, making you smile.

“why? so you can team up with me?” you teased.

“of course.”

when you reached the game room, a large carousel sat in the center of the room. around it were different colored doors with numbers on them, 1-50.

“what is this?” in-ho wondered out loud as a voice came through the speakers.

‘the game is mingle. the carousel will move when the music plays…once it stops, a number will be called out. the number is the number of people you will need to have in your group before you enter a room of your choice.’

“shit.” you cursed under your breath.

it was going to be a bloodbath.

of course, in-ho already knew this. he might have been acting scared, but deep down, he was. how was he to garuntee your safety in a game like this.

if he didn’t come up with anything quickly, he could mess up the game, or worse, lose you.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

‘start’

ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a

as the giant carousel began to rotate, in-ho’s grip on your hand became tighter.

‘10’

“we need 5!” gi-hun yelled over the chaos that insued.

“we’re 5! let’s go! green door!” player 120 said as both teams ran for the door.

inside, in-ho made sure you were okay first before he checked on the rest.

“you should be thanking me!” a woman suddenly declared, throwing her hand up in the air. “without me, you all would have died!”

“geez! the ego on this woman.” jung-bae scoffed.

then, she whipped her head around, finger flying to your face as she stopped inches away, almost hitting you.

“can i help you?” you asked.

“you… you’re here for a purpose.” she said.

in-ho pulled you aside, stepping in front as he glared at the woman.

“you talk to her again and i’ll make sure you’re locked outside.”

the woman could only gulp.

just in time, the door unlocked, saving the lady’s ass as well as yours.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

“fuckin’ crazy sharman lady.” in-ho muttered to himself as he got back up onto the platform.

you giggled. it was funny how he was affected by everything else but the deadly game he was in the midst of.

‘4’

shit. someone was going to be left behind.

“gi-hun! take her, i’ll find others!” in-ho instructed as gi-hun nodded, grabbing your arm and dashing into a room.

“young-il!” you screamed as you were being dragged away from him.

he was so selfless, he only cared about saving you and his ‘friends’.

“he’ll be okay.” dae-ho told you as he stood beside you, peeping through the hole in the door.

the next few minutes were excruciating. you couldn’t find in-ho in the running, desperate crowd.

little did you know, in-ho was in a room on his own, locking it before anyone could enter.

he catched his breath as a guard came up to the doorhole, aiming his gun at him.

“stand down.” in-ho ordered, making the guard turn away, walking off.

when the doors unlocked, you sprinted out.

“there!” gi-hun called out, pointing to in-ho who was running towards you.

you practically flung yourself onto him, taking him aback as he laughed.

“oh my god, i was so worried.” you told him as you pulled away.

“you can’t rid of me that easy.”

“ah! we thought you couldn’t find enough people in time!” jung-bae chipped in.

“i’m a very likeable man, i do well in these games.” he joked.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

when it came down to the final round, a thick air of tension filled the atmosphere.

the last number was announced, ‘2’. you knew exactly what they were doing. around 150 people left, 50 rooms, you were going to have to fight for the rooms.

the team had split up, in-ho naturally sticking eith you as you both ran for the nearest room.

just as you were about to enter, you felt a strong push, knocking you to the ground onto your back as the man took your place, shutting the door as the timer hit 0.

“y/n!” in-ho shouted as tears started to fill your eyes.

“young-il… don’t let me die.” you cried.

oh, he was angry. angry wasn’t even actually able to cover it. he was fuming.

he picked up the man by the collar, punching and kicking him as he yelled in frustration.

as the guards approached you, you heard his voice.

“standdown! now!” he said, “that is an order.”

just like that, the gun held up towards your temple was gone. the guard walked over to the room, using a set of keys to open it before standing behind you.

in-ho however did not step out. he simply grabbed the man who was already fighting for his dear life, locking him in a headlock.

“w-what?” you asked, backing away from in-ho as his eyes pooled with anger.

“take her upstairs.” he said to the guard as he nodded, lifting you up and dragging you away.

the last thing you heard was the loud crack of the man’s neck echoing through your ears.

(i am going insane)

[lufyuu]

,, Love Quest ''

Background character male reader x Protagonist oc

Part 1 Part 2

Tw/s: dub-con at the start, dacryphilia, rough sex, semi-public sex, overstimulation, multiple rounds.

In a world where everyone's assigned a role they have to be, you were one of the many unlucky yet common ones to get the role of a background character. One who couldn't even interact with the protagonist if you wanted. The way it works is through the system. There is a system that essentially controls the world. This system can create scenarios, assign roles, etc. This whole world was built by it. Everyone has to obey it, excluding the protagonist themself, that is. Some even say it's possible for the protagonist to control the system itself but, that's just a rumour.

Of course, the role with the most power is the protagonist. Anyone would dream to have that power. To be the protagonist and have everyone fawn for you, throwing themselves at your feet, worshipping your every step. Not only that, his love interest is the best of the best, the prettiest girl you'd ever be able to lay your eyes on, the one you'd never be able to get with if you weren't the protagonist. Just like any other previous protagonist in this world, the current one is an extrovert, River Sterling. He's a perfect guy in every way. He's very well known due to being the protagonist, but also, he is very talented. It's as if there is nothing he can't do. He's even the top 1 on campus. Very rarely is he seen getting anything under an A+. Despite everyone constantly praising him and falling at his feet, he remained humble.

Just like any other day, you enter the building with books in your hands. You had to return these to the professor after borrowing them for a day. No matter how much you studied, you always remained top 2, and because of that, you were annoyed by River. Of course, it's not his fault that he's the protagonist, but you couldn't help but still feel negatively towards him. Going up the many many stairs, you overhear a girl yelling, maybe at a guy? You're not sure what kind of situation it is, but you guess it is a fight between a couple. "You never even spend time with me! Am I not enough!? Destiny binded us together, and yet here you are, doing nothing to please me, your girlfriend!", it sounded like Aria, the protagonist's main love interest. "Aria, well how would I be able to spend time with you when I feel nothing towards you", River says with a nonchalant tone, shocking you a bit, you've never heard him using that tone before. You stop in your tracks, right in front of the door, where you can hear Aria yelling at him. "Y-you...what!?", you can hear Aria say in disbelief. "H-how is that even possible! I'm who you're supposed to be with, I complete you, I'm your other half!", even without being able to see her, you can tell she's tearing up, probably with a red face. Though despite her crying, you don't hear River comforting her. Which is again, very out of character for him.

