#making sense for something I didn't even mention...

[erwinsvow]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 — 𝐚.𝐜.

summary: when andrew opens the backseat of the car, you're looking up at him with wet eyes and tied hands, silent and compliant just like he knew you would be. and even though this definitely isn't one of his best ideas, staring down at you, he thinks it's definitely not his worst either.

word count: 19k

tags: kidnapping! probably out of character for pope but i tried. heavy stockholm syndrome, being eaten out in the forest after being chased through said forest. mentions of masturbation and pope watches (1) one time, cameras/monitoring without consent, daydreams of thigh riding because duh, mating press/breeding/creampie, things from the show that didn't make sense aren't included. yippee! :)

note: shea 'sweden' erwinsvow strikes again.

andrew thinks that their plan had been incredibly solid.

they were supposed to be in and out—deran in a nice suit, disguised as a potential parent looking for a good school for his kids. if anyone asked, he had two of them, four and six, and his partner was home with them since their youngest was sick right now, otherwise he would have brought the whole family. 

he distracted the people outside with questions while andrew and the others were supposed to make quick work of the principal’s office. at first when the job was pitched, it sounded stupid. why would the principal of some fancy private school have money stored away in his office from their stupid fundraisers and open-house? but a little deep diving had revealed that the principal was skimming from the top, and the leftover money and anything else they could use as leverage against him was probably in that office somewhere. if there was a safe, they might take the whole thing with them.

and that led to another can of worms—how do they get out with the safe? getting in was the easy part. deran and baz and andrew dressed in nice clothes blending in, craig pretending to be a caterer with the event, j waiting in a construction truck down the road. but getting out, let alone with a safe, would be difficult. they had to look at blueprints, smuggled from the town hall through a contact they didn’t even want to use. 

andrew didn’t know what to think of the whole thing. it felt like too much work for an undetermined reward, though the others didn’t seem to agree with him. they kept saying it would be worth it and outnumbered, feeling as though despite what he said they wouldn’t agree with him, he complied. 

the blueprints revealed an out through an adjacent room—they didn’t know who was occupying until they went in to canvas after hours, pretending to check the smoke detectors. andrew stood in front of the closed door, staring at a cute, childish sign printed in loopy writing: school nurse. 

but there was a window large enough for any safe they encountered and just a wall of plaster separating the two. they wouldn’t even need any heavy machinery to get through the walls and out the window to the car. the open house was scheduled for a saturday, meaning the school nurse, who ever it was, wouldn’t be there. 

so all in all, a solid plan from what information they had gathered. saturday morning, andrew put on a long-sleeved button up shirt and an uncomfortable tie and walked into the school.

(playing pretend was more fun than he would like to admit. a stranger came up to him and asked him how old his daughters were and he actually laughed. “how do you know i have daughters?” he had asked, and the stranger had looked at him, laughing in reply. “you look the type,” and then andrew had to tear his mind away from the thought for the next hour, trying to forget the momentary joy the sentence had brought him. he looked the type. and then he said he had twin daughters, about to start first grade, and the lie felt sweet on his tongue.)

it’s always the jobs where everything’s going according to plan. those are the ones where something always ends up going wrong because it’s when you least expect it. that’s what had led to his arrest—and he was extra mindful now, trying in his head to think of all the ways this could go wrong.

they had made it inside the school. snuck into the nurse’s office—a cutely decorated place with lollipops and crackers in big jars and fun colors strewn throughout. the desk is against the wall they’re carving up and there’s cute decorations on it. a vase with fresh flowers. a mug with cartoon characters on it. there’s a huge poster in the shape of a tooth and then bright letters above it spelling out lost tooth club. there’s dozens of names written on and under the poster, a basket of toys and stickers. 

baz is about to start swinging right in the middle of another bulletin board, prettily decorated with hours of work. the letters had been cut by hand, little paper flowers glued together individually. it said spread kindness, not germs in large yellow letters. 

“d-don’t ruin the poster. go next to it.” he doesn’t know why he said it. they were already robbing a school, it’s not like the punishment would be worse because he left a poster untouched. but it felt wrong to demolish the nurse’s office and destroy her hard work. 

they get a hole big enough in the wall, even find the safe and get it out into the nurse’s office to the open window. everything according to plan. everything going as best as it could.

and then the door swings open and you walk in.

you take two, maybe three steps before stopping in your tracks and staring at the scene in front of you with wide, unblinking eyes.  

“oh. oh, i-” they’re not wearing ski masks this time, not worried about it since there wasn’t any cameras in the two offices. and now you’ve seen their faces.

“grab her, pope!” he hears from baz, and without thinking twice about it, he does. a huge hand goes over your mouth, silencing you, and the other around your two wrists. it’s easy to subdue you, and you thrash up against him but it’s over quickly.

andrew keeps them pinned down while baz runs over with rope for your hands and then he’s taking you outside through the window, to the truck, and despite how badly he feels about it, he holds you tight and tells you not to scream. while they load up the safe and hop into the truck he keeps his hand still tight across your mouth. your eyes are filled with fear, huge and watery and your body trembles like a shaking, frightened animal.

andrew leans in, unsure of why he’s even doing it, and whispers as quiet as he can without the others hearing you. 

“i promise i won’t hurt you.” 

a drive later, they pull up to the house, though they really should have taken you somewhere else. as carefully as they can without prying eyes from the neighbors, he carries you out and they put you in andrew’s bedroom, and then they lock the door from the outside.

+

you come to a little bit later, unsure of when you had passed out. the entire thing feels like a bad dream—a nightmare after watching one of your shows too late before bed, but when you blink open your eyes and stare around the room, you realize this not a nightmare. 

this is so much worse.

your wrists are bound to the bedframe with thick rope, made of fibers that dig into your skin and leave it raw and scorched underneath. you stop fighting against it to preserve your strength and stare around the room. 

plain painted walls and a navy blue comforter under your body. you’re in the room of one of these men who took you—you can tell that much, despite how barren the room is. 

you’d think it was a guest room if you didn’t know any better. but there’s folded laundry at the foot of the bed and a half-open closet where you can see button up shirts hanging neatly. there’s nothing else to identify where you even are, though you’re sure it can’t be too far from the school.

you don’t know what to do now. for all your smarts and the crazy shows you love so much and using logic to help you through other situations, you have no idea what to do right now. there’s no way to escape the rope and no way to figure out where you are. 

fuck. no one at school even knew you were there, or someone might have noticed you were missing. but it’s an open house for the next school year and the last day of classes was the previous week. you’re out for the summer, meaning no one there would notice your absence.

you didn’t know many of the teachers at the school. the secretaries you passed on the way to your little nurse’s office every day were polite, but not much more than that. the principal only ever came to speak to you if he needed to speak with the student you were with. 

and your friends, well—

you don’t think many of them would notice if you went missing. fuck. you should have never cancelled plans so many times. you should have put in more effort to going to mixers and staying in touch when school ended and done all the things that normal people do because now—

you hear people talking from outside, sounding a little far away but still clear, like they’re raising their voices, and the ones inside your head die down immediately.

if you shut your eyes to try and pay attention to it, you can make sense of the conversation taking place, though your head is pounding and it’s hard to focus.

“she didn’t see anything,” you hear a man argue, and then he’s interrupted by second person.

“she saw our faces, man. that’s risking too much-”

“we need to take care of this,” a woman says, and then there’s a pause.

and outside, with his mind still on the promise he made you, andrew stares at smurf, as she finishes her sentence.

“you need to take care of this, andrew.” 

it was a screwed up job to begin with. they should have never done it—no matter the fact that there’s almost twice what their jobs normally make sitting in the safe next to them right now. that money is about to become blood money. and as always, andrew has to do the dirty work.

“i didn’t even want to do this job. and you’re-you’re going to make me fix this-”

“andrew,” smurf says, and it feels final with the tone she uses. the tone of, of course you’re going to fix this. as if the burden doesn’t weigh on his shoulders with every step he takes. doesn’t plague his mind within every single thought. like these responsibilities that he has to handle and take care of aren’t the very reason he can’t sleep at night. 

deran and craig looked checked out—staring at him like they don’t already know the answer. baz look at him expectantly and it’s so easy for him to do so. he gets to go home each night to a wife that loves him and a daughter that adores him and gets to put his head against his pillow and hold his wife with unmarred, clean hands because andrew will take care of it. 

he looks up at smurf and he knows what will happen if he resists. if he says no to this, she might do something to you herself, and your blood will still he on his hands.

“okay." andrew says, and that’s that. 

“alright. wait until it’s darker outside-”

“i know what to do.”

and inside the bedroom, dread creeps in slowly into your body until it consumes you entirely. you process the words—that andrew, whoever he is, whichever one he is, will take of it. take care of you. 

you almost want to laugh with how incredibly unreal this is. getting kidnapped is the craziest thing that’s ever happened to you in your short life and now it’s going to be the reason that you die. 

dead, just like that, over a robbery at a goddamn private school. dead, waiting for the executioner to come get you from his bedroom while they talk about your life over their table like it’s nothing but lunch-time conversation. 

you thought adrenaline was supposed to make you near superhuman, make you do something, figure out how to get out of here and run for your life. nothing’s coming to mind just yet, though, as you stay frozen on the bed and wait to hear if the people who took you say anything else.

the door opens suddenly and you flinch—you hadn’t heard any footsteps and he caught you by surprise.

this must be andrew, which means he’s the same one who covered your mouth and took you to begin with. he opens the door and stares at you, keeping eye contact as he shuts the door behind him and comes in closer. you should stare back, try to convince him (and yourself) that you’re not afraid of him, but you’re not that girl. 

you look away the second he takes a step closer to the bed. andrew doesn’t stop, coming in closer until he’s sitting at the edge. you scramble to sit up, bringing your knees in closer to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller and get away from him all at once. it’s a hot day and you’re in a thin dress that comes down to right above your knees—and the fabric slides up as you scramble.

you were supposed to go pack up whatever you needed from your office and then stop to get a coffee from your favorite shop near the school and read the book that’s currently sitting on your desk at work—if it was still there. you don’t know what they did to the room after andrew took you to the truck.

your day was supposed to be for you, for once. an iced drink and the romance-comedy you read in your free time between little kids who didn’t feel good and lunch at a local place to celebrate another school year coming to an end. 

and now you’re about to walk to your death, refusing to make eye contact with the man who’s going to be killing you.

as morbid as the thought is, you wonder how he’ll do it. he said he wouldn’t hurt you but the decision sounded pretty final out there, at least it did to you. something painless, hopefully? 

you’ve watched enough shows to know all the ways but your mind runs empty. you finally move your gaze back to andrew in the corner of the bed, sitting and staring at you. you can see his shoulders rise with every deep breath, can hear the sharp exhale from his nose after each one. you want to say something. you think you should plead for your life.

but the way andrew’s looking at you, you almost believe what he said to you in the truck. i promise i won’t hurt you. 

how could he have promised you such a thing?

when he finally speaks up, it begins to make sense, you think. that, or you’re not nearly as smart as you thought you were.

“i have to take you away from here.” 

“i-i heard you. outside. you promised-”

“i’m not going to hurt you. just-just, when i take you out there, pretend to be scared.”

“what?”

“p-pretend to be scared. hit me and-and fight. i’m gonna tape your mouth.”

“what? no-”

“just listen to me,” he says, and it comes out differently from the other words he’s said to you. it’s final and stern, and the way his hazel eyes stare into yours, you really believe him, as incredulous as the thought is. “i’ll get you out of here. just listen to me. i’m not killing you. i’m not killing anyone.” 

his sentences sound as though he’s trying to convince himself, rather than you, and you have to physically shove the thought aside before you burst into tears from how scared you are. but andrew, for everything you can tell, is being honest with you.

you’re halfway decent, you’d like to think, at telling when people are lying. students come into your nurse’s office every single day trying to lie to you, trying to avoid a certain peer or a certain class or assignment, filling your ears with lies about aching stomachs and pounding heads.

you’ve got your own ways of telling truths from lies, and andrew, with his never-ending eye contact and firm words, is telling the truth.

at least you hope he is.

“o-okay. okay, i will.”

you do try your best to put on the show—pounding on andrew’s back, crying out against the duct tape he puts over your mouth—and have to remind yourself it’s not really a performance. you’re just as terrified as you were an hour ago but something inside you twists and turns at andrew’s sincere-sounding words. you don’t look at any of the others there, don’t try to meet their eyes because they might see that you’re not really as scared as you should be.

he puts you in the bed of the truck under a black cover, and you stare up at him with real fear. even if you weren’t claustrophobic, the enclosed area induced anxiety in you from the moment you figured out what he was doing. you think this might be it—your only chance to make a run for it, if you could wrangle out of andrew’s incredibly strong grip, if you could keep your balance with your tied ankles. 

and then he looks down at you and shakes his head slightly, so slightly that the movement is almost undetectable. there’s eyes on him—of this you’re sure—and he still tries to remind you that he won’t hurt you when he feels your body tense up under his hands.

you kick your feet without much energy behind it and let andrew push you into the bed of the truck. he gets in and starts driving, and then a few minutes later, he pulls over.

you blink up at him stupidly when he helps you out, thinking that he’s letting you go just a few miles from his home. you try to speak but there’s still duct tape over your mouth. andrew gives you his hand to help you sit up and then opens the backseat door of his truck for you, helps you inside, and then keeps driving.

and against every greater instinct you have or have been taught, you sit in the back quietly and let him drive you wherever he’s taking you, stupidly assuming it’s to safety. 

you hope he’s taking you to safety. 

no, you think—still a little stupidly—you know he’s taking you to safety.