Next thing you know, you hear a very loud slap accompanied by running sound towards the door. Before you could even react, the door swings white open, a blonde haired girl running out of the room, knocking you down in the process. You stare at the direction she runs to. "Who are you, why did you eavesdrop", you turn back to River, looking down at you, glaring, even. His once gentle eyes seem to be clouded. You don't even recognize him. "[N-Name]", you gulp, you felt as if the man in front of you was going to eat you whole if you said the wrong thing. "[Name]..? I've heard of you, the top 2, right?", he asks in an almost curious but borderline mocking tone. You remain seated on the floor, books scattered everywhere. "Are you not going to explain yourself?", he raises an eyebrow, walking towards you. Taking this as a sign to get the fuck out of there, you quickly grab the books and try to run off, only to have your shirt grabbed by the tall guy.

"Running off are we?", he looks at you with a questiong expression, why would you avoid him, he wont eat you, will he? With the clock ticking, both of you know that soon, this hall will be packed with students, fortunate for you, unfortunate for him. He doesn't want you to go before he can pry some information out of you.

Thinking of a plan, he quickly drags you to the room, shutting the door behind him so you won't be able to run out without him stopping you mid-way. With his hands crossed, he asks you once more, "Why were you eavesdropping?", his tone even more demanding. "I was on my way to the professor's office, I just overheard some things. Can I go now?", you give a quick explanation, wanting to get out of this situation as quick as possible. Though, he wouldn't allow it. "How much did you hear?", "not much, please let me go now," you walk towards the door, turning the door handle only to see it's locked. It shouldn't be. The door can only be locked from the inside, and by the looks of things, River didn't have time to lock the door.

[System: Love Quest]

In order to proceed, please engange in intercourse.

And just as the system suddenly appeared in their face, a percentage bar appeared in the corner of the room and it stood tall, at 0%. With one look, the both of you knew what it wanted. "What the fuck!?", you yell, looking at the window and then at the protagonist who clearly isn't phased. He only sighs, rolling his eyes, as if he was annoyed by this notification. "This shit again", he whispers, loud enough for you to overhear on accident. He's gone through this before..? is what you were thinking. You've almost never gotten a window from the system, let alone one with any sexual themes. If River wasn't shocked, that means it's probably a common occurrence for him.

The two of you stare at one another for an uncomfortable period of time. As if time stopped for a moment. "This is getting real annoying", he says, sighing and stepping towards you. You back away until your back is pressed on the door making you unable to escape as he grabs your chin, lifting it up and looking at you. "You'll make do", he says before pressing his lips onto yours. Out of shock, you try to push him off, wanting to yell at him. How could he, a protagonist, be kissing someone like you? You're what others would perceive as not worthy of being in his presence let alone be kissing him. Yet here you are, getting your mouth explored by the man himself. Your eyes were opened from shock but you closed it after a few seconds, wanting to savour this moment. His hand made its way to your cheek. He was very gentle with both his hand and lips, making you lean into his touch. Before long, you felt as if you were running out of breath, how long can he even kiss you for!? Fortunately for you, he let go of the kiss, panting and trying to catch his breath after that incredible make out session. "We're not done yet", he says, pointing out the elephant in the room which is the percentage bar which still stands tall at 0%, no progress has been made, making the room inaccessible from the outside. The doors being magically locked also kept anyone from getting out before the goal was met. You knew you had no other choice but to do this in order to get out, as much as you were annoyed by the guy as a student, you couldn't deny his charm, the way his eyes looked into yours, the way his grazed his thumb over your lips. Who wouldn't fall head over heels for him? Anyone would die to be you at this very moment.

Without any hesitation, you managed to gather the courage to pull him into another kiss, you could feel him smiling into the kiss as he reciprocated. Moving his hands to your hips, trailling down to your clothed butt. Gropping and fondling it before he eventually unzips your pants, letting them slide down to your ankles. Leaving your bottoms almost bare if not for your briefs covering your private part. "Ahm...agh", the both of you moaned into the intense kiss before letting go. "You're a good kisser", you comment, gasping for air once more. He smirks, "of course, I'm not the protagonist for nothing", he chuckles a bit. You felt hands slipping into your briefs, making its way to your ass, gripping it even more now. He really seems to be enjoying gropping you. You felt his fingers move closer and closer to your hole before he inserts a finger into you, causing you to grip his arms in shock. "A-agh..!", you let out a surprised moan, his finger wiggling around, trying to get your hole to relax a bit, "you're so tense, [Name], loosen up a little", his inserted another finger, making you unable to keep your composure no matter how much you try to.

You feel his fingers thrusting into you, as if trying to get you to cum from his fingers alone. His long and slender fingers were quite deep in you. It wasn't long before he added another finger. And now that three fingers are going in and out of your hole, you feel as if you're aboit to reach your climax. You close your eyes, moaning loudly. He took notice to this and immediately stopped his fingers as if knowing you were about to cum. You're now puzzled by his actions, why did he stop? "I don't want you cumming from just my fingers, that wouldn't be fun now would it?", you then hear the sound of pants unzipping, realizing it was from him. He pulled his hard cock out of his briefs. You stared at it for a while before he snapped you back to reality, "eyes up here, angel", he teased, giving you a pet name while he was at it. "What? Have you never seen a cock this big?", you definitely haven't. It wasn't just long, just looking at the girth of it made you shiver a bit, how will that even fit. It was befitting of a protagonist, he's perfect in every way, even in his physical attributes. "Enough staring, angel", he says as he suddenly picks your legs up. You instinctively put your arms around him tightly so you don't end up falling, "hey!", you yell, this wasn't a pleasant surprise, you could've fallen, "relax, you're quite light", he is very strong afterall, he's joined almost every single sport available at this point.