+

andrew drives you for what feels like forever. wherever he’s taken you, it’s far from the house you were at and far from the school, meaning it is also far from your tiny apartment. you watch the sunset from the back seat and wonder who, if anyone, would even notice you’re missing this early. 

your rent and bills are on auto-pay. the sweet, older lady who lives alone next to you forgets her own name sometimes. and staring at the back of andrew’s head—dark brown curls that glow auburn when the golden sun hits them—you realize there’s really no way out of this.

through, it is.

it’s dark when the car finally slows down on an empty dirt road. you don’t recognize any of the scenery, but andrew drives through the terrain like he’s well acquainted with it, avoiding bumps and ditches easily. when he stops the car, you sit up a little straighter in the back.

you should be thankful he didn’t keep you in the bed of the truck the entire time, thankful that he let you realize you’re about two hours from home. thankful that he hasn’t hurt you yet, just like he had promised.

your wrists and ankles ache. every muscle in your body is screaming at you from the adrenaline rush that did absolutely nothing to help you get out of this situation. and though a smarter girl might try to knock andrew out and run through the woods until you found someone to help you, you’re beginning to realize you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. 

everything in you is telling you to trust him and listen to his instructions and make him keep his promise by not giving him any reasons to hurt you. 

he turns the car off, takes a deep breath, and then opens his door to get out. then he opens your door and stares down at you.

this is just like a scene from one of your crime shows. you can’t believe that’s the thought in your head right now, but it’s the only thing coming to mind. the specifics of the show merge into all the others, but you remember something about making eye contact and trying to humanize yourself so the kidnapper remembers you’re a person and not just an object.

so you need to look into his eyes. and you think that’s easy enough, that you can do it and that he’ll realize how obscenely wrong this entire situation is and let you go home tonight.

you flick your eyes up to meet his. you knew he was already staring at you but it’s somehow so much worse than you could have imagined. he’s not just looking, his eyes are boring into your soul. he doesn’t look away or blink, just keeps his gaze focused while staying completely silent. you’ve never been good at eye contact or being particularly demanding or combative, but you think this is an emergency and surely, you can manage for now.

you last all of two seconds before looking away. 

you focus on the ropes on your wrist and how irritated the skin underneath looks and you let andrew figure out whatever it is he needs to figure out in silence, save for your breaths.

“c’mon,” he says after some time. “inside. come on.”

he gives you his hands to help you up—you guess at the very least, at least he’s chivalrous—and then he holds you by the rope to guide you. he’s not even pulling very hard on it but the force is enough to make sure you don’t go running and screaming in the opposite direction. 

you realize you should have tried to take in the exterior of the cabin as soon as you walk inside, something else that your shows should have taught you, but you’re too busy being pulled around by andrew like a ragdoll. he brings you inside and then flips light switches.

the place is, for a kidnapper’s secondary location, quite nice. it looks like it was decorated a few decades ago—entire place shrouded in gingham and floral prints with vintage looking light fixtures and bookshelves with dust bunnies. you can’t imagine he picked these things out himself, especially not when you remember how bare-bones his bedroom was.

this place is much nicer. homey and dusty and quiet, you conclude after looking around. andrew doesn’t tell you to sit so much as he puts you down in a love seat and leaves you there, tied and taped up, waiting for him to come back. he walks into another room, which you can only assume is the kitchen, and then comes back.

“oh. i-i’m sorry,” he says and your eyes shoot up to him, unsure of why he’s apologizing. he gets closer and lifts his hand and you flinch, before his fingers go to the duct tape covering your mouth. you wince while he pulls it off, slowly and then faster, like he’s trying to get it over with faster, and you can’t help the tears that well up and slip down while he does it. you thought in vain that it might feel like a bandaid. it didn’t.

andrew apologizes again and you try to tell him it’s fine, but it doesn’t come out. your mouth is dry and you realize you haven’t had any water since you got taken at the school, so it comes out in a choked fragment of a sentence. 

you finally find the courage to look up at him with wet, blinking eyes.

“can i have water?” it comes out as a whisper, and andrew doesn’t say anything, just rushes back to the kitchen and comes back out with a half-filled glass. he almost hands it to you before realizing your hands are still tied and then he brings it to your mouth, tilting the glass so you can drink it. he doesn’t do it too quickly, making sure you don’t choke on it, but a droplet still runs down the side of your mouth. when he takes the cup away you stare up at him.

he almost lifts his hand to wipe away the water. his fingers twitch over the empty glass.

“how long do i have to stay here?” 

andrew pauses like he’s thinking about the answer. the truth, of course, is that he doesn’t know how long you have to stay. the answer to your question is that you’ll stay as long as he wants. 

“i don’t know. as long as it takes.”

“as long as what takes?”

“the bedroom is over here. come on.” 

+

andrew, for all you have learned about him, remains very chivalrous. it’s been two days, and you keep track with a piece of scrap paper in the room he keeps you in. he brought you in here and kept you tied up while he made sure all the windows in the house couldn’t be opened anymore and did something to the door too, you’re sure, though you didn’t actually get to see it.

he probably didn’t have to go through all that trouble. you conclude after forty-eight hours that you have terrible survival skills and are closer to being a perfect victim, a thought that makes your stomach turn. but you are, really. you haven’t once tried to fight him, save for the time he told you to, and the thought of escaping is a miniscule idea buried in the very back of your head. 

you eat what he makes—though you are getting very tired of dry sandwiches and sugary cereal—and drink the water he gives you. 

you think he’s testing you. and you have never, ever been one to fail a test. you comply with his instructions even when it’s incredibly embarrassing, like when he asks you how he should respond when you get texts and calls to your cell-phone. with your face burning you tell him there’s probably not going to be any of those to worry about, and he stares at you while you evade his eye contact. 

(if you had just looked, you would have recognized the way he’s staring at you. it’s different than the others. like he’s just unlocked a new piece of you with this information. it’s good that you didn’t, though. it makes him want to keep you all the more.)

andrew hasn’t been obvious enough with his absence that the others have noticed—yet. he needs to go back to oceanside and stay there, and this two hour drive he’s been doing for days isn’t exactly helping him. the first night he’d driven back at three in the morning, after you’d fallen asleep and he’d made sure everything was locked until he came back in the morning, and he’d had to deal with smurf, awake and waiting for him, waiting for the proof that he had taken care of it. taken care of you. 

the day after, baz stops him when he’s on his way out, to come back to see you, to tell him about a new plan he had for a job.

he realizes that the closer they get to a new job, the less he’d be able to come to the cabin. it seems there’s only one obvious solution—letting you leave the bedroom you’ve been confined to when he’s not there with you. so far he’d let you into the living room while he’s there, and the two of you sit in silence. (that silence is better than any conversation he’s had with his family in the last month, but you don’t need to know that.)

and the only way to make sure you’re alright in the cabin when he’s not there is to physically watch you and be sure of it, which means the real solution to andrew’s problem is cameras.

he installs them while you’re asleep. it’s only been a few days and you don’t make much noise as it is but when he hears the soft snoring, he knows you’re out. one in the living room and another in the kitchen, and a final one outside the cabin. the man at the store had explained it had motion sensors and would alert his phone if animals or people were outside. at the time, it seemed like a perfectly good idea. 

the man at the store had said something else too, something about how this is the best safety system and it’s what he uses at home to keep his family safe and he would recommend it for andrew’s wife and kids too. and maybe the assumption that he was doing all of this for your protection got to his head a little too quickly.

he’s been down that road before, but he still installs them all the same.

he lets you out of the room and tells you he’ll be back in a few days and that there’s food in the fridge and you can move around the house if you’d like. you look at him like you’re surprised, with less fear than he anticipated, and nod. and then you tell him quietly, so quiet he can barely hear it—thank you. 

(you wait for a reaction, but you don’t get one. he takes another heavy breath and then leaves, closing the door behind him and then locking it how he always does, leaving you alone again. and somehow, it feels so much worse to be alone.)

andrew drives for a few minutes before he gives into the urge of checking the camera’s footage. he sees you padding carefully through the living room, stopping at the bookshelf and reading all the titles. 

he checks it again throughout the day, even though he really shouldn’t. he runs the risk of someone seeing it over his shoulder and you have become something he really, really doesn’t want to share with his brothers. 

he doesn’t know how to do this. it’s not like he’s ever kidnapped someone before. he didn’t have any time to think it through, to make a plan, to gather supplies. he’s here in oceanside—maybe he should stop by your apartment. he has your phone and your purse and that should be enough to determine your address, and he can figure out how to get inside. maybe he should bring you some of your belongings, so you don’t feel as…

andrew doesn’t know what word he can use there. he doesn’t know what you’re feeling. frightened, he supposes. maybe it won’t make you feel as frightened if you had some of your things with you. he could bring you puzzles and books and the types of things that girls need with them—little bottles of expensive products and sweet smelling perfumes and whatever else you’d like. if it would make you more comfortable, he’d bring it.

fuck. and clothes—he needs to bring you clothes. you’ve been wearing the same dress the entire time and he hasn’t brought you anything to change into. if he goes to your home, he can bring some of your clothes.

(every time he’s come to the cabin so far, every time he’s opened the door, he waits in the foyer. he hears your footsteps padding up to the bedroom door, sees your shadow underneath it, like you’re making sure you didn’t imagine the noise. and when he goes over and unlocks it, you’re waiting for him in your sundress on the bed and the thought makes him so distracted he has to pull himself away from it. he has to close the door shut in his mind because if he doesn’t, he’s going to get so hard he can’t think anymore. and suddenly his mind fills in the blanks and he decides if he goes to your closet, he’ll only bring you dresses back.)

when andrew checks the video feed again, he’s noticed that you showered. he can tell from your wet hair, and for the first time, you’re not in the dress you were wearing when he took you. you’re in a plain shirt, one that’s too big on you. cotton and black.

one of his shirts. it’s from the dresser in the bedroom, he knows, since it’s only a one-bedroom home. the room he’s been keeping you in was supposed to be his room, and the drawers are filled with the clothes he’d brought there.

you’re wearing his clothes. and suddenly the thought of going to your apartment goes to hell. he’ll keep you in his clothes for as long as he can, until you say something or ask for something. (he knows you won’t. he’s figuring he knows an awful lot about you in a handful of days. that can’t be a coincidence, can it?)

and then craig says something about how he’s never seen andrew on his phone this much and you got some porn on there or something? and he shoves the device into his pocket and tries to remove you from his thoughts.

tries and fails, that is.

andrew gets a stinging scrape on his upper arm trying to get out of the job. he wasn’t actively thinking about you but he knows somehow he was distracted because of you, because he couldn’t put you out of his mind for thirty seconds longer, wondering if you were still awake on the couch or back in the bedroom and if you’d eaten and if you were maybe, just maybe, waiting up for him. 

he ignores the others telling him that he needs to get his arm fixed and he suffers through another hour at smurf’s, eating dessert that tastes like nothing, and then he gets in his truck and pulls out his phone.

and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch. he sighs, part relief mixed with something else. his arm seems to hurt less, he thinks. and then andrew drives two hours to go back home to you.

+

you wake up when the door opens. first your eyes flutter open, and then you turn your head to make sure it’s andrew—though the chance of it being someone else are nonexistent. then another thought, for a split second, racing through your body and mind like a strike of lightning.

you hope it’s never anyone but andrew opening that door.

you’re distracted from the thought when andrew groans, and you hear a pitter patter noise that sounds suspiciously like rain—but it’s not raining. when you lift yourself up in the dark, andrew’s leaning against the doorframe, raising his other hand to turn the switch on, and when the bulb flickers and light fills the cabin, you see it. blood, lots of it.

your instinct is to get on your feet right away, to usher andrew to the couch where you had fallen asleep and help him take his shirt off so you can see the wound clearly. 

you don’t panic, something you’ve gotten good at in your field. panicking makes the little kids even more frightened, so you’ve mastered the art of staying calm while assessing the situation. quick movements—your feet bring you to the bathroom for clean towels and hot water like you’ve lived here forever. 

you wash the wound carefully, pleased that it’s only skin-deep and that the bleeding should stop with some prolonged pressure. you sigh a breath of relief, holding the towel to his arm tightly, and then you realize you and andrew haven’t spoken a word this entire time.

you have to say something. you’re supposed to keep the patient distracted, get their mind off of their injury so they don’t subconsciously make it worse. you’ve always been good with your students, rambling about a new movie or what flavor lollipop they’ll pick on their way out and anything else that comes to mind.

but staring at andrew, realizing that you’ve forced yourself not to panic but feeling the dread still seep in, you realize you have nothing to say. you’re so thankful his wound isn’t too bad and logically, you compute, while his hazel eyes stare at you and you stare at his arm (a huge, thick bicep with veins that pulse under your touch), that it must be because if something happened to him, no one would ever find you. 

that has to be it. there’s no other reason why you should feel like this—and you can’t even describe what this is, you just know that it’s there, a pale glowing ball of thank god he’s okay hovering in the pit of your stomach, making you almost nauseous with how relieved you are. no other reason. 

you pull away the towel and the bleeding has stopped. you sigh again, reaching for another towel to wipe the wound clean and turning to meet andrew’s eyes, which are already on you, to ask him if he has a first aid kit. but he speaks first.

“thank you.” two words, said quietly, staring into the depths of your soul and not blinking once. you want to say something to make him smile but you don’t know how to do that. (yet.) 

“of-of course. first aid kit? i need a bandage. to wrap your arm.” 

“it’s under the sink. i can get it.”

“no, no,” you insist, letting go of andrew’s arm. your hand still feels warm where you were gripping him and his blood is all over your fingers. you dart off in the right direction and come back with the box, opening it up and seeing what you can use. 

you wrap it around his arm carefully, apologizing when you press against him in a way that makes him wince.

“you should buy some more bandages like this. the waterproof kind. when you can. and i-i can change the dressing for you,” you ramble, unsure of how to make andrew feel better, if you can at all. he might be more upset that you’re still talking and not shutting up, and still—

he brings his other hand around and clasps it around your wrist. he’s holding on tightly but it doesn’t hurt. that’s not his intention right now. you looked into his eyes when you felt his touch but that was a mistake. blinking quickly, you try to move your gaze anywhere but the man in front of you.

“can you look at me?” you can’t help it, it’s like your body has this urge to just listen to him, to comply, to try and please him with your deference. as painful as it is, you stare into his hazel eyes for what seems like ages. they’re mostly green but the brown is so much more apparent from this close to him. the realization is so stunning you almost feel like you’ve been zapped with an electric current—andrew has beautiful eyes. “thank you.” 

“oh. i-” you pause yourself before you say something that doesn’t make any sense. “of course. y-you saved my life. it’s the least i can do.”

and that realization is equally disorienting, like a bomb has been dropped between you two. he might have taken you and brought you here and kept you locked up but he did save you. from almost certain death.

andrew doesn’t say anything, even if he’s thinking something. he stares and when you try to look away again, he lets go of the hand on your wrist and brings it to the side of your face instead. he tilts your head towards him until you’ve locked eyes again. 

you think your heart is going to fall out of your chest with how fast it’s beating.