You decide to put your trust in him, he's able to hold you up for over a minute now, there's no way he'll suddenly drop you, that'd ruin the moment on top of you getting hurt. After the shock wore off, you notice something poking at your hole, "hm..?", you let out a hum of confusion, turning your head down only to see his cock at your entrance, wanting to be inside you. "Are you ready to be filled up like you've never had before?", the now cocky-like protagonist asks with a slight chuckle at the end. You nod and immediately feel his cock thrust up inside of you, almost halfway in already. He grunts at how tight you are despite him having prepared your sweet little hole for his cock beforehand. Trying his best to get his cock all the way into your hole as you moan out in pain and pleasure, "relax why don't you?", he gives a teasing smile. Leaning in for a kiss, he manages to get you to relax and without another word, thrusts the rest of his cock into you, shocking you once more. You accidentally bite his lip in the process, drawing a bit of blood. "Agh!", he pulls back, tapping his finger on his lip and seeing that blood is coming out of the wound. He focuses on you once more, as if signifying he's about to move. You give a slight nod and he starts to thrust in and out of you, slowly and sensually at first. "You're really warm inside", he comments while thrusting into you, looking into your eyes as you manage to keep them open.

After a while of the sensual and slow fucking, he gets tired of it, wanting to thrust into you quicker. And so, he does as he wants. Thrusting into you quicker this time, rougher. You close your eyes and tighten the grip on his upper back, scratching his skin through his shirt. Your moans are no longer considered quiet, you're full on moaning your head out. That was before you realized the bell had rung, students were on their way to class and they'd pass by this specific room. You bite your lip in order to muffle out the moans, keeping it somewhat quiet in order to not get caught. River on the other hand, didn't like this one bit. He wants to hear your delicious and sweet moans, you should let them out for him to hear. "Stop biting your lip, angel, let me hear you", something in his voice made you want to obey his words, and for some reason, you find yourself no longer biting your lip, now you're just letting it all out, moaning and crying out for him.

The faster he went, the more you felt like you were about to reach your climax. He also seemed to be close. The both of you sweating, moaning, grunting. "I'm, agh, gonna cum...!", he says as he shoots his load all in you, coating your inner walls with his seed, some even dripping out. At that moment, you also came, releasing your juice all over your stomach. With the two of you now panting and gasping for air, River carries you to a nearby table, letting the two of you rest for a while. Just then, the door swings wide open, "Who the fuck was making all that noise!?", a teacher yells into the room, seemingly staring straight at them. The teacher looks around in confusion, "huh...I was so sure there was someone here...", He then turns his heels and walks back out, closing the doors on his way. You who were covering your face due to this, looked in the direction the teacher was in confusion, "did..he not see us..?", you ask River, to which he replies, "the system did that, probably", as if the system heard the man, it dings and the both of you turn your heads towards the bar of percentage now sitting at a solid 30%, "huh? 30%?", you say out loud in even more confusion, "it wants us to have sex and get it up to 100%", River says without missing a beat, "ready for round two?"

———

"Agh..! To..oo big, ahghh...", you try to say in-between moans, overstimulated by his cock and the way he bites your nipples. "You're taking me so well", at least he's enjoying it, a lot. You even wonder if he has an infinite stamina, but of course your thoughts were drowned by the time he came in you for the third time. How many rounds has it even been? The bar has been stuck at 99% for so long, when will this end..You're so overstimulated at this point, River's cock has been relentlessly fucking you dumb. You can't even think anymore, nor can you let out any coherent words. It's been at least a couple of hours since the both of you started this, why hasn't it ended. Your cheeks are wet, wet from the tears which had been and are still rolling down your face. He loves witnessing your debauchery. Your clothes have been discarded to the side by now, you don't know where but they're on the floor somewhere. His thrusts get faster and faster, you didn't even know he could go this fast but here he is, fucking you with inhuman speed. "C'mon..ah..come with me, my angel...agh", he moans and grunts while saying this. Then his thrusts stop and you feel even more liquid filling your already over-filled hole, making it impossible to be kept inside and most of it dripping out your hole and onto the floor which has a pool of both yours and his cum. At that very moment, you feel your whole body give out as your vision blurs until you eventually black out.

———

What happened in the room stayed in the room. Your life went on as usual, the normal schedule. Though, one thing has definitely changed. That is the fact that you are now dating the protagonist despite still having the role of a 'background character' . Everyone was shocked but learned to accept it. Who are they to defy the protagonist's wishes? One person in particular wasn't happy about this. None other than his ex, Aria. Everyone saw that coming from a mile away, though, so nobody paid her any mind. After that, River took any and every class you took. Science? You'd see him sit there with an empty seat next to him, looking up at you and asking with a big smile, "come! Sit here, angel!", while patting the seat next to him to signal for you to sit. PE? He'd always get you into his team no matter what. No matter how bad the other team wanted you on theirs, they'd never have you as you now belong to River. Being in the same class as you had its advantages. That is, being able to fuck you in class without anyone noticing. To be frank, the both of you found it out on accident. It was during class when the both of you got a new love quest. You thought of leaving the class to finish but the system didn't let you. It wanted the both of you to do it at that very moment. When he took the initiative and pulled your shirt up to bite your nipples, not a single student nor the teacher had any reaction, it was as if the both of you were protected by an invisible bubble that allowed the quest to take place. That, combined with the fact the teacher couldn't see the both of you the first time, confirmed your suspicions that they were indeed unable to see you.

From that day forward, the two of you almost always got a love quest every single day of school. The session would last at least 2 hours, leaving both of you a hot sweaty mess once it was over and done with. You'd always be embarrassed and extra tight during these. The way you felt eyes on you, it was as if they could see you, but in reality, they really can't. You'd tighten up at the thought of them watching you, making River grunt even more due to your tightness. He'd smirk and ram even harder into you once this happens. "Naughty boy, you get off to the thought of people watching, huh?", he'd always tease you. These love quests would be random, though. Despite it happening every day, the two of you could never predict when it'd occur. It could be very early in the morning, in class, or even during an activity. It was always random, so why would you always see River getting hard even before the love quest appear...? It's probably nothing. You're just paranoid.