“stop looking away.” his words come out quietly.

andrew is so close to you, that almost by nature of instinct, your eyes flutter shut. you don’t know what exactly you’re expecting, and something inside of your brain screams at you, reminding you how incredibly stupid you’re being.

but then andrew brings you closer to him with his hand warm on your cheek and your lips brush his for a second, maybe two, and they’re soft just like you imagined, and then—

you two jump apart as his phone goes off. you don’t know how far back you jerked, but andrew lets go of your face immediately. he stands up to answer it, reminds you to be quiet by putting a finger in front of his lips.

"what is it, baz?"

you tiptoe back to the room and close the door as quietly as you can. and then you bury your head into the pillow.

stupid. stupid. stupid. kissing—or almost kissing, or whatever the hell that was—your captor. you seriously cannot descend into a further level of stupidity. as if your life was some badly written mafia romance, the kind you should be overindulging in right now instead of being locked up in a cabin with a complete stranger and then trying to kiss said stranger.

(do not, you’re forced to remind yourself over and over again, do not think about his green eyes and his soft lips and the way he held your face tenderly. do not. do not.) 

a little while later, you hear andrew’s voice quiet down and his footsteps come to your door. he stands outside and your heart picks up wondering if he’ll knock or come back in to finish what he started, but it settles into a dull thudding rhythm again once he walks away. then the unmistakable sound of the front door, his truck starting, and tires on the dirt road that leads to this place.

you don’t know why you let your expectations get carried away for a moment there. andrew’s not going to give you some grand, dramatic kiss or knock and give you a romantic speech from the other side of the door. that’s not him, you know that much at least. the crime television series are merging with the romantic books in your head and creating a perfect storm to cloud your senses. 

maybe it’s a good thing. maybe it’s a coping mechanism, or something. you’ll figure it out in therapy if andrew ever lets you go.

you open the door and go back to where you were sleeping on the couch. it’s comfortable, and it’d be perfect to curl up and watch a movie in, if there was a television around. you miss your laptop and post-work routine a little bit more than you have the entire time so far.

you want to get back under the blanket but you still feel flushed from the kiss, if you could even call it that. the almost, maybe-it-happened kiss. you lay on top of the blanket and stare at the ceiling and feel your heartbeat in your ears.

fuck. you really shouldn’t. but resisting it—especially when your eyes shut and you recall how andrew’s skin felt against yours, how it felt to be so close to him that you could see all his freckles, how he looked at you and made you look at him—takes every ounce of strength in your body. 

and you’re really, really not that strong. 

you lift up the shirt you’ve been wearing today, the one that’s undoubtedly his from the familiar detergent and the size of it, and your fingers find their familiar pattern themselves.

you trace little circles on your clit and keep your eyes closed tightly, like opening it and seeing what the hell you’re doing might chase away the orgasm that’s getting closer and closer. instead there’s other images—andrew’s arm tensing under your touch. the veins that go all the way down to his forearm. other places he might have veins like that. 

then it’s something else—the fact that he almost kissed you. what it could have led to, what it means for you. the fact that he wants you, that maybe he’s wanted you all along. that maybe that’s why he took you.

your orgasm hits you like a brick at that very thought. you ride yourself through it like you’ve always done, covering your mouth even though you don’t have neighbors here, sweaty and out of breath and satisfied but not entirely. like you know what it could have been like, that there’s someone who could have made it better in ways that you can’t even piece together right now.

you groan into the cushion, loudly, frustrated with yourself. it’s one thing to develop a lite version of stockholm syndrome but it’s another entirely to finish to the thought of the man. especially when you can’t remember the last time you had a feeling like this towards anyone. 

it’s just so stupid. you can’t get over it. you’re so stupid. the feeling of clarity washes over you but you still don’t completely understand it. you don’t know what it is about him. maybe you just want to be wanted—that has to be it. how else can you justify what you just did to the thought of your kidnapper? 

you lay back on the cushion and curl up under the blanket and with that thought haunting you, you fall asleep. 

and half-way to oceanside, andrew watches the feed for the living room and clenches his fist around the steering wheel. 

+

andrew comes back the next day, and you two don’t talk about anything, just like usual. you’re making yourself lunch when he opens the door and you look his way briefly, before heading back to make him a plate too. you try to justify it internally—he made you meals not so long ago. granted, you were tied up with rope at the time, but still, he could have let you starve and he didn’t.

it turns into a little habit. you’ve never particularly loved cooking but one of the dusty bookshelves in the house had a cookbook that you’ve been stealing recipes from. it’s just something to keep you a little busy and if you’re going to improve any of your skills, it might as well be this one.

it’ll still be useful to you when you leave. if you get to leave.

you’re not entirely sure but you think andrew likes having you there as a personal cook. he washes the dishes and cleans the kitchen without complaint, and he forces you out of there, not letting you help. it’s sweet, you think, watching him from the living room with whatever book you’re reading now. 

there’s other things too—he’s brought you books. you’re not sure from where, but you read them all the same, laughing internally when you think about if it’d be impolite to ask him for a dvd player or something.

you change the dressing on his wound each day, and it’s healing well so far. it’s been maybe four or five days since he got hurt—since you almost, maybe kissed him and then definitely, certainly orgasmed on his couch—and you feel…confused, for lack of a better word. 

you feel like you’re in a routine like how a couple who’s getting used to living with each other is—first tip toeing around, and then gaining comfort and ease, until finally, it feels normal.

this can’t be right—how routine it feels to make andrew lunch, even when you’re not sure if he’ll be back in time. to flip through a cookbook wondering what recipe he might like. to smile at him when he brings you another book since he somehow knows you’ve gone through most of the shelf already.

the days melt into each other—but you had expected that. you think asking andrew about an update in the whole letting you go free thing might upset him, and you still really, really want to avoid that.

so you remain confused and turbulent and fighting an internal dilemma between two sides of you. one that just wants to give in and stop thinking so hard about this and the other that thinks you should be scared for your life and stop pretending that this is anything besides what it really is—stockholm syndrome changing your brain chemistry and making you think that you’re going to be just fine.

while the two sides are duking it out, you and andrew continue the routine—or maybe it’s a charade, one side argues—like usual. you think it’s been two weeks of being cooped up in this house when he brings you a magazine.

“can you circle what you need?” 

you look up at him. he’s sort of trained you into the eye contact thing, and though you can’t withstand much of his intense staring, you’ve gotten marginally better at it. (you’re sure he’ll like that, that it must please him that you don’t always look away. and then you remind yourself where you are and your head begins to hurt.)

“yes. sure. thank you,” you say, opening up the catalog. there’s a section for clothes and another for beauty and skincare, and as stupid as it is, you still circle some of the makeup you like. and some of the stuff that you always deemed too expensive to buy, because if andrew’s paying, you might as well get to try it out. you justify it all—doing such elaborate mental gymnastics that you think you’d medal gold at this point. 

but that’s what you have to do, right? you ponder the thought as you hand andrew back the circled pages, with him telling you he’ll get the stuff as soon as he can. that new clothes and skincare might make you, at the very least, feel like a person. help you not lose all of your identity as you merge into this persona for andrew—personal chef and nurse and someone he almost, maybe kisses. 

and there’s other things too. when you wake up, he’s always hovering somewhere near you, as though he’d been watching you sleep. you guess there’s nothing inherently wrong with that—it sort of makes butterflies flutter around your stomach, since the idea that he likes to pass time by looking at you is very overwhelming—but you keep reminding yourself to stay rational. 

it’s hard to ground yourself but you need to keep it up—even though more often than not, thoughts of andrew, even when he’s not there with you, plague you, like you’re some teenager with a crush. 

it’s because you know, know deep down in your bones that some part of andrew likes some part of you. that you do, indeed, have a soft spot for your kidnapper, built from making lunches and conversations without words. that you ignore your instincts so much you’re not sure you can even call it an instinct anymore, because your newfound impulses just want to do whatever you can to please andrew, even when he doesn’t express it through words, just through eye contacts and barely there touches. 

the realization makes you want to throw up. there’s not enough justification in the world for this, it doesn’t matter if he said he wouldn’t hurt you or he makes sure you’re safe here.

it’s been more than two weeks now. he could have let you go. but then again, he could have done a lot of things.

you’re finishing making lunch when you notice it—that the door seems slightly ajar, like he’d forgotten one of the locks or something. maybe he had on the second trip out to get the groceries for you so you could start cooking. he used to make sure you were in the bedroom, locked inside, when he opened and closed the door. but he hadn’t done that in a few days.

because he trusted that you wouldn’t run. 

if the door is open, you could try to get outside while andrew is washing the dishes and cleaning up after the two of you eat. but it’s probably not—he’s much more careful than that.

but still, sitting at the tiny round dining table across from him, you can barely eat a few bites, heart racing at the idea. it’s stupid—the idea of running away. where would you even go? you don’t know the terrain, don't know where you are. you don’t even wear shoes in the house, prancing around barefoot in one of the new dresses andrew brought for you like some sort of twisted housewife.

once it got dark, you’d be in real trouble, with whatever wildlife is out here and how far away the main road is, if there was even other cars on it to begin with. you can’t remember much from the drive over here and you curse to yourself.

“something wrong?” andrew asks, and you blink at him dumbly.

“no, nothing. i-i-” quick. think of something. before he gets worried. “i just didn’t like this recipe as much as i thought i would. not my best work.” 

you try to laugh it off, even though your words sound stupid. andrew stares at you until your smiles melts away and you take a tiny bite.

“it tastes good to me,” he says, and you feel your heart fall. your idea seems further and further away.

like always, andrew takes the dishes to the kitchen and when you hear the sink turn on, you leave your spot on the table and go to the living room. but instead of taking a seat on the creaky couch and opening your book, you tiptoe to the door. 

your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears, trembling hand reaching for the doorknob. 

and for the first time, it twists and gives way to the door opening. 

you are stupid, you conclude, for thinking about running away from this, from him. but you can’t get over the circumstances that led you here—his crazy family, the fact that he was partaking in a robbery of your goddamn school, that he had no issues with taking you to begin with. 

and despite the part of you that thinks you could really, really get used to this—or the harrowing reality of the fact that you already have—you step outside and start running.

but andrew has become somewhat of a bloodhound when it comes to you. he waits for the telltale signs that he always hears when he’s the kitchen—the groan of the sofa cushions as you sit down and get comfortable, the rustle of your book opening, the flap of the blanket as you spread it over your legs.

he knows because he’s always greeted with that same sight every time he comes out into the living room, one he’s become well acquainted with and has been the source of a rare piece of happiness for the last several days.

it takes him a few minutes to realize he didn’t hear it. another few to wonder if you went to the bedroom—but he didn’t hear any doors open or close. and it takes him about thirty seconds to realize his mistake with leaving the door unlocked because he was worried about the groceries in the back—specifically a pint of melted ice cream he brought here for you.

the dish clatters into the sink and he races out to the living room. andrew’s never been a religious man but he prays then, quietly to himself, just for a split second. hoping that you’re just curled up on the couch quietly, that when he turns the corner, you’ll still be there.

his heart skips a beat when he realizes that you’re not. then he walks through the open door with an understanding that he won’t stop running until he finds you.

+

hindsight really is twenty-twenty. 

you ran for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before realizing that this was a huge mistake—one that you can’t just repair with an apology and a sincere smile. just a while ago this felt like your only chance to get freedom and get as much distance between you and the kidnapper you’re half in love with—another realization that strikes you like something akin to a knife in the stomach. 

you keep running, bare feet getting achy already from the cold, hard dirt and rocks. you wonder if andrew’s noticed yet or if he’s still standing in the kitchen. he’s going to be so disappointed. and all this time, you’ve been trying so hard to avoid that very thing. all your effort was for nothing—it’s not like he’ll forgive you for this. 

you’ve gotten so far that you don’t recognize anything, and with your muscles burning, you slow down. you can’t stop for long—you don’t know where the nearest road is, and it might be an hour of running before you get there. 

you try to catch your breath and get back up to keep going, when a thought crosses your mind.

what are you really scared of? because it can’t be staying with andrew—he’s done nothing but take care of you. it can’t be that he’ll hurt you, because he’s already had the chance to do so a thousand times and he’s never once taken it.

if anything, he’s protecting you from the rest of his family. putting himself on the line by hiding you instead of just doing the easy thing and killing you, dumping your body somewhere where no one will ever find it and letting the school report you missing in three months when you don’t show up for the first day of class.

you think you know what you’re scared of right now—being stuck in these woods when it’s dark out, alone and trapped, with the possibility that if you run too far, andrew might not be able to find you. 

if he even tried to find you. he might not care now that you broke his trust by running away. he might let you stay stuck out here until the forces of nature get to you, if you’ve gone too far. 

you collapse down against a tree, that thought making your knees weak as you fully process it. and then you wait.

and a few minutes later, you hear the stomps—even they sound angry—getting closer and closer, and you look up to find andrew, like always, staring at you. he looks flushed and though his expression hardly ever changes around you, remaining consistently unphased, you can tell he’s upset with you. 

you two have never needed many words to communicate.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly, before he can say anything, if he even will. 

you’re not sure it goes from here—you’d thought about the other side of your original plan, running to the nearest road and flagging someone down and whatever else you thought adrenaline would allow you to do. you think your subconscious was trying to protect you from thinking about andrew being angry at you and dragging you back to the cabin by your hair.

weakly, you think it’s what you deserve for running away in the first place.

and andrew wonders why you stopped running, his mind running in circles around the fact that you had your perfect chance to escape and you took it, and you still stopped. you don’t look too hurt—though there’s scratches on your bare feet and ankles from the branches and twigs. you hadn’t even thought to put your shoes on. that’s how badly you wanted to get away from him.

and can he really blame you? he couldn’t have expected you to willingly stay just because you’re gentle when you clean his wound and you two share meals like husband and wife. it’s a fantasy concocted from being in the cabin with you for too long—and he firmly reminds himself of that right now, staring down at you. 

but the way you look at him, watery eyes and an expression like you don’t even understand your own actions, makes resisting the fantasy so hard. he thinks it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

he crouches down to be at eye-level with you, your back still perched against the trunk of the tree. you draw your knees in towards your chest and he watches as the fabric of your dress moves with the motion, revealing more bare skin to him.