☆☆☆☆☆

Apologies for the wait. My schedule's been real hectic lately. This is not proofread, so please excuse the probably many mistakes/typos!

I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any questions/reqs, please do send them my way!<3

[starcurtain]

Comparing Phaidei and Other Hoyo MLM Ships (Part 2)

<- Part 1 is back that way.

In the first part of this, I laid out some of the ways Phaidei fits within Hoyo's normal pattern for queer-coded MLM ships: They're equals but opposites, perfectly matched; they've ostensibly got a "rivalry" as a cover for their laser focus on each other; their models are deliberately placed closer together in cutscenes than other characters' are, and they're intentionally paralleled to a heterosexual married couple. All of these are traits that other Hoyo MLM pairs also show, a sort of foundational standard for Hoyo's queer-coded MLM ships.

But then Phaidei just took a huge side-step around all of them, and started doing things that Hoyo hasn't done in any of their other recent games. (Tiny aside here: HI3 does wildly different things with its characters; I think that being first published when Hoyo was a more obscure company allowed them to get away with things--like the Bronya/Seele kiss and Welt and Co.'s cross-dressing, for example--that "modern" Hoyo games cannot get away with due to greater levels of public scrutiny.)

I said it in the other post, but it bears repeating:

You really aren't imagining things--Phaidei is actually different.

So I wanted to take a closer look at what was making it feel so unique, by comparing its differences to other popular Hoyo MLM ships.

Here we go:

1. The Feeling's Mutual

There was no heterosexual explanation for this framing.

In Part 1 of this post, I noted that Hoyo has a typical personality pattern they follow when queer-coding their male characters, particularly in using "difficult" personalities to create an artificial sense of distance between the characters. If one character is angry all the time, or tsundere, or using sarcasm to cover for their fear of getting close to others, Hoyo can mobilize that personality gap as a shield to give anti-LGBT+ players plausible deniability. Hell, there are people still out there genuinely convinced that Alhaitham and Kaveh have a toxic relationship. There are people out there saying Ratio despises Aventurine because he was mean to him one (1) time while undercover. That's how effective injecting a little bit of bickering into a queer-coded relationship is.

Hoyoverse is very, very familiar with creating this delicate balance of teasing the ship while feeding anti-LGBT+ players and censors just enough "Look, they don't like each other; they're arguing!" contrary material to avoid setting anyone off.

Which... makes it absolutely bizarre that they made almost no effort to do this with Phainon and Mydei.

Sure, on paper we're told that Phainon and Mydei are rivals. Phainon describes it as "He's both my friend and my foe." And yes, they have their quips (Phainon's "It's exhausting talking to you sometimes" comes to mind).

But animosity--the genuine desire to one-up each other--is completely missing from Mydei and Phainon's "rivalry." They aren't Sasuke and Naruto. They aren't Izuku and Bakugou. They don't actually even want to beat each other--they want to be equals. If you defeat Mydei in the 3.0 competition, Phainon immediately folds and calls the contest off. If you let Mydei win, Mydei immediately folds and declares no contest.

Although Aglaea notes they compete because they're "impulsive youths," what she was actually missing is that Mydei only let himself be goaded into Phainon's hot bath competition because he was worried about Phainon and wanted to take Phainon's mind off the failed trial. Then, immediately after beating Phainon in the hot bath challenge, he lets Phainon win the "take more people home" challenge, to tie up their score again.

In fact, Mydei and Phainon's relationship is so devoid of the actual back-and-forth typical of other Hoyoverse MLM ships that at one point, Phainon even asks for it:

(Though he's equally quick to demand compliments from Mydei too.)

Instead, virtually every line from Phainon and Mydei through both 3.0 and 3.1 reiterates that they care deeply about each other, and are concerned for not only each other's physical well-being but also each other's mental and emotional health. They freely and consistently support each other both on the battlefield and off, confessing their struggles and relying on each other for advice. Whenever they're separated, the game intentionally hammers home how worried they are without the other around.

Over and over and over again, the devs tell you how well Mydei and Phainon know each other and how much effort they're putting in to take care of each other:

The game doesn't let us forget that they are one another's "closest person," and that the respect they have for each other is mutual. Although I wouldn't go so far as to speculate they actually recognize romantic feelings, canon makes it clear that they are aware their emotional connection goes both ways. They don't just value each other's battle prowess, intelligence, or usefulness--they value each other's feelings explicitly, every single time emotions are expressed between them in the game's text.

In fact, Mydei even scolds Phainon for approaching their goodbye with a straight face; he knows that Phainon is hurt by their parting, and he wants Phainon to be honest, as Mydei is being honest in turn:

The rainbows in the background really sold the scene, ngl.

This isn't Renheng, where resentment has taken away any glimmer of joy. This isn't Ratiorine, where even if Aventurine were in a more stable mindset, Ratio's inability to spit out his feelings might keep them from going anywhere. Even with Haikaveh, the Hoyo ship known for Alhaitham's devotion, Kaveh's own struggles and refusal to accept Alhaitham's kindness are an active plot point keeping them from progressing. Maybe you could draw a parallel between Phaidei and Cyno/Tighnari for levels of "mutual," but even then, Cynari interactions are often left off-screen or in the background, for the players to fill in the blanks. On the contrary, Phainon and Mydei's fondness for each other is constantly in our faces.

The devs wanted players to know Phainon and Mydei are invested. We're supposed to see how much they want to be near each other.

More than that, we're supposed to understand just how deeply they trust each other.

Okay, okay, yes, I know this is massive foreshadowing to the inevitable betrayal and tragedy impending (come on, Amphoreus wouldn't qualify as an ancient Greek drama without it!), but I think that a lot of people are missing the key here: By this point in the story, Mydei already knows how he's going to die. He knows someone is going to stab him in the back and finally end his immortal life. When he entrusts Phainon with this secret, he's not trusting Phainon to keep him safe. He's trusting Phainon to do the opposite.