“why-why’d you do that?”

“i’m sorry, andrew-”

“i haven’t hurt you. i kept my promise.”

“i know, i-i-”

“you’ve been good so far.”

“i’m sorry,” you say again, and with that one, fat tears drip down your cheeks. you are sorry—if only you had a way to convince him of it. or to go back in time and not do any of this, if only to save you both the pain of this conversation.

“why? i want an answer.” firm and final and said in a tone that you had never heard from andrew so far. 

“i…i guess i needed to know if you’d come after me or not.” it comes out as a shuddery breath of words. it’s only partially the truth—but it’s the most you can confess to right now. 

maybe some part of you knew it would happen like this. the truth is that you’re scared of how andrew might feel about you and you’re even more scared of what you feel towards him. 

“of course i would,” he says and you shut your eyes, taking a shaky breath. you feel andrew’s hands on your knees, warm and tense and his grip tight like you might scamper off again. “i would-" he cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence. do anything for you. i would do anything for you.

“d-don’t say that-”

“why not?”

when you open your eyes, andrew’s already looking at you, with an intensity you’ve seen one other night—the time you helped him when he was hurt, the night of the kiss. you don’t have an answer for him.

“can i prove it to you?” andrew’s words make a shiver run through your body. you stare at him, finally not looking away for once, wondering how different things will be after this. 

you think you’re fine with it. and then you feel andrew guiding you—instructing you to lay your body down flat in the grass. his hands are like ropes holding you in place, exactly as he wants you—and when he spreads your legs wide and lowers his head between your thighs, your own head hits the soil with a thud. 

your eyes shut with anticipation, though andrew doesn’t move for what feels like ages. like he’s observing and taking it all in—which is somehow even more shameful. how wet you are from a few words and touches, how ready you are for him. but he’s going to show you and you think all you should do—all you can do, with how dizzy you feel from it—is lay back and take what he gives you.

his words run through your head like a loop—you’ve been good so far. and thinking about those words, when andrew presses the flat of his tongue against your leaking cunt, all the way up to your throbbing clit, you let out a moan closer to a scream, and you can, since no one can hear you for miles around.

he seems incredibly encouraged by that—speeding up his pace, lapping up everything you give him. 

you don’t know when your fingers got wrapped up in andrew’s hair, but they do, and you pull hard when he slips one finger, then two inside of you. you feel it—the knot tensing in your stomach, feeling andrew’s thick fingers spread you open, feeling his tongue against your pussy and lavishing attention on your clit.

you can’t believe you thought your stupid fingers would compare to the real thing—you were wrong, again. nothing you could have thought of could compare to andrew’s hot mouth on you, his huge hand holding you down while the other thrusts fingers in and out of you.

and it’s this realization that tips you over the edge—that even when you tried to run away from this, you’re still back in andrew’s arms, like a star that can’t escape its orbit. 

you finish in andrew’s tight grip, your entire body spasming and shaking as it courses through you—hot and wet and sending lava through your arteries and veins. andrew doesn’t stop until your body is limp and you have to try and push yourself away from him—using what little energy you have left in an unsuccessful attempt to do so.

and then he pulls the skirt of your dress down, picks you up in his arms, and carries you back to the cabin. you feel wetness—your wetness—on his fingers where he holds you and how warm his chest is against your cheek, and you fall asleep somewhere on the walk back. 

when you wake up, you’re in the familiar bed, tucked under the covers. andrew is asleep next to you on top of the sheets.

+

two days later, andrew has to leave for a job. it almost hurts more now that you’ve gotten to experience a slightly different side of things. you think you’ve gotten used to waking up beside him and going to sleep next to him.

but on the other hand, him leaving does have its perks. he hasn’t touched you like that since you were in the woods with him, and as much as you love playing house with andrew, you’re so pent up that you think you could touch yourself all day and it still wouldn’t get rid of it. the burning, sticky ache inside you that wants andrew all the time—that wants him to pin you down and do whatever he’s been harboring thoughts about this whole time. 

memories of his single hand being enough to hold down your entire thrashing body in the woods is enough to make all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. so you make yourself cum until you can’t anymore (that’s your limit—you don’t think andrew would have a limit for you, though, and you’re sure you’ll find out soon enough) and carry on your little routine and wait for him to come back home to you.

it feels like a certain weight has been lifted from your shoulders, you think, with how easy everything feels now. like you don’t have to fight a battle in your head over every encounter, like you don’t have to justify every emotion. you’re here, and you have andrew, and you’re going to appreciate what you and him have because you know it’s something special.

maybe it’s a little delusional, too, but you’ve been here almost three weeks without seeing another person and you’ve been tepidly awaiting some sort of punishment for running away and it hasn’t come yet. every time you think you know what andrew is going to do, you find yourself completely mistaken.

andrew does come home—and times like this, you really wish you had some way to communicate with him. a satellite phone or a carrier pigeon or something to tell him you’ve gotten your period and there’s nothing in this house that you can substitute like you’ve done with all your other needs. 

he has the usual groceries and a box of brownie mix for dessert because ice cream doesn’t last the drive back here. and then he hands you another bag that you accept with a quizzical look on your face, since normally you two put everything away together. 

and inside is a box of pads and a box of tampons. you look straight up at him and blink.

“how did you know?” 

“know what?”

“that i got my period. you weren’t even here-”

“it’ll be a month soon and you haven’t said anything yet. i just assumed.”

“you assumed?”

“i have a-i had a sister. i know things.”

“oh.” the realization that andrew is a complete stranger startles you for a moment, like it hasn’t in a while. you felt like you knew so much about him from your interactions that you forgot the two of you haven’t ever really talked about his life or your life or anything beyond the four walls of this cabin. “i’m sorry.”

and a little bit later, while you mix the brownie batter and add butter, not oil and milk, not water, you ask andrew questions about his sister and listen as he answers quietly. the way he looks at you after a certain question makes you think no one's ever taken the time to ask him these things before, and that makes your heart hurt in a way you can't really understand.

and then you sit beside him on the couch and read your book aloud while he listens, and you think maybe you don't need to understand everything.

+

andrew thinks you’re getting antsy when you have to be at the cabin alone without him. he wasn’t completely sure, but you’ve started asking when he’s leaving and when he’ll be back almost every time. he thinks maybe he’s just not to used to someone asking, or rather someone wanting him to stay, but now you do, and he doesn’t have a real answer for you.

that’s because the answer is dependent on his brothers and smurf and it changes daily based on if he can avoid their suspicion and the glances they exchange with each other when he says he’ll be busy again. and unsure of how much longer he can keep it up, worried that anything he does might reveal your existence to them, he needs to stay away from you for longer chunks of time, as hard as that thought is for him to swallow.

he doesn’t want to. maybe he never has, now that he has something to come home to, something waiting for him half-asleep on the couch and leaving plates of dinner in the oven and something that takes him by the hand and brings him to the bedroom to sleep next to each other.

the solution comes to him when lena is telling him about a girl at school who got a kitten for her birthday, and if he’d help her convince baz to let her get one too. 

he doesn’t know how to explain that baz is never going to agree to that, when he goes to the shelter, he thinks that if he ever gets to introduce you to lena, she can play with the one he’s about to get you. 

the worker at the shelter shows him the kittens, playful and hyperactive and running around in their pen. the woman there starts explaining what each of the little kittens are like, identifying them by their collars, but he doesn’t hear half of it. 

there’s a little orange one that’s quiet, tucked away and not as energetic as the others. he thinks that’d be perfect for you—to have a calm kitten dozing off in your lap while you read or follow you around the kitchen. and when he picks it up, it barely takes up the size of his hand. yes, he thinks, this is exactly what you need. 

the worker has him fill out papers and tells him the different things he needs to buy—though he knows some of it already—and asks him if the little kitten is for him. 

“no. no she's for my girl-my girlfriend.” she harps on about how sweet that is and that he’s being a great boyfriend, and andrew swallows uncomfortably.

it didn’t feel like a lie.

when he comes home that day, he finds you, like always, waiting for him. he thinks stupidly that he should have gotten a basket or a ribbon or something, to make the kitten feel more like a gift for you, but it slipped his mind while he was trying to fight off intrusive thoughts about your reaction. 

and it’s everything he thought it would be. 

as soon as you hear the quiet mewing, you stand up, the blanket that always covers your legs falling to the ground.

you rush over to him, your body pressed close against him and fingers brushing as you pet the nape of the kitten’s neck. 

“oh my god. oh my god-” he’s never heard you sound so excited—and your tone is nearly intoxicating for him. he wonders what else he can do to get you to stay this happy forever.

“she's for you.”

“oh my god. andrew. she's so cute. hi,” you coo at her in a voice that only gets more excited when he helps the kitten into your arms. and then you beam your bright smile up at andrew and he momentarily gets all the wind knocked from his lungs. “what should we name her?” 

we. like this cat is both of yours—yours and his. it’s the things like that—the ways you subconsciously reveal that you think of him as yours, that everything you two is together. that this kitten is for the both of you. and andrew thinks if this is how you’d react to everything, there’s nothing he could ever deny you. 

he watches you play with the kitten for a while before he has to leave—not entirely sure how to break it to you that he’ll be gone for longer than usual this time. maybe you’ll stay so occupied you won’t notice it. you use one of the toys he brought, a little rod with a toy fish on a string, and drag it across the floor while the kitten chases it. and then you accumulate enough cuteness aggression that you bring her in for a hug and laugh while she curls up against you.

(and andrew, who thinks he’s never had a thought like this before, wonders briefly what you’d look like with a baby in your arms.)

you’re sad when he says that he has to leave but at the very least, he knows you’ll be occupied. he thinks he did the right thing, and then he knows he did the right thing, when you scoop up the kitten and bring her to the door to say goodbye to andrew with you. then you turn your head to give andrew a kiss on his cheek and thank him again and he drives to oceanside wondering why he didn’t think of this sooner.

you wrangle the kitten for the better part of two days before andrew comes back. 

he’d told you it would take longer but every passing minute that he’s not home with you or driving towards you makes him antsy. makes his skin hum and vibrate with anticipation of when he can leave. by now, the others must have noticed that something’s going on, though if they have, no one says anything. he doesn’t know if it’s from a lack of concern or out of fear for his answer, but either way, he’s glad they haven’t. 

they don’t need to know about you. that’s why all of this has felt so perfect to andrew so far—because his family isn’t around to taint it and ruin it. to scare you off or hurt you and all the other things that would happen if they realized you were still alive.

and though you and him don’t talk about much, there’s an understanding between the two of you, one that’s only been strengthened since the day when you had run away and stopped so he could find you. that maybe, as twisted as all of this was, it was meant to happen. that you two were meant to find each other. 

it’s a heavy thought for the drive back to the cabin. it weighs over him like a storm cloud—the battle of trying to recognize if he’d done the right thing by bringing you here or not. maybe he should have let you go the day after smurf and his brothers had stopped bringing you up, once they thought you were dealt with.

but when he opens the door to the cabin, you’re curled up with the cat, asleep on the couch just like he had envisioned. what’s more is the overwhelming notion of the fact that you had fallen asleep there waiting for him, like you always do. 

you feel you’ve almost been trained to wake up to the sound of the door closing. when you open your eyes, still heavy with sleep, andrew’s perched on the couch next to you, petting the kitten lying to you.

“i didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says quietly. you sigh, a surprisingly sweet noise that comes to him like a melody. 

“that’s okay,” you sit up, yawning and stretching. “i don’t want to sleep if you’re here.”

and he doesn’t know what to do when you say things like that—because really, what is he supposed to say? your words have an almost otherworldly effect on him when he processes what they mean.

that you want to wake up when he comes back home. that you don’t want to miss a moment of time with him. that you want him there with you.

the last one hits him the hardest.

andrew stares in silence while you stretch your arms and then bring the kitten back into your hands, cuddling against her and nuzzling your face against hers. the kitten had looked comically small in his palm but perfectly at home in yours. 

“did you pick a name?”

“maybe. i wasn’t sure what you’d like,” you say, meeting his eyes for longer than you usually do—something you’ve been working on. the two of you stay like that for a while, glancing between yourselves and the kitten mewling and traipsing around the space between you and andrew.

“you should pick. she’s for you.” you smile at andrew when he says that, and for some reason, all of this just feels so much more domestic than it ever has before. his hand turns into a fist at his side because it is overwhelming—incredibly so. he wants to lay down next to you and watch you play with the kitten and tell him every thought in your head and fall asleep to the sound of you talking.

but he can’t do any of that, and he can’t tell you, either. so he attempts a small smile back at you and you tell him you think you like the name wren. 

“it was in one of the books,” you say, though you’re lying through your teeth. 

“wren?”

“what? what’s wrong with it?” “n-nothing. i just thought… i don’t know. it’s not really a cat name, is it?”

“what? you want me to call her mrs. whiskers?” 

he laughs when you say that, and so you laugh too. surprisingly calm, and the rest of the world forgotten for a few minutes. andrew doesn’t understand such a human name for the kitten, but it’s yours. he think he’d let you do whatever you want if you keep laughing and smiling with him.

you get up to make lunch, and andrew and wren both follow you into the kitchen, and the hours of the day pass by quickly when andrew’s there with you. since you learned about his sister, you like to ask him questions, and though he was hesitant at first—you’re not entirely sure why—he’s begun asking you questions too, about when you’d become a school nurse and if you liked it and the book you’re reading this week. 

andrew avoids personal questions. the fear of reminding you of the life you left behind, or snapping you back to the reality of how you’re stuck here with him frightens him too much to ask. but you ask him questions—lots of them, all about his life and his family and how long they’ve been doing these jobs. 

you get sad, he can tell since you’re bad at hiding your emotion and they paint over your face immediately, when he tells you about how long he’s been doing this. about stolen gas station wallets and the people smurf always had over and how every day was about him trying to protect his siblings. 

you get sad even to the point of tears, something he can’t understand. you don’t know him enough to cry over him, do you? or is this just what you’re like—crying over your kidnapper’s childhood stories, curling up next to andrew on the couch with the kitten between you two, holding his hand and pleading with him to stay the night. 

is this what you’re like? or is this what he’s made you into?

you fall asleep somewhere between the answer to another question you’ve asked him and the cat’s soft snores next to you. it’s easier once you’re asleep—to gaze over you and not have to hold back the smile that takes over him. you’re so trusting it almost frustrates him. 

he picks you up gently, carrying you back to the bedroom. the cat wakes up from the movement and meows at him, but all she does is follow andrew as he carries you and jump onto the bed when he sets you down. while unfolding the blanket to cover you, a piece of paper falls out and lands on the ground near his feet.

you and wren are both sound asleep now. he should go back to the living room—sleep there or leave, but the idea of you waking up alone makes him feel miserable inside. or rather, another day of waking up without you. 

he opens the paper—there’s names written in pen all over. at the top is andrew in your pretty handwriting, with different letters crossed out. and then underneath are all different names using the same couple of letters. 

warden 

wander 

dawn with a maybe??? 

rand

red

then raw, crossed out several times and a big no written next to it. and then finally, wren, circled and with several exclamations following it.

oh. so that’s why you named the kitten wren. he stares at you asleep next to her, having brought an arm across her, even in your sleep, like you were trying to keep her close to you. 

oh. 

wren—using the letters of his name. emotions surge through andrew like they haven’t in a long time. the sad, pathetic yearning turning into something he doesn’t think he’s felt before—the urge to make you happy because you make him so happy, without even trying to. 

and though he knows he should get in the car and drive back to oceanside before anyone can bother asking where he is, the urge to stay with you is stronger than the rational logic of leaving. so, he gets into bed next to you and wren. 

andrew doesn’t sleep much, though it’s hard to fight sleep when he can hear your gentle breathing. and it’s really, really hard to fight sleep when your arm makes its way across his chest, the warmth burning through his shirt.

he does fall asleep—maybe the best he’s slept in years. and when he wakes up to the sunlight, you’re curled up against his side, the cat somewhere at your feet, holding onto him like you’re worried he’ll leave. 

thoughts plague him about how you don’t even know if he’s really there, that sometimes he leaves when you’re asleep and you wake up alone more often than you wake up to him. you’ve been knocked out since last night, at least he thinks, because if you had gotten up he would have noticed.

but andrew watches you hold onto his arm, your face smushed against his chest as you take sleepy breaths and snore softly, legs tangled together, and he has to think it’s happening for a reason.

groggily, he wonders if you’ve been sent just to test his willpower. memories flood him quickly—when you had touched yourself after he kissed you, what he’d done to you out in the woods after he’d caught you (or rather, caught up to you—because you had stopped. you had waited for him.) 

he thinks he just ignores his morning wood on most days but it’s especially hard when your soft skin is pressed against him and he can see miles of it exposed since you kicked away the covers. the little noises you make as you get comfortable and stay nestled against him don’t help either—and just when he questions what exactly you might be dreaming about, his phone goes off.

fuck. stupid fucking phone—he needs to make it not so loud or destroy the thing entirely. he reaches over to the night stand to grab it but the damage is already done, your eyes jump open from the terrible alarm and you take about half a second to realize how close you are to andrew. you meet his eyes and then he answers his phone and you unpeel yourself from his side, if a bit begrudgingly. 

andrew stares at you while you stare at wren, hoping she stays quiet so the person on the other line can’t hear her. you take heavy breaths and andrew notices that you look flushed and warm, and you keep moving around, changing your position as if you can’t get comfortable. squirming, even.

which leads him back to his original question—what the hell were you dreaming about? he gets lost in the possible answers and makes baz repeat himself three times before he answers. in an attempt to get him to hang up, andrew agrees with whatever he says and you sit patiently, taking wren into your arms so she doesn’t make any noises for attention. she still mews quietly a few times and you pick her up, taking her into the living room as carefully as you can

“is that a cat? where are you?” baz asks on the other line and andrew hangs up without saying goodbye.

he walks into the living room and you stand up once you see him, leaving wren on the couch.

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t think she’d-” “that’s okay. i-i have to go.” 

you sigh and your shoulders drop, your hopeful expression changing into one of disappointment before his very eyes. maybe he’s never hated anything as much as how you’re looking at him right now.

“already?” the words make andrew’s knees feel weak.

“i don’t have a choice. i…” he trails off, wondering how to finish the sentence, how to articulate the thought.

how to sum up the fact that he would stay here, with you, all day if he could. that watching you cook and curl up in the sun and play with the kitten that you refer to as ours is enough to sustain him for the rest of his life. that whenever the day comes that you get to leave this place, he will never forget about you—not your sweet smile or your sincere expressions or how earnestly you look at him when you don’t want him to go. 

but he doesn’t know how to tell you any of that. 

“i’m sorry,” he finishes quietly. and like always, you smile at him.

“it’s okay. we’ll just miss you.” you turn to look at wren and then look back, and somehow, though you must think this every single time, andrew’s stare feels different than usual.

like there’s so much swimming around in his mind that he’s not telling you. he doesn’t say it back, that he’ll miss you both too. instead he walks up closer to you, and you hold in a breath, unsure of what’s coming, before he leans in and gives you a kiss on the forehead. you feel every muscle in your body relax when his lips press to your skin, eyes fluttering shut.

he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like be good, and then you nod in response quickly.

and then he’s gone again. 

you crawl back into bed, the motivation to make breakfast or do much of anything long gone.

not to mention that one of his stupid brothers—you know their names but you didn’t know which one had called, though it was probably baz since he always interrupted everything—had woken you up from the best dream you’d had since you’d been stuck here. your thighs feel sticky and your entire body squirms with the realization that if you had stayed dreaming any longer, you probably would have started rubbing yourself against andrew in your sleep.

and as embarrassing as that thought it is, it’s equally intoxicating to wonder what he would have done about it.

in the dream you had been riding his thigh—your own thighs splayed out wide against him, and in the dream andrew had been watching you, like he always does. except this time you know it was different, like you could see the lust behind the hazel, like he was using all of his self control to not do more. 

would the real andrew do the same? after so many close calls and whatever the hell that was in the woods and the two of you being so close together in the same bed yet so incredibly far? you don’t know the answer, though you think you’re about ready to find out. 

it’s not very fair—he kisses your head like he’s your husband or something, and then leaves you pent up and yearning for more like he’s nothing but your captor. he hasn’t even touched you in a way that could be deemed as inappropriate since the woods and you’re left to believe that maybe he just doesn’t want to cross that line.

you don’t know andrew’s rules when it comes to you, though it seems like he’ll break them if he’s pushed to it.

that’s what you’re thinking when you fold a pillow—the one andrew slept on—in half and mount it as if it could possibly compare to your dream and what andrew’s thigh or arm might feel like in reality. but you still try, lifting up your (his) shirt and letting your hips move against the cold pillow, grabbing your tits and teasing your nipples, wondering if this is what andrew would do. you think he would get sick of the teasing and finally bend you over, but then you think he wouldn’t do that until you’ve finished already. he’s too generous for that.

and though the thought of andrew and his generosity with you, in bed, one day, is enough to normally tip you over the edge, something inside of you just won’t let you finish. you hump the pillow for what seems like ages, but you don’t get any closer to finishing.

maybe it’s just because your body knows what it feels like when andrew’s the one making you cum, and it won’t settle for your pathetic excuse of an orgasm anymore.

so with burning, aching thighs and an entirely unsatisfied feeling in your chest, you collapse against the bed and sigh. when you look over on andrew’s side of the bed, you just get a sense of longing that fills your entire body.

wren cries out and you see her sitting in the doorway, eyes focused on you, her own way of asking for your attention.

“okay, okay, i’m coming,” you say, before getting up. you walk over and pick her up and she doesn’t stop staring or blink once. “just like your dad, huh?”

+

on the drive back to you on the following day, andrew thinks long and hard about what baz said to him.

it started as an innocent conversation—baz brought up the cat again, saying how lena’s been asking for one and he wants to make sure andrew’s not gonna surprise her with it. with a blank stare, andrew told him that he must be imagining things because he wasn’t near a cat.

then the conversation had shifted—about his absences and how he’s been gone all the time and no one’s seen him at smurf’s or his place or anywhere else. 

baz’s words linger in his head on the drive. where’ve you been going, man? is this about that girl? we’re sorry you had to take care of it but we didn’t have any options, pope. is that what this is about? 

it’s as if it’s impossible for them to understand that everything in his life is about you now—centered around you. he finally made a decision for himself, for once, not just blindly following along with whatever smurf wanted. 

it’s so easy for the rest of them to think that whatever’s wrong with him is about you—when they don’t even know you. not like he does—not in the way that andrew’s gotten to know you over the last weeks. 

your gentleness, even to your kidnapper. your sweet smiles that keep him going through each day. how memories of his hours with you stay in his head for long after he drives away from the cabin. 

that for the time he stays there with you, there’s nothing wrong with him, there’s nothing to fix, nothing broken that you haven’t already seen. he’s just andrew to you—nothing more. you say his name without burdens or expectations. you want him to stay longer. you run away and then sit down and wait for him to find you. he gives you a cat as a goddamn distraction and you name the thing after him and dote on it.

but for everything you do for him, and the way you make him feel, he can’t keep you here. maybe he knew all along this was a temporary thing, that it was just to hide you away until his family well and truly believed that you were dealt with and taken care of. that you were never meant to stay with him, to be his. the idea now seems ridiculous—a sweet girl like you, so compliant even when he’s been holding you hostage.

but even you had to give into your instinct, the one that told you to flee when you saw the open door. how can he blame you? that should have been your natural reaction from the first hour you’ve been in the cabin. 

briefly, he thinks he can’t blame you for any of it. the fault is all his—and he’ll start rectifying it now. if baz was wondering about his absences and if it has anything to do with you, then smurf must be too. before long, all of them would be. and then it wouldn’t take long to figure out he’s kept you hidden this whole time, and then they’ll really hurt you, and he can’t have that.

he pulls onto the dirt road that leads to the cabin and drives down it slowly, like he knows whatever you two had has to come to an end today. 

andrew rests his head against the steering wheel, hand a little shaky.

it’s for you, he reminds himself. he can do it because it’s for you, for your safety, for your life. there’s no future for you cooped up here all alone while he abandons you every other day. just a deplorable fantasy from a man who has always been alone about to be alone again. 

you’ll be happier once you’ve left this place—he’ll take you to your apartment and give you cash so you can leave and start over wherever you’d like. that’s the plan right now—get you home to get your belongings, and figure out what you’ll tell your job and how to get you as far away from oceanside as he can. 

it means in a few hours, he’ll be telling you goodbye for the last time.

he opens the door, and like always, you’re waiting for him. wren follows you around as you make your way to the door to greet him, beaming up at him like you have been. you linger as though you want to do something else—maybe you want to kiss him, or pull him into a hug, but you don’t. 

you stare up at him while he stares at you, until you finally speak up.

“well, i made lunch. let me go get it ready for you,” but when you turn, he grabs onto your arm. you spin back to face him again with a confused expression. “andrew?”

“i-i have to get you out of here.”

“andrew?” you question again, voice a little shaky. “what do you mean?”

“my family. they’re…noticing. i’m gone all the time and no one-no one’s reported you missing. i need to get you out of town. maybe another state.”

“andrew-”

“i’ll drive you back to your apartment. you-you can take whatever you need from there. and here too, uh, wren’s stuff,” he looks around, trying to see what else you had even brought here. and then he realizes it was never the things, it was you, that always made this place feel like home. your presence and the blanket that told him you were reading on the couch and the pulled curtains and the smell of something you baked in the air. “i can get you new papers, if you want. you can go wherever. i can figure out how to get you there, but-”

“you’re not coming with me, are you?” the way you say it, the expression on your face, it’s enough to make whatever resolve is still standing in him crumble.

“i can’t. it-it’s for your own safety. you have to get away from here. if i stay you’ll just get hurt-”

“that’s not true,” you plead, realizing sadly that this is the most you and andrew have spoken to each other about something that didn't start as a question. your conversations have never needed so many words. “you kept me safe all this time-”

“i can’t, anymore. if they find out that you’re here-”

“they won’t,” you say, getting closer and bringing your hands to his chest, pressing them flat against him like you have to remind yourself he’s still there. you keep looking at him, not breaking the eye contact like you always do, though it feels like andrew’s gaze is burning holes through you. 

“they will. they always do. they’ll hurt you.”

“no, andrew, please-”

“we need to go. we have to get the things you need and leave-” andrew tries to move away from your grip, but you follow him, hands on his shoulders, standing in front of him again to block him from doing anything else. “i-i don’t understand. why? why don’t you want to leave? this isn’t a life. i-i’m keeping you from your life.”

“you’re not keeping me from anything. i-i like being here with you-”

“no, no, you don’t. that’s not right. i-i should have never brought you here.”

“you saved my life, andrew,” you say softly, blinking up at him with teary eyes. you hadn’t realized when you’d started crying.

“i’m gonna get you killed if i-”

without thinking anymore about it, realizing that andrew might very well be as serious as you’ve ever seen him, you lean in to bring your lips to his. you kiss andrew with all the emotions floating around your brain—hurt and fear and want and need all merging into one. 

your arms wrap around his neck and you hold him in the kiss as best as you can, feeling his grip tighten around your waist as you two don’t let go of each other. andrew kisses you with a fury, like he’s just realizing what’s been waiting for him all this time. 

your back ends up pushed against a wall gently—and even then, andrew keeps his hands on your waist and uses them as a barrier against the surface so you don’t get hurt. 

with swollen, aching lips and weak knees and feeling his tongue prod into your mouth, you think you’d be stupid to ever walk away from this. 

when you pull away to breathe, andrew’s mouth goes to your neck, littering kisses up the column until he gets to your jawline. you finish your sentence in a broken daze, the thought half forgotten already-

“you would never let me get hurt,” you whisper, taking his face into your hands and forcing the two of you to stare at each other. he takes it in—your wet eyelashes and puffy lips and how you look with desire spelled all across your face—because of him.

you lean in for another kiss, only pulling away to keep telling him everything he’s done for you. you feel it against your thigh—his hardness pressing into you, proof that he wants you, the proof you’ve been wanting all along.