He's telling Phainon: "I want it to be you."

If the prophecy can't be changed and fate is set in stone, then Mydei wants Phainon to be with him in his final moments, to be the one to finally set him free from the "curse" he perceives his own immortality to be. Of course it would be Hoyo who makes "I want to die by yours hands" into a declaration of ultimate trust, but it is an explicit statement of trust, in a way that very few--if any--other modern Hoyoverse MLM ships get to show each other on screen.

Phew, that was a lot!

But I think this is one of the clearest and most defining differences between Phainon and Mydei and other Hoyo MLM ships--the devs took away players' ability to claim they don't get along. You might still be able to call them "just friends" or "brothers in arms," but unlike Alhaitham and Kaveh who fight, Ratiorine who scheme, or Renheng who are actual enemies, Mydei and Phainon explicitly like each other. They trust each other. They seek one another out.

It might seem like a small thing on paper, but this is actually a big thing in practice. Hoyo is pushing the boundary here, reducing the avenues for deniability. It is harder for anti-LGBT+ fans to claim that Phainon and Mydei don't have obvious in-game ship-tease than for virtually any other modern Hoyoverse MLM ship. (By the way, this is why people have resorted to calling Phaidei "industry plant yaoi;" because they can't deny the queer-coding is actually there this time, they instead have to try to de-legitimize the ship in other ways, such as dismissing it as nothing more than bait.)

This also means Hoyo has less of an "out" if people start to really question. It would be harder to explain away Phainon and Mydei's relationship than it would be to explain away even Alhaitham and Kaveh's. Alhaitham and Kaveh have "They're always arguing" and "Their friendship was ruined by their fight" or "They're just roommates," etc. to lean back on. Phainon and Mydei... are really bad at even pretending to be rivals...

All of this to say: Hoyo made a bold and deliberate choice allowing two of their mainstream male characters to be so emotionally close and attentive to each other on screen. They went outside their own current comfort zone for this one, guys.

2. We're Conspicuously Missing a Twink

Moving on from Phaidei's emotional differences, I wanted to talk specifically about Hoyoverse's perspectives on gay men, and how easy it is for companies to slip into not only stereotypes for gay characters, but also extremely heteronormative portrayals of gay relationships. As sad as it is, it is easier to market queer-coded male characters to yaoi fans (who are often--although obviously not always--heterosexual women) if they fit into the expected pattern for heterosexual relationships: a highly masculine man to "wear the pants" in the relationship, paired with a delicate, effeminate man to obviously be the bottom.

Now, don't get me wrong: Gay relationships come in all varieties; people have different preferences, and categorical groups like "twinks" and "bears" exist so people who have those preferences can find each other. Obviously plenty of hyper-masculine (and just masculine-leaning) gay men do want more effeminate partners. Plenty of real guys consider themselves twinks and have great relationships with men ranging all the way up the most masculine dudes you've ever seen. But "masculine man with feminine man" isn't the only kind of gay relationship around, despite the fact that that's what Hoyo's yaoi shiptease might lead you to believe.

(Edit: I can't believe I have to say this, but it seems some portion the HSR fandom cannot read, so apparently I do: Stop using my post in your hunk/twink or hunk/hunk discourse; if you didn't bother to read the paragraph above this in which I word-for-word point out that real gay relationships come in all varieties, including lots of relationships between masculine men and more effeminate men, then that is on you--this post isn't about how "hunk/hunk" is more "real gay" material or "hurr durr twinks bad;" it's about how Hoyo has served up the exact same ship with different clothes on 13 times in a row, with their constant modus operandi being yaoi genre staple tropes in which one character is essentially designated as the bottom and the other as the top specifically using masculine versus feminine coding, because that is what sells to the yaoi fan demographic they are targeting, particularly to heterosexual female yaoi fans, who are predisposed toward heteronormative relationship patterns even in the gay media they consume. The only situation in which hunk/hunk is "more progressive" than hunk/twink is for Hoyo, who clearly have hunk/twink as their comfort zone and only very, very rarely step out of that established pattern. This entire post is about Hoyo's patterns for creating their mlm ships, not about gay rights activism--read the essay in the context of Hoyo's design philosophy or just stop reading here, fucking please.)

I don't want to say that Hoyo's track record on this front is bad, because honestly it's not. Their male characters often have surprisingly complex expressions of gender identity, with interesting blends of masculine and feminine traits. But... Hoyo does have a pattern. Plenty of their queer-coded MLM ships fall into this same general (and kind of stereotypical) profile: a masculine man with a more feminine man. Alhaitham is inexplicably ripped and represents calm rationality, while Kaveh is "the spitting image of his mother," has to wring out his wrists when he uses his own weapon, and represents passion and romanticism. Ayato is the head of his clan; Thoma holds housekeeping classes for Inazuma's other housewives. Xingqiu is the "refined" rich boy in ruffles; Chongyun is the down-to-earth working lad. Wriothesley is the most masculine man in Genshin Impact; Neuvillette mothers the entire race of Melusines. Over in Star Rail, Aventurine covets pink diamonds, bathes himself in sparkling perfume, and is so tiny Ratio's hands can encircle his waist. (I don't actually think Aventurine is that feminine, but trying to pretend that he isn't designed to evoke queer tropes is just silly.) Moze is as ripped as Alhaitham, while Jiaoqiu is... very pink. I'm going to talk more about Renheng in a sec, but Renheng is also this way, with the more "delicate"-looking Imbibitor Lunae to Yingxing/Blade's solid frame.

Mydei and Phainon don't fit this pattern at all. Both of them are as tall as Star Rail models come, and while Mydei's build has an impressive degree of bulk, Phainon is no slouch either:

Neither one of them is visually effeminate in any manner, and they're also not effeminate in personality or role in the story. Neither of them is a housekeeper or a home-maker; (again, poor Aventurine catching strays, but:) neither of them is in the business of blinding people into deals with their good-looks or careful facade of helplessness.