(though, you think stupidly, dazed by andrew’s hot touch and how tightly he holds you, going against everything he’s been telling you since he came back home to you—a home that you are not, in any way, ready to give up or hand back without at least something of a fight—you can figure out how to convince him.)

and then andrew moans against your lips and you forget everything you’ve been thinking. you pull at his shirt, wanting it off, eager and with every limb shaking from anticipation. you’ve wanted this for so long you can’t even remember to remind yourself it’s andrew—the man who took you and brought you here, offering to set you free, and you’re trying to convince him not to, like a puppy who doesn’t want to go back to the shelter.

because isn’t that what all of this is, in the end? you can try to fight it as much as you want, but until you met andrew, until you became something that belonged to him, someone that he gets to come home to every day and someone that asks you questions and listens to the answers and does things for no other reason than he thought it would make you happy, what really were you?

you were alone, and you didn’t have anybody. and now you have andrew, and you think it’s worth fighting for.

you’d been joking to yourself about stockholm syndrome lite, but you’re pretty convinced you’ve got the deluxe version now. though when andrew picks you up, your legs wrapping around his automatically, feeling his hardness press against your wet, clothed cunt, it’s easy to forget about everything else.

andrew brings you into the bedroom and lays you down. you stare at him while you take heavy breaths and try to not pass out from sheer excitement that the thing you’ve been fantasizing about is finally happening. it seems silly, but you want to remember this forever. andrew pulls his shirt off, hovering over you, and you take a hand and press it against his bare skin, traveling up his chest and to his arms and then his forearms. 

your fingertips dig in before running over the veins you’re seeing the full length of for the first time, and above you, andrew closes his eyes and shudders at your touch.

you bookmark it for later—that he enjoys the feeling of his veins being traced, and focus instead on andrew, meeting his eyes again.

he stares at you differently this time—hungry, like all the words you’ve been saying are enough to convince him, finally, that this is a good idea. that this is right. 

you’re half a housewife already, anyways. this is the least you deserve, though you stay quiet, letting andrew decide what he wants to do to you. 

he leans in for another kiss, sweet and gentle, and your body melts into the bed. his hands roam your body, sliding the fabric of your dress up until he can pull it off of you. you lift your arms and head so he can do it easily—not even remotely concerned that you’re naked in front of him now. your hands go to his belt, but he puts his own over yours, taking over. he undoes his belt and pulls it out of the loops, while you stare at him from your position, chewing on your lip and seeing how andrew’s eyes focus on your heaving chest.

and then, unsure if you have even a moment’s more of patience in you, you pull andrew into another kiss and wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist to keep him there.

“inside, please, andrew, inside,” you whine like a demanding, spoiled child, though you haven’t asked andrew for anything all this time. you think he just brings it out in you. 

he murmurs something against your neck while he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses there, something like be patient. 

when you feel his fingers brush over your bare, leaking cunt, your entire body tenses up before melting back into the bed. one rough finger rubs against your clit and you seize up, squealing because you haven’t felt his hands on you in what feels like forever. he continues the motion, rubbing circles while you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, and then just when you’ve lost all sense of what words mean, he pushes a huge finger inside of you. 

“andrew, yes, yes, yes,” you moan, realizing just like in the woods, that you don’t have to be quiet here. you cry out his name when he pushes another one in, plunging the pair in and out of you.

“have to get you ready,” he says, focused like he’s on a mission, not getting strayed by your incessant begging to just put it inside already. he scissors his fingers and keeps rubbing your clit with his thumb and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to give in—you want to stay like this forever, as long as he’ll let you. 

that it feels so good, fulfilling every fantasy you’ve had about him—that he’s a giver and he’s generous and he wouldn’t dream about cumming until you have first. that’s just your andrew, you guess.

when he leans in close to your ear and whispers it to you—can you be good for me? can you cum for me?—that’s when your orgasm hits you without any control behind it. you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted—the white-hot feeling washing over you from head to toe, your cunt squeezing around his fingers. you’re so wet that you must have left a puddle on the sheets, entire body spasming and shaking until andrew slows down his motions. 

he pulls out his fingers and your eyes flutter shut, entire body exhausted—and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. when you blink them open, feeling andrew’s weight on top of you, you catch the ending glimpses of it—him licking your juices from his fingers, enjoying it. like he’s missed the taste of you.

your eyes flutter shut again quickly. 

you pant out words that don’t really make sense—just a request, in as few words as you can manage. inside. andrew. please. 

and he’s nothing if not generous to you. he always listens. you hear andrew’s deep breaths as he positions himself on top of you, taking your legs onto his shoulder as if it’s nothing for him to fold you however he wants. the thought makes you more and more lightheaded.

you bring your hands to his arms to hold on, feeling them pulse under your touch. you think it’ll be impossible to keep you away from him, now that you’re getting a taste of everything you’ve been dreaming about. momentarily, as you feel andrew’s thick head line up with your wet entrance, you think that you’ll never let him leave you. that you don't want him to leave, ever. and if this is how you have to convince him to stay, you’ll do so happily.

and then andrew runs his tip over your cunt, bumping it against your clit and making your body spasm while he collects your wetness, and you forget what you were thinking again. 

he’s so big—every part of him is big, so you should have seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise. the sheer thickness prodding against your hole makes you dig your fingers into his arm, thinking later that you’ll have to apologize for the marks you’re leaving on him. 

andrew uses one hand to guide himself inside, and leans in to kiss you while he does so. and when he pushes inside, sheathing himself fully, resting there while he lets you adjust, you cry out against his lips.

“i know. i know,” he breathes against your mouth, pulling out slightly and making you squeal again. “just relax. you’re-you’re taking it.”

you think it’s meant to reassure you, to remind you that you’re doing good, but it comes out in the form of a groan, like andrew’s realizing just how tight and pent up you really are. he tells you the words like there’s no choice in the matter—that you’re taking all of him whether you can handle it or not.

the thought is enough to make your head thud against the pillow and your eyes roll all the way back. 

“please, andrew,” you whine, leaning in for another kiss. “please-”

not entirely sure what you’re begging for, he complies, like always. he pulls out slowly, and then slams back inside of you, almost as if he can’t control himself.

and really, he can’t. he’s cum to you so many times, spilled over his hand in the truck and in the shower, imagining this very moment. he’ll be surprised if he lasts any longer, the urge to fill you up getting stronger and stronger with each passing minute. 

he keeps going—picking up a brutal pace that brings you further and further away from being level-headed with each thrust. 

you blink open your wet eyes, unsure of when you’d closed them or when you’d started crying, staring at your ankles in the air before focusing on andrew. he’s always been handsome but seeing him like this—flushed and sweaty, curls damp against his forehead, his expression twisted up in pleasure—and the realization that for once, you’re making him feel good is almost enough to tip you over the edge.

you want to look into his eyes, almost laughing internally at how much you’ve changed from not even being able to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds to asking for it while you’re stuffed full of him, but he’s looking somewhere else. 

his eyes are locked on your cunt—where the two of you meet and where you’re swallowing him inside like you were made for him.

maybe, andrew thinks in a lust-blown haze, maybe you were. 

he keeps battering inside of you, hitting a spot somewhere deep inside that you’re not entirely sure had existed. the second orgasm washes over you and leaves you completely feeble—muscles screaming at you as the lightning courses through every nerve. your cunt squeezes and tightens around him, and he groans with pleasure, a noise you want to hold onto forever.

but andrew keeps you in place, even when your eyes shut again. maybe you had passed out, though the thought isn’t exactly surprising. when you open your eyes again, andrew is still going, each grunt getting louder and louder. your fluttering cunt pushes him closer to the edge, and you lock your legs around him. 

when andrew looks at you, you meet his eyes.

“please, andrew, i want it inside,” you plead, and he knows he’s fucked—that he’s never been able to say no to you and he can’t start now. 

inside, it is. the thoughts plague him as his hips stutter—that this could very well be the moment he’s getting you pregnant. the fact that you’re begging for it, and that there’s no knowing how long you’ve wanted this.have you imagined it too? wanting andrew so badly—wanting a family with him, a life with him? half a housewife, half a captive. you’re so much more now, though, something he can’t put words to. 

his. all he needs to know is that you’re his. 

“please,” you cry again, leaning up for a kiss. andrew presses his lips against yours while the pace slows down and his moans get louder. “keep me forever, andrew.”

it’s all he can take—burying his head into your neck while he groans against your skin, giving you every ounce he has. the warmth of his cum fills you up until you can feel it leaking onto the sheets, making a mess of your thighs when andrew finally pulls out. 

he lays next to you, catching his breath and hoping you can catch yours too. 

the reality of everything—his family back home and if they figure out that you’re still alive and what’ll happen if they find out he lied rushes through him, though he wishes he could fight it off to enjoy this for a moment longer.

you’re warm and flushed against him, bringing your head to his chest and leaning there. you two stay silent, though it’s not unusual. 

outside of the doors of this cabin, the real world, with questions that he doesn’t have answers to, awaits. but inside is his own personal paradise, complete with you—fucked out and sleepy and with nothing to worry about if he can help it. you’ve been right all along—he’s kept you safe so far, and there’s nothing and no one that can stop him from taking care of you and protecting you. how a husband protects his wife, he thinks.

“andrew?” you ask quietly, throat sore and entire body exhausted. he looks at you, pressing another kiss to your forehead. 

“yes?”

“does this mean you’ll keep me?”

♡ thanks for reading!

[butyoudidthis4what]

Quiet Part 2

Widower!Jack Abbott x Widow Single Mom!Reader

Part 1 can be found here!

23.9k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: DOMESTIC JACK WITH READER'S BABY; Shy!Reader; Jack was in the army; reader's husband was in the army and died while deployed; discussions of loss of spouse; discussion of the death of Jack’s wife; suicidal ideation; briefest mention of thought of murder suicide (NOT directed at reader, in the context of Jack thinking about the guy who killed his wife, literally a single sentence); discussion of Jack’s injury; reference to death of parents (not Jack’s or Reader’s); grief; like lots of grief; guilt; so much fucking guilt for Jack and Reader; self hate for a bit for both Reader and Jack; baby is a boy but is not named; a bird; reference to past pregnancy, labor and delivery; crying; DTR conversation; thoughts about sex; angst; no use of Y/N or related

Summary: You and Jack define your relationship and work through more grief and guilt together.

AN: Twenty years later here we are with Part 2. Sorry about that 😅. Hopefully it was worth the wait. I don't know how I really feel about this (I know exactly how I feel and it's not fantastic but when is it ever). This is different from Part 1 in that there is less time jumping, but I think as they now are truly establishing their relationship and not working towards having one it makes sense. We also see considerably more emotion and grappling from Jack in this part. I considered doing a much more zoomed out kind of story with them but I like exploring emotions and such apparently so I didn't keep it as kind of quick to develop and move through their life as I originally thought I would. I don't know if that's good or bad, but it's reality lol. Again, it's kind of emotional but sweet in the beginning, and middle, but it gets funnier and fluffier (I hope) at the end. Anyway I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!♥️

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur to Jack as you pull away from him a little. “I really thought I was ready.”

You and Jack have been home for a few hours now, sitting on the couch and starting a new series together. Your son is out hard from his big birthday adventures, didn’t even stir as Jack changed him into some pajamas and put him down for the night while you trimmed the end of the rose Jack gave you and put it in a slim glass vase. 

You’d spent most of your time on the couch leaning against Jack. You like being close to him, like feeling him next to you, warm and sturdy and soft and safe and real and alive. The little voice in the back of your mind telling you this was wrong and to think of your husband was still there, and at times you did feel some confliction, but with the help of your therapist and time that voice had become nothing but a whisper most of the time and more easily dealt with if it got a little louder. 

By the time whatever platform it is asked whether you were still watching Jack had his arm around your shoulders and you were pressed firmly against his side with your head resting against his shoulder and chest, one hand in your lap and the other resting on the lower part of his thigh. You’re in that same position now only you’re both turned in towards each other a bit more and the hand that was in your lap is cupping Jack’s face, your head no longer resting on him. 

When he’d asked if you wanted to watch another episode or head to bed you’d responded by asking to kiss him. Jack had eyed you carefully as he said of course, and that he would like that, but only if you were ready. And you were so sure that you were until you lent in to do it. Hence your apology.

Jack shakes his head a little, leans into your palm where it’s still cupping the side of his face. “Why are you apologizing? It’s okay to not be ready. I’m happy you told me and didn’t push yourself to do something you weren’t ready for. That’s what I want.” 

“No, I know.” You sigh and look down, thumb brushing over Jack’s cheek absentmindedly. “I just feel bad because earlier on our way back I said I was ready for this, for there to be an us, and maybe a little more and now I’m not ready for a little more.”

“I know it’s not easy and me saying this doesn’t make it all better, but please try not to feel bad. It’s okay. And I mean it.” Jack watches you carefully to gauge your reaction and make sure he’s not overstepping as he sets his hand on top of yours and squeezes gently to get you to look at him again. You do, and it hurts him to see how frustrated and upset with yourself you look. He knows how hard this all is. How easy it is to feel like you’re being disloyal. How hard it is to be vulnerable again. He wishes he could make it better for you, take away your struggle because he doesn’t like seeing you struggling and the concomitant hurting. “I’m glad you told me and listened to yourself. I want you to truly be ready for every step of this. I’m not going anywhere just because you say you’re ready for something and then the moment comes and you’re not. You don’t owe me anything, ever.”

“I know,” you mumble, looking away from him. “I just wanted to be ready. I want to kiss you, I really do. I want to give you that, give myself that. I just…” You sigh and pull your hand from his cheek, resting it back in your lap. You’re disappointed in yourself even though you know you shouldn’t be. You did a lot today, gave Jack and yourself a lot. You started a relationship for christ’s sake. You know he has no expectations of you but for some reason you apparently have them of yourself and holding hands and starting this with him and kind of cuddling him on the couch apparently don’t meet them. “I don’t know. I don’t know why it’s so hard.” 

Jack shakes his head slowly. “It was for me too at the beginning. I’m not sure I could articulate why either, but I understand, I promise.”