Theoretically we could say the devs tried to squish Mydei into a more heteronormative role by giving him traditionally "feminine" traits: he cooks, he plays house with children, he puts milk in his juice and turns it pink, he's paralleled almost exclusively to his own mother... But his role in the plot is such a quintessentially masculine story (son of a self-fulfilling prophecy, father-killer, god-slaying warrior, king to his people, aura-farming champion of the Amphoreus battle cutscenes, etc.) that clearly we are not meant to perceive him as a stereotypically feminine figure. The whole "malewife Mydei" thing comes across as so comedic because he is so masculine.

Conversely, Phainon, despite being the "gentler" of the two characters, the one who is described as having a soft heart and being outgoing and kind, is even less suited to being called feminine. His "Messiah"-esque role in the story, literally being the "prodigal son" of Amphoreus, paints him as the very picture of a classical male hero. Even more so than Mydei, he is a private and closed off person who hides his heart--and his own identity--from those around him, traits more often stereotypically associated with emotionally-closed-off men than female characters.

Up to this point, Hoyoverse had a relatively stable pattern in the MLM ships they baited in their recent games. They primarily played it safe, sticking to queer-coding relationships that both visually and narratively reflect heteronormative relationships.

But Phaidei once again broke the mold.

This time, Hoyo chose to queer-code not the more delicate-looking man (although I guess there's still plenty of time for Anaxa, I shouldn't sell him shorter than he already is lol), but two overtly masculine male characters, who can't be readily projected on to a stereotypical heterosexual relationship. This was a big departure from Hoyo's norm, and I think this actually deserves a lot more respect than people are giving it. Hoyo didn't have to pick their two muscle-bound warrior male leads and make them close and caring. They didn't have to expose themselves to the obvious question: "Why are two 'manly' characters being so soft on each other?" It is harder to pass off Phainon and Mydei's queer-coding as accidental, or suggest the fans are just reading too much into it, when nothing about them can be mistaken for a "traditional" heteronormative relationship. For a game produced in China, where standards for depicting men and masculinity in media are so high, making the choice to bait two masculine men together (let alone this expansion's "hero," who is an expy of a beloved former character), was a very bold and risky choice on Hoyo's part.

Companies don't make bold and risky choices on accident.

Finally, I wanted to make one more point about why I appreciate Phaidei's emotionally attentive depiction--it's because there's a whole other realm they could have taken the "definitely going to turn into a villain" queer-coded main character. As I mentioned in the first part of this post, queer-coding villains is a trope as old as dirt. When you queer-code a male villain particularly, you add an extra layer to the danger: Now the male villain is not just a physical threat, but a sexual one. Adding queer-coding to the male villain has often, in past media, been used to conflate homosexuality with deviance or perversion and suggests sexual violence even if nothing ever truly occurs.

Maybe the real Hoyoverse queer-coding was the red flower petals we threw along the way.

I said I was going to bring up Renheng, and here it is: Unfortunately, Blade and Dan Heng fall into this latter pattern a bit. Although he has his reasons, the game's portrayal of Blade's "pursuit," especially in the early portion of their story, casts Dan Heng into the role of the victim, a young man being hounded by a crazed stalker who refuses to let him go. Their cutscenes, including Dan Heng's nightmares, paint Blade as an overwhelming presence who invades both Dan Heng's physical space but also his mental space, making it impossible for Dan Heng to escape his clutches. This "We must pay the price together" absolutely reads, out of content anyway, as some sort of yandere death pact. Their lightcone is literally called "Nowhere to Run."

Even though Blade is not deliberately engaging in any form of sexual behavior, his obsession with Dan Heng in their early scenes can give players the impression of a cliched "depraved homosexual," and the implication that sexual violence could occur is present through their early interactions. This isn't on accident; Hoyo was playing with the yandere trope on purpose! I'm not going to lie, part of Renheng's early appeal for many players was how scary and dominating Blade came across as. The subtle sexual implications of pursuit are the point, and if you think Hoyo wasn't capitalizing on the intersection of "sexy" and "dangerous" with Renheng's early interactions, then you're probably a little too pure for this world.

As things progress, of course, we see this dynamic between Renheng dissipate, shifting his narrative from "crazed pursuer for unknown reasons" to "potentially the victim" of their past scenario, an effect which they achieved through the slow drip feed of Yingxing and Dan Feng's backstories. This, I think, speaks to not only a shift in the devs' intentions for Blade and Dan Heng's relationship (there's more to be said here about the Yingxing-Baiheng-Dan Feng mess that is the cut lore, etc.), but also to a shift in the way the devs wanted Blade to be perceived by fans, from a potentially predatory figure to a much less toxic potential love interest.

Anyway, back to Phaidei: We know that Phainon is headed for a downfall. It's been so obviously foreshadowed at this point that there's really nothing much more to say than that--however, even though he will likely also descend into villainy like Blade, and even though we know he's very likely going to kill Mydei... I don't think that the devs will use Phainon's queer-coding as part of his villainous identity. I don't get any sense that the dev team has any intentions of conflating Phainon's potential homosexuality with depravity, or using it as a motive for his descent into villainy (he might be gay and a villain, but he won't be a villain because he is gay). I definitely don't think we will see the kind of sexually-threatening physicality between Flame Reaver and Mydei that the devs did earlier with Blade and Dan Heng, even if "stabbing someone from behind" does have an inherent sort of sexual symbolism.

I appreciate that even in a story headed for the obvious "stabbed in the back by the villain form of the man I loved," the devs seem like they have moved on from falling into the pitfall (accidentally or intentionally, to sell yandere tropes) of portraying of gay men as predatory.

3. Leave Room for the Trailblazer

In part 1 of this post, I mentioned that Hoyo uses the placements of characters in scenes to indicate closeness, and I already pointed out that Mydei and Phainon stand really... really... close together, much closer than they stand to other characters.

However, it's not just that their models are literally positioned closer together in cutscenes--it's that their body language explicitly closes other characters out. Plenty of Hoyoverse MLM ships are ship-baited by moving the models of the male characters closer together, but very, very few of them are positioned to so consistently exclude even the player.

For comparison, consider the well-known scene where Alhaitham brings the Traveler and Paimon to his and Kaveh's house, which was framed with both domesticity and intimacy:

Although Alhaitham and Kaveh are also prone to the "stand shoulder-to-shoulder" thing that Hoyo does when they want to imply closeness between characters, the framing of their scenes nevertheless leave enough space for the Traveler and Paimon to be active participants in the conversation, enough space between Alhaitham and Kaveh for Traveler to not look blocked out.

For example, despite standing next to each other in that moment above, the camera deliberately cuts Alhaitham out, so that only Kaveh and the Traveler duo occupy the shot. Later on, Alhaitham bridges the divide between the Traveler and Kaveh, turning away from Kaveh toward the Traveler--once again, the conversation and scene are open to the Traveler, and thus, to the player.

Here's a live demonstration of my earlier point: Alhaitham and Kaveh stand closer together than the player and Candace, indicating their closer connection.

Other scenes play out similarly--although Alhaitham and Kaveh are close, their body language doesn't actively exclude other characters or the player from feeling like part of their conversations.

Over in Star Rail, we see the same general situation. We know that Aventurine rarely stands close to other characters, with Ratio being the one relatively consistent exception, but even so, the camera will usually give them some breathing room, making it feel like there's enough space for the player on the other side of the screen to be part of the moment:

Meanwhile Blade excludes both Dan Heng and the player, putting us on equal footing to Dan Heng and giving the impression that the player and Dan Heng are standing against Blade together. There is still room for "us" in this scene.

However, once again, Phaidei proves the exception. Mydei and Phainon don't just stand close--they don't even want to share air with anyone but each other.

A very normal way to have a group conversation. Definitely.

Consistently when standing side-by-side, they turn inward to face each other, rather than facing other characters in the conversation, literally forming a closed unit despite the fact that they're supposed to be in a group scene:

The thirdest third wheel to ever third wheel.

If it wasn't enough for the devs to just imply that the Trailblazer isn't able to break through Mydei and Phainon's circle, they decided to call it out in the text itself, echoing the player's own thoughts: "What about me?"

As I mentioned in the first part of the post, the devs also consistently use specific camera angles to capture both Mydei and Phainon in the frame together, at the same time, further emphasizing the closed nature of their conversations.

You will never see so many over-the-shoulder shots again in your life. You are the outsider looking in!

Perhaps most telling about the devs' intention to create an intimate air for Phainon and Mydei's conversations is that literally everyone else disappears when they speak to each other. For example, Phainon and Mydei's first goodbye takes place in the Garden of Life, which is actually a pretty bustling plaza with numerous NPCs. But every single NPC was deliberately removed by the dev team for Mydei and Phainon's scene there, to allow them a private moment:

Even in their final farewell, where Mydei was seen off by a literal bustling crowd of NPCs, not a single person is visible during their goodbyes--until the exact moment Mydei reminds Phainon that the whole rest of the world is waiting for him. The whole rest of the world didn't even exist for Phainon until Mydei forced him to remember.

It's not just the Trailblazer (and us, the player) who is third wheeling Mydei and Phainon's relationship. They literally exist in a world of their own when they speak to each other. No other modern Hoyoverse ship is on this level of excluding even the player--excluding even the damn NPCs!--to make a point about their closeness.

I thought I was going crazy the first time I was watching these scenes, thinking "It can't be that the devs actually went that far in framing Mydei and Phainon as a pair." But they did. They actually did.

The envelope has been pushed off a mountain, my guys.

But that still wasn't enough for the devs. They needed to go further.

4. Deploy Shoujo Manga Trope #57

I know I just said that Phainon and Mydei's relationship doesn't map well a typical heteronormative male/female relationship, but that doesn't mean the devs gave up on any and all attempts to apply typical romantic cliches to Phaidei. On the contrary, the dev team's thought process seems to have been "Hey, we're doubling-down on our queer-coding for Phainon and Mydei. How can we make it really, really, really obvious they're a ship?" And then they literally spun a roulette wheel of romantic tropes and threw every single one of them at patch 3.1 at the same time.

We have the "romantic lead beautifully framed by red rose petals blood glitter":

The "You used my love to manipulate me" subplot:

Phainon begs for compliments, and Mydei's reaction is to look away demurely and call him a scoundrel?? Am I seeing things?!

This is where he'd be blushing like a tomato if he was a female character.

The "please look after my dear husband when I'm gone" tragedy trope:

THE RING???

"LET'S MEET AGAIN IN THE NEXT LIFE"?!!

What do I even say about all... this...? Do I even need to say anything at all? Has any MLM ship in a recent Hoyoverse game gotten remotely as many romance flags? Alhaitham, where is Kaveh's ring?!

What I actually want to say isn't a specific breakdown of any of these moments, but what they mean in totality. Remember that Hoyo made every one of these choices with deliberate intent. They knew what the picture would add up to. These are explicitly romantic tropes that are extremely difficult to interpret in other lights.

You are supposed to read "If there's a chance in the next life" as "I want to be reincarnated with you; I want to meet you again; I want to be with you in a softer world."

You're supposed to think of the ring as a wedding ring. For one, Gorgo would only have gotten it through her marriage to Eurypon, but even more so--there was no reason this item needed to be a ring in the first place except to evoke images of wedding rings. We already knew from 3.0 that Castrum Kremnos used crests and seals for identification. Why make it a ring and not just the crest of Castrum Kremnos? Furthermore, why involve Phainon at all? The audience would never have known any different if Chartonus just said "Found this I did, have it you should, Mydei." It's a ring and it's a ring deliberately from Phainon because the devs want you to see it as a wedding ring.

What an incredibly bold move on Hoyo's part, and I don't even really mean just in the context of being a Chinese company, but even in the context of being a global company. Hoyo lives and dies by the revenue of their character banners, and choosing to explicitly and (nearly) exclusively apply romantic tropes to their male lead and deuteragonist in a brand-new patch cycle was a legitimately daring choice. Their deliberate application of romantic staples to an MLM ship, in a way that is difficult even for anti-LGBT+ fans to write off, was a very, very calculated decision. I genuinely hope it pays off for them. I hope Mydei and Phainon's banners both sell well, so the devs' receive a clear message in turn that fans appreciated their boldness and their commitment to creating queer content for these two characters.