“I feel like I’ve ruined an otherwise great day.” You look up at him, eyes a little glassy. “And I want this Jack, I’m ready for this. For us to be in a relationship exclusively… for us to be a couple. I want that. A lot.” 

“Hey,” he draws the word out as he tilts his head at you, “you haven’t ruined anything. I promise. I had a great day. The best day I’ve had in a long, long fucking time. I’m really glad you invited me.” He tentatively grabs your hand from your lap and laces your fingers together. “I want that a lot too, to be in a relationship with you, exclusively. To be a couple. So let’s do it, yeah?”

You squeeze his hand, eyes rounded more than usual and brows pulled together. You can’t let go of this undefined concern you have. You’re happy, you genuinely are. Butterflies flutter away in your stomach at the thought of finally being with Jack and at the way he’s looking at you, small, excited smile and sparkling eyes. Like you just gave him some huge gift. It feels like you’ve given him barely anything. “Yeah, let’s do it.” You nod, give him a small smile and laugh a little, almost embarrassed for some reason. Jack is just so handsome and such a good man and you’re having such a vulnerable conversation and admitting your feelings for him. And even though you have before you still find yourself feeling like a teenager almost. “We’re a couple.”

Jack’s smile widens and he nods. “We’re a couple.” He leans forward just slightly before he stops himself. If you were ready he’d have leaned in and kissed you then. And if he’s honest with himself he is disappointed a little bit, but not with you, just that he can’t make you feel good like that, can’t show you how happy he is through a kiss, can’t claim you like that. Because he’s possessive already. He feels it, hard. Harder than he should this early on maybe. 

He looks at you so intensely, is clearly over the moon about this. You don’t realize you’re looking at him the same way, that he can tell how happy you are, how much you want this. 

You groan a little but keep your smile as you let your head fall against the side of his chest. “What?” he laughs softly. He lets his other hand come down and rub your back a little, hyper focused for just a second to gauge your reaction and make sure this is okay. He struggles with the line between asking and trying things because he doesn’t want to make you feel like he’s afraid to touch you, but at the same time he wants to be respectful and not make you uncomfortable.

You shrug against him. “I don’t know. I just feel like… a teenager learning her crush likes her back,” you laugh a little, words slightly mumbled against him. “And I guess I don’t understand it. Why you want me when I come with so much… baggage. And a baby.” 

Jack hums a little and you can feel the vibrations. It makes you shiver. Makes you imagine feeling them in a different context, your head resting on his chest after sex when he hums at something you say or how you run your hand over the part of his chest your head isn’t occupying as you curl into him. “Well, I think our baggage matches. Same pattern, maybe a different color since it’s not exactly the same. Or what is it the youths say these days. Different font.” 

You snort a laugh against him and pull back to look at him. “The youths? Different font?”

“What?” he laughs. “We get a lot of new grads on night shift. They teach me their lingo, keep me up to date and cool.” 

You give him a lopsided smile and tilt your head as you raise your eyebrows slightly. “Lingo?” 

Jack shakes his head. “I never said they were replacing what I grew up with.” He smirks at you. “And back to your point, you come with a baby and I come with baggage and missing a foot with extra trauma and PTSD from that. We all have our things. I want you because you’re beautiful, on the outside yes, but on the inside too. You’re a beautiful person. Caring, selfless to a fault sometimes, giving, funny, adorable, empathetic, so empathetic I know it makes you hurt at times, strong, you have to be the strongest person I know-”

“Jack,” you cut him off, unable to stomach anymore compliments that part of you disagrees with. “Thank you.” You smile and give a breathy laugh. “I’m not sure I understand it still, but… I know how genuine you are.”

He nods slowly. “Can I admit something? It might freak you out and if it does you can tell me to shut up or to leave and never come back-”

“Yes, and I very much doubt I’ll react like that.” You give him a knowing smile. 

Jack grimaces slightly, not quite in disbelief but in a you-haven’t-heard-what-I’m-about-to-say kind of way. He takes a deep breath and then lets it out. “I think we were supposed to meet. I never believed in fate or anything like that but then I saw you,” he shakes his head a little and looks away from you. “I saw you and I was drawn to you. It felt like I was supposed to know you. And then when I walked into the room with you it felt like I’d known you forever. You were familiar. It felt like I knew you’d understand me even if I didn’t know why at the time. And you do. Not just because we’re both widows but,” he shrugs, “you just get me. And I still feel all of that today. I have every day since we met.” 

He forces himself to look back up at you, stomach churning at the thought of seeing your reaction. Because he gets how that sounds, how it could make him look almost obsessive or kind of insane. But you’re just smiling softly at him. And your heart and your mind and your lips ache to kiss him, but you know that emotionally you’re not there. That it would be too much all in one day. 

“I felt the same thing,” you admit. Jack’s eyebrows raise and his head pulls back a little at the shock. He’d felt it in the room that day, like you felt whatever was between the two of you too, but he’d since convinced himself that he was projecting and just wanted you to feel it so he was telling himself it felt like you recognized it too. But you apparently really had. “It kind of freaked me out with how exhausted and scared and emotional I was,” you laugh quietly. “But believe me, I felt it too. Like we were supposed to know each other and were meeting for a reason. And believe me, my therapist and I have talked about it and then some because it was hard for me at first. The idea of this first sight kind of thing.”

“Really?” he whispers. 

“Really.” You nod. You squeeze Jack’s hand and drop your eyes. You hate that you can’t kiss him, don’t understand why you don’t feel ready for that. It’s just a kiss. One that you want. You hate your brain for it, for allowing your grief to still control you. Deep down you know it’s not that easy and you know that the kiss is a big deal because it’s with Jack and it’s going to mean something. It’s going to make you feel so many things. Things you felt for your husband. You need him to know though. That you do want him physically. “I really want to kiss you right now. I just want you to know that. That I do want to kiss you. And want more with you, physically. I wish that I was ready. I wish I could give you more physically so this felt like a real relationship.”

Jack can hear the emotion in your voice. He knows you’re probably closer to tears than you want him to know and that you’re beating yourself up pretty badly inside. He hates it. “Hey,” he says softly, slipping his hand out of yours and using his index finger to tilt your head back up to look at him when you don’t resist. He moves his hand up so that it cups your cheek. “This okay?” His eyes dart around your face looking for any hesitation or sign of distress as you nod and lean into his hand a bit. “First, I think we do more physical stuff than you think. Holding hands. Kind of cuddling on the couch. That’s all physical. But second, and more importantly, the physical stuff isn’t what makes or defines our relationship, yeah? You’re putting too much pressure on yourself I think. Probably being pretty mean to yourself. I don’t need to be able to kiss you to feel like I’m in a real relationship with you. I don’t need anything physical in particular to feel like that. Do you?”

“No.” You shake your head and then shrug a little. “But, I don’t know, I just think that sometimes for men it can be different maybe.”

Jack smiles at you. “Guess I’m not every man,” he teases with a little smirk. His heart soars when it makes you laugh a little. “What I need to know that I’m in a relationship with you is to know that you want to be in one with me, that you consider us to be in one, that you know I’m here for you for anything and everything, that I want you to tell me everything, that you know there is no judgment from me, and that you know that I know the same is true for you towards me. The physical stuff will come with time as you feel more ready. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I’m content and happy in this relationship just as it is now. I promise. And I meant it too. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t need to give me anything in a physical sense for me to be happy or feel secure in our relationship.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I do, I promise. And I don’t need it to be happy or secure either but I want it. And I know you want it too.”

Jack squeezes your face softly and lets out a breath as he looks away from you for a second. You know he’s conflicted. He knows you know. It’s hard to formulate an answer because the last thing he wants is for you to feel pressure or like he’s just going to be in this relationship waiting around for the day you can kiss and makeout and have sex and then he’ll become really invested. But he also can’t lie to you and say he doesn’t want you. 

He returns his eyes to yours and hopes his reflect how genuine and honest he’s being. “Of course I want it. Of course I want you. Look at you.” Jack’s eyes trail over all of your body he can see in this position and the way he looks at you feels unholy in a way, needy and lusting and reverent. So incredibly reverent. You already know when you do get there Jack is going to worship you. He already looks like he’s ready to get on his knees just for the opportunity to gaze upon you, clothed or unclothed. “I’m not going to lie to you and say I don’t. But I need you to know I’m not going to be in this relationship just sitting around waiting for the day we can do more and have sex and then I’ll become truly invested. I’m all in now. I’m invested in this, in us and our relationship now. Okay?”

“Yes, but, Jack,” you shake your head at him a little, look desperate for him to hear and believe you, “please don’t think I doubted that for a second. Your commitment and investment. That’s not what I meant or how I meant to make it seem because I wouldn’t be ready and I wouldn’t be doing this with you if I felt like that for a second, I promise.”

“Hey, I didn’t think you did,” he soothes, thumb brushing over your cheek. “I just needed to say it for myself and so that you heard it explicitly from me.”

“Okay. Good.” You nod. “Good. I’m sorry, I know I’m making this a big deal and way more complicated and long of a conversation than it needed to be.”

“Please don’t apologize. You’re not doing any of that. We’re just having a conversation and communicating so we both know where we are. That’s healthy. And you voicing your worries and anxieties and your thoughts, that’s important. That’s what I want. I want to hear all of that kind of stuff.” He smiles at you, just a hint of a smirking edge. “I want to be there for my girlfriend, yeah?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding at girlfriend. You knew that’s what you are, what you defined during this conversation but hearing it is different. It makes your heart race. “Yeah.” There’s barely any substance to the word with how breathed out it is and your reaction to the word makes Jack chuckle to himself a bit. You really are adorable. 

He knows this next question is going to fluster you further, but it’s an important one for him so that he doesn’t cross a line. “If you know, and it’s okay if you need a bit to think about it, how are you feeling about pet names? Being called one.” 

“Oh.” You blink at him. “I um…” You look down at your lap, suddenly even shyer than usual somehow with Jack’s intense gaze flustering you further. You don’t know what you were expecting him to ask but you guess it wasn’t that. It makes your brain a little fuzzier as you try to figure it out. You can’t believe Jack wants to call you a pet name. It’s sweet. And the way he asked and didn’t just do it is even sweeter. Toothache sweet. “Yes, yeah.” You nod at him and clear your throat, looking back into his eyes. “I’m okay with them. I can’t believe you want to call me one,” you laugh softly but incredulously, “but, um yeah. Yeah, I would like that. And you? Would you, or how, how do you feel? About them. Pet names.”

Jack beams at you, nodding a little. “I have to tell you that you’re so adorable when you’re flustered like this. When you get a little shyer on me.” His voice is lower than it normally is and Jack forces himself to keep looking into your eyes and not to glance down at your lips. He lets his words linger for a few seconds before clearing his throat and answering your question. “I would like that too. If you’re ready to use one with me, and it’s okay if you’re not.” You shake your head at him to indicate he doesn’t need to worry about that. That you are ready. 

“You have to tell me the one, though.” You cock your head at him, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Jack swallows hard, his heart rate picking up. It’s always hard, bringing this side of things up. And he knows it’s liable to send you into a bit of a spiral, to shove your loss and your grief in your face, and on today of all days. He hates it. But not knowing might lead him to inadvertently hurt you worse one day. “The one I’m not allowed to call you because it belongs to you and your husband.” 

“Oh,” you say again, breathe it out this time as your eyes find the folded American flag in its box on display. You didn’t even think about that. And you are so so glad that Jack did because you know if he accidentally called you that one it would have sent you spiraling so hard. Just the question has your mind spinning a little because now it’s like a montage in your head, it’s all you can hear. Your husband calling you Angel. Jack knows what’s happening, what’s playing out in your mind. He recognizes the specific glaze to your eyes. And it’s happening for him too a bit. A montage of his wife calling him Darling. Always Darling. Almost never Jack. 

Jack’s hand pulling away from your face to take your hand again and squeezing it is what brings you back. You bring your eyes back to his. “Angel,” you whisper. 

He nods. “Darling,” he whispers back. You know what he means. That’s his one. 

You feel the tears stinging your eyes but you huff a laugh instead of cry. Jack’s eyebrows raise slightly. “I’m just realizing how fucked up that is. I never thought about it before. Angel. He called me Angel and then he went off and fucking died and became one if you believe in that shit.” You click your tongue behind your teeth as the tears start to fall. Because he died. Because he called you Angel. Because it’s your son’s first birthday and he isn’t here. Because you’re with Jack and you’re happy and it suddenly feels so wrong even though you know it’s what he would want. “Fucking Angel,” you whisper as you devolve into quiet tears. 

You’re not even fully conscious of doing it because it’s just so natural and feels so right. You crawl fully into Jack’s lap and curl into him, one arm wrapping around his neck and your other hand fisting at his shirt as you bury your face in his neck and slowly devolve into quiet and muffled sobs. 

The move shocks Jack into complete stillness for a moment. It’s by far the closest the two of you have ever been, the most physically intimate. And he’s so aware that you’re this close and sobbing into him over your dead husband. He feels responsible for your sobs too. He brought it up, forced you to think about it. He just didn’t want to call you the wrong thing. 

His mind spins as he tries to decide what to do. Is it taking advantage of you and your completely vulnerable state somehow if he reciprocates your touch right now? Do you want his touch? Would it be comforting? Will you think it means something negative if he doesn’t touch you? You wouldn’t have climbed into his lap and be clinging to him if you weren’t okay with him touching you and weren’t seeking out comfort from him, right? 

Jack wraps his arms around you slowly, paying close attention to see if you stiffen even slightly or show some other sign of discomfort. He lets one hand rest on your back and the other over your hair on the back of your head to hold you close. When you cling to him tighter in response he tightens his grip around you in turn, hoping the pressure will help ground you. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know.” 

You hate this. Hate being like this and asking Jack to deal with it and intruding on his space and ruining everything with your tears. But Jack is comfort. He’s your boyfriend now and he understands the reason you’re sobbing, the pain behind it. The grief. You trust him with this side of yourself, want his comforting touch and the grounding he offers even as your heart breaks for your husband and what you lost. You didn’t mean for this to happen and you know Jack feels responsible but it’s not his fault. He didn’t make it happen, didn’t make you feel like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you choke out against his neck in between hiccupped sobs. You immediately feel him shaking his head, hold you a little closer. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He keeps his voice low, starts rubbing your back. “It’s okay. Let yourself feel it. I’ve got you.” Jack rocks you gently. “Let it all out. I understand. And you’re okay, you’re allowed to feel these feelings with me, okay?”