I'm just going to end on one final note, about a scene that you may have noticed I conveniently skipped. Yes, the most conspicuous scene of them all:

5. A+ Censor Dodging

By some miracle of obliviousness, some Olympic-level mental gymnastics, or by sheer force of will, I think some people might still have made it to this point thinking that Phaidei was not being deliberately baited by the devs. You could maybe, somehow, convince yourself that the blood glitter rose petals and the shoulder-to-shoulder emotional conversations were just coincidences, that the tsundere "I'm not worried about him" was just dudes being tough guys, that the Trailblazer was a third wheel because Phainon and Mydei are "just good friends."

But then devs said "No, we need to be unmistakable. We need to make ourselves 1000% clear. We are baiting the yaoi fangirls, guys; please stop ignoring our hard work."

If going further than they've ever gone with Mydei and Phainon's body language wasn't enough, if Phainon's being willing to kill a god to save his man wasn't enough, if implying a wedding ring wasn't enough, what else could the devs possibly do to remove all plausible deniability and make it undeniably clear that Mydei and Phainon are queer characters (even if it is only for the benefit of yaoi fangirls)?

They can do something they've never done in their recent games before: Imply actual sex between male characters.

(Side note, Hoyo lesbians have had this implied sexual content pass from the beginning. You will always be famous, Beiguang. It's only the male characters that can't even have implied sex. 😂)

Obviously Phainon and Mydei are not having sex in the game. The dialogue even goes out of its way afterward to remind us that they remained fully clothed in that bath, thank you. But the refusal to show what was actually happening--censorship used as a tool to imply--the cut to the black screen, the narration of one animal pursuing another, the discretionary water droplets between the moaning... (And another little edit because @mynabirb made such a good point in the tags: The fact that they chose to "censor" this with a butterfly, the literal symbol of romance in Amphoreus, is almost too much. The devs really did say "Time to silence all doubts.")

From the player's perspective--and examining this as a choice on the dev team's part--there is no way to read this scene other than "sexually suggestive." You're supposed to think "This sounds incredibly sus." Because it is sus. Because the devs added this scene knowing that it would intentionally make people think about the idea of Phainon and Mydei having sex.

Sure, this scene is really funny in context. You're supposed to come out of it laughing, going "Wow, they're idiots." But you will also, whether you like it or not, come out of this thinking "Damn, Hoyo really went all in on the yaoi bait, didn't they?"

You can't "Devs didn't mean it" out of this one.

Which is brave as hell on Hoyo's part, to be honest! Even if this is nothing but queer-baiting, they saw that sick yaoi fan money and decided to go all in on it.

Say it with me: A dev team from a country with notoriously strict rules against depictions of homosexuality in media, from a company with a huge global fanbase including many conservative and religious countries, and with a majority male target audience, went out of their way to undeniably include sexually suggestive gay content in their game.

Whatever their motivation--be it simply money or from a genuine desire to tell gay stories--this wasn't a casual decision. This took commitment. This decision almost certainly went all the way to the top brass of the team for clearance. Someone probably had to fight to get this added.

But they did it, and not with Kaveh and Alhaitham (the previously undisputed kings of current Hoyoverse queer-coding) but with two brand-new (to Star Rail at least) characters who have extremely important roles in the game's on-going narrative--major characters who can't be overlooked.

Phaidei is literally built different.

But I'm still left with one lingering question:

Is Hoyo queer-coding or just queer-baiting?

Even though I played 3.1 in a sort of stupefied haze because I actually couldn't believe what I was seeing in Phainon and Mydei's scenes, I also ended it with a pretty bittersweet feeling.

How amazing that Hoyo pushed the envelope so far with Phaidei... But at what cost?

Did Mydei really have to leave Okhema never to return? Or is he being banished from the plot because his relationship with Phainon was too intense?

Isn't this just the "bury your gays" trope, in essence?

Lore-wise, there isn't any reason Mydei actually has to leave Okhema forever. Sure, he presumably is going to fight the Black Tide where it manifests across Amphoreus, but what about that requires him to "never return"? Demigods aren't geographically bound to the locations their Titans blessed, or Aglaea and Anaxa wouldn't be able to leave the Grove. There shouldn't be any reason Mydei can't visit Okhema when he wants.

The more you think about it, the worse it looks that the dev team implied Phaidei harder than they've ever implied an MLM ship before, only to immediately turn around and go "And then Mydei left forever." As if the only way it's okay to make characters that gay is if you then get rid of at least one of them. (Speaking humorously, at the rate Phainon and Mydei were going, if the devs didn't get rid of Mydei, he and Phainon probably would have been making out on-screen by 3.2, but you know what I mean.)

Sure Phaidei can be the MLM Star Rail ship with the most support in canon--but only at the cost of never being seen together again, apparently.

I'm not sure I like this trade off.

However, I am telling myself to remain cautiously optimistic. We know that Mydei's role in the story is not done, and that he and Phainon are destined for at least one more reunion, even if it won't be a happy one. We've been told that Amphoreus's story will be "heart-warming." I choose to believe that the devs will try to scrabble some sort of positive ending out of all this. At the very least, perhaps we'll end with a "in another life montage," and get to see Phainon and Mydei finally meeting in that library.

So is Hoyo queer-coding from a genuine desire to include gay characters or just baiting hard to sell Mydei to fangirls?

I'd say let's wait and see. Amphoreus has barely started cooking.

In the meantime, I think it is worth examining (and appreciating) Hoyo's willingness to mix up their own patterns, break their own trends, and to try something truly new and different with Phaidei. Even if this is all the content we ever get, Hoyoverse did things they haven't done before in any of their recent games, and showed that they're willing to push the limits for queer content in order to tell the stories they really want to tell.

I am a served fan, Hoyo. Well played, well played.