The way he knows exactly what to say makes you sob harder for a moment as you take every whispered reassurance to heart. “It’s so unfair Jack,” you sniffle against him before letting out a more audible sob, “for both of us, it’s so unfair. I hate it, I hate it so much. And, and I wish I could make it a little better for you like you, like you do for me. I’m so-sorry.”

Jack barely has time to process the stinging in his eyes before tears of his own are sliding down his face. For all of it. For you. For your loss. For his wife. For his loss. For how right you are, how un-fucking-fair the world is. For how you think you don’t make it a little better for him. 

“It is,” he whispers, “it’s so fucking unfair.” Jack takes in his own shuddery breath. “And you do, you do make it a little better. I promise.” He sniffles, goes to kiss the top of your head but stops himself, nuzzles his nose against you instead. 

It takes a bit longer for you to cry yourself out. Jack’s tears stopped well before yours and he never stopped whispering to you, never stopped holding you. Never made you feel like it was too much. Like you were too much. Like he needed this to stop and you to get out of his arms and leave him alone. Never rushed you.

And he keeps holding you once you stop crying, his hand still rubbing your back and the other still holding the back of your head to keep you close to him. You get to a point where you’re mostly quiet, only the occasional sharp stuttery breath. “I’m sorry,” you mumble against Jack’s neck. “That was unfair of me.”

He shakes his head. “No it wasn’t. You needed to let out some emotion. That’s part of what I’m here for, to hold you through that.” 

You shrug in his arms. “I don’t want you to think you caused it. By asking. I’m glad you asked.” You shift a little, pulling your head from his neck and resting the side of it in the crook of his shoulder, his hand on the back of your head quickly wiping the remnants of his tears and then coming down to wrap around you. “I… I don’t even know what that was. Or why it happened. It just does sometimes.” 

“It does for me too,” Jack murmurs. “And you don’t need to know what it was or why it happened. It can just happen.” 

It’s then you can hear the remnants of tears in Jack’s voice and the realization you made him cry is enough to bring you back to the brink of tears. “I’m sorry for making you cry and hurt.” Your whisper is so low he barely catches it. 

“You didn’t,” he says firmly, trying to emphasize that it wasn’t you. “You didn’t anymore than I made you cry and hurt.” He shrugs. “The world did,” he says simply.

There’s a lot more you want to say to that but you don’t. Because it doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. It happened. It’s the past now. You cried clinging to each other on your couch and made it to the other side of that overwhelming grief together. All you want is to be closer to Jack somehow. 

You shift again, pulling your head away from Jack’s body so that you can look at each other, his arms loosening around you automatically so that you’re free to move, to get off him if you want. But you don’t want that. 

“Jack?” Your voice is a little shaky and it feels so dumb to have it be shaky over what you’re about to ask him to do. It’s barely anything but for some reason it feels huge right now.

“Yeah?”

“Will you kiss my forehead?”

His eyebrows raise. It feels huge for him too right now. Almost as intimate as kissing your lips. Jack’s eyes search yours. “You sure?” 

He has to check. Has to make sure you really do want it and are ready for it. You nod, smile at him and his concern and need to check softly. He cares about you so much. Cares about your relationship so much. Doesn’t want to hurt you or ruin anything. “I am. I want it a lot. If you do.”

“Yeah, okay,” he whispers a little breathlessly. “Yeah, I want it too.”

He moves slowly, giving you time to pull away and change your mind. His hands move to your neck, thumbs along your jaw and he nods with slightly raised brows, asking if it’s okay. You nod a little and lean closer into him.

Both your and Jack’s eyes flutter closed when his lips make contact with your forehead. He doesn’t linger with this kiss, just plants a kiss on your forehead and pulls back a bit to see how you react and if you pull away. When he sees a smile ghost your lips and you stay where you are he leans back in for another and lets this one linger, lips pressed to the soft skin of your forehead for a good thirty seconds before he pulls away. 

You let your eyes flutter back open. “Thank you. I, I liked that. If you ever wanted to do it again. That would be okay with me.”

Jack gives you a crooked smile, gaze as intense as ever. “I like that too. And I would like to do it again, yeah.”

You nod at him. “Good,” you whisper. Your eyes leave his and track the tear stains on his cheek and neck until you see the mess of his neck and shirt that you made and cringe. “I’m so sorry I got you and your shirt all snotty and gross.” 

Jack chuckles. “I’m a doctor. That doesn’t phase me for a second. It’s one of the most benign bodily fluids to get on me.”

“Still.” A rather large yawn hits you and you cover your mouth, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry, that just came out of nowhere.” 

Seeing you yawn makes Jack yawn of course and he similarly covers his mouth. “It’s been a long day and crying can make you tired.” Jack lets his hand rest on your hip, watching you intently to see how you react. “You should get to bed and get some sleep as much as I’d love to stay out here and talk with you all night.” He squeezes your hip gently. 

“Probably, yeah.” You yawn again, this one not quite as big. “Definitely, apparently,” you laugh. “You should get some sleep too.”

Jack laughs with you. “Yeah, probably I should.” He offers you his hand to hold as you slide off him and stand up, grabbing the baby monitor. Once you take a step away he stands up behind you, rests his hand on your lower back as he walks you over to your bedroom door. “I had a really great day. Thank you for inviting me to spend it with you. And um,” Jack blushes again and looks away from you for a second. You have to bite your lip at it as you smile because it’s so cute and you can’t believe talking to you, anything related to you, is making him blush. He looks so cute flustered. You get it. Why he said it earlier. “I’m,” Jack clears his throat as he looks back at you, cheeks still a little tinged with pink. “I’m really happy about us.”

You beam at Jack. You know you must look ridiculous, so overly excited and happy. The whole thing is kind of surreal and even though you’re in your house in front of your bedroom door and Jack’s about to walk down the hall and into the guest room it feels like him dropping you off at your front door after a first date. “I am too.” His words echo in your mind and it’s a little bold for you but you’re just following him really. “I have to tell you that you’re so adorable when you’re flustered like this. When you get a little shy on me.”

Jack laughs, shaking his head at you. His blush deepens and you really could scream at how adorable he is. “Yeah, well, you have that effect on me. You wanna talk about feeling like a teenager.” He rolls his eyes at himself playfully. 

“I totally get it,” you giggle. You get slightly more serious, the giggle fading away while the huge, what you’re sure must be at least slightly goofy, smile doesn’t leave your face. Jack’s smiling too though, just as happy and excited as you. “Are you going to tell Robby and Dana?”

“Oh,” Jack scoffs a laugh and runs a hand through his hair. It shouldn’t make your heart stutter the way it does. “I don’t think I’ll even have to. They’ll just know. Just from looking at me the next time they bring you up. Which will be the next time I see them.” He shakes his head at them and then looks back at you, cheeks a little pink again, that boyish, slightly flustered smile gracing his face. “Are you okay if I show them pictures? Of him? And uh, you and him? And all of us?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, of course.” Now you’re the one flustered thinking about Jack wanting to show you and your son off. 

“Thank you. I know they’ll enjoy seeing him. Anyway,” he nods at you, “I should let you get some sleep.”

“Can we hug?” You blurt out before Jack can say anything else. 

It catches Jack off guard so it takes a second to process, but his smile widens as it does. “Of course we can, if you’re ready for that. I would like that.” 

You nod. “I am. Not really that much different from the couch, is it? Except I won’t be sobbing into you this time.” You laugh breathlessly just at the thought of hugging him and him wanting to hug you. 

“True,” Jack laughs softly with you. “If you need to cry again you can of course. And I’m going to let you lead, okay? Show me how tightly you want it. And if a hand goes somewhere you don’t like or I do something you don’t like please tell me right away.” 

“I will,” you assure him, “but I trust you and I know nothing like that will happen.”

He nods at you and steps closer, holding his arms out a bit so you can wrap yours around him. You hug him tight as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close to him. You nuzzle your face against his chest and take in several deep breaths through your nose to savor his scent before resting the side of your head on his chest and enjoying the sound of his heart beating and the feeling of his arms holding you, warm and strong and safe. Half of you wants to ask him for his shirt to sleep in but you know you’re not there, that the smell of another man in your bed would be a little too much for you right now. 

Jack nuzzles his nose in your hair, absentmindedly kisses the top of your head occasionally because he can do that now. And he can tell you like it by the way you squeeze him a little tighter when he does. You feel perfect in his arms and holding you like this makes his heart glow in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. He feels happy and content in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever feel again after his wife.  

You could both stay like this for hours. But Jack knows you’re exhausted. Knows you have to work tomorrow. He relaxes his arms and pulls away just slightly. It has the desired effect, you look up at him wide-eyed with a small smile, able to guess what’s coming next. 

Jack slides his hands up your sides and then brings them to hold your face gently, smiling down at you like you’re the only thing that exists in this moment. He leans down and presses the softest kiss to your forehead, lets it linger as he tries to use the kiss to say thank you and he’s so happy because of you and he can’t believe you’re his girlfriend and he’ll wait as long as you need and he cares about you and you’re so incredibly important to him. He pulls his lips from your forehead eventually, only to bring them back down and give you a couple more kisses there, letting the last one linger just a little before his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs to you. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

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

A day later Jack glances at the baby monitor when he hears your son stir a little. 

He shouldn’t be waking up yet, he didn’t go down that long ago and he is normally a very good napper. A good sleeper in general. True to form he just shifts around a little and then is back out. 

It makes Jack smile and laugh to himself as he resumes doing the dishes. Almost everything is in the now-running dishwasher but there are a few things that can’t go in and he’s giving your son’s highchair tray a good scrub. 

It’s Friday and Jack’s on a solid string of off days and so is home with your son. A kid at daycare is sick and honestly, Jack just likes being with your son, and so anymore it’s more common for your son to be with Jack than at daycare when Jack is off. You’re both looking forward to having the weekend together, especially now that you’re together. It’ll be your first weekend as a couple. You have absolutely no plans, but both of you kind of like that. 

As he scrubs Jack tries to formulate a plan to get you to let him take the monitor tonight so that he can get up with your son and you can sleep in tomorrow. He knows you’re going to fight him on it, but he wants to do it for you. He’ll just have to make sure he’s the one who grabs it when you guys get up to go to bed. 

The thought crosses his mind that maybe it’ll be a moot point. Maybe you’ll invite him to sleep in your bed with you. Just to sleep and be close, not for anything else and not even naked. But that thought quickly morphs into kicking himself mentally, asking himself why the actual fuck he’s thinking about that when you aren’t even ready to kiss and have been a couple for less than 24 fucking hours. 

He knows it’s because he wants that closeness with you. Wants to basically hug you all night. He would absolutely never pressure you into doing so, it’s just why he’s thinking about it. Thinking about your warm skin against his, your breathing slow and soft as you sleep curled into him, the little sounds you’d make in your sleep, how peaceful you’d look, and god the sound of your sleepy voice in the morning, spoken more into his chest than anything as you nuzzle against him and try to hide from the light and ask for five more minutes. 

No. Just no, Jack tells himself. He needs to stop. It feels wrong on so many levels to think about you like that, even though it’s not sexual. If only Jack knew the way you were miles away daydreaming in your office about effectively the same thing and about kissing him. 

He turns his thoughts elsewhere. What to make for dinner. He likes cooking for you and your son. He likes watching your face when you take first bites and is borderline addicted to the smiles you give him, the soft hums you give him that are really almost moans when you particularly like something, the praise of ‘this is amazing Jack’ and ‘god you really outdid yourself tonight’ and ‘fuck that’s good’ and ‘you spoil me’ and ‘this is incredible Jack, thank you for cooking’ you give him. 

But what to make? He could do something he’s made before and knows you like. He could try something new. Or you could get takeout. Make it kind of a mini-date at home. He knows your favorite places and dishes by now and he could wait until you get home to order, ask what place you’d prefer. Depending on how long your son naps and what kind of mood he’s in the three of you could potentially go out somewhere. But you did that last night. So maybe him making something is actually better. So he circles back to the question. What to make?  

While he’s letting ideas for dinner percolate in the back of his mind he thinks about how he needs to set up something so that you can meet Robby and Dana. He wants you to meet them of course but they’re also the two best potential babysitters if you end up liking them and feeling like you can trust them. And you’re going to need one if he’s going to ever be able to take you out on a real date. He loves doing stuff as the three of you, yes, but he still wants to date you. Just you. Do something with you that you guys couldn’t do with your son. Focus on each other.

Jack knows it’ll be hard for you to leave your son and he’s not going to force the issue of course, but he hopes that having a nurse or a doctor as a sitter will help allay at least some of your fears. He should probably think of a good date idea before bringing it up though. 

What if he had you cook with him tonight? If you wanted. Almost like a little cooking class date, just at home. You always talk about wanting to become a better cook. That could be fun right? Your son could watch from his highchair or Jack could baby-wear him with a wrap or the carrier. Depending on how late you get home and how early your son goes down for the night and how late you’re okay eating your son might even be asleep by then. Unlikely but not impossible. 

As he finishes the dishes he decides that he’ll go pick something to make and get a list of things to buy at the store. Then once your son is awake from his nap and maybe had a snack they can walk to the store together, maybe drive depending on how much is needed. 

Jack grabs the clean dish towel to dry his hands. And that’s when he realizes it. When he feels it. Or rather doesn’t feel it. His eyes snap to his left hand. 

No wedding ring. 

Jack’s stomach drops, fingers and toes going cold while adrenaline floods his system and shoves him right into fight or flight, breathing and heart rate picking up. He spins back to the sink, praying that he’ll find his ring resting in the sink or on the grate of the one side and that it didn’t slide down into the pipe on the garbage disposal side. Or that he didn’t lose it somewhere else and is just now noticing. How could he have not fucking noticed the second it came off?

A short burst of relief floods him when he finds it sitting against the grate. He’s quick to pick it up and hold it in the palm of his hand, stare down at it. He still can’t believe himself. That he didn’t feel it when it came off. He knows he was in his head and thinking but still. That’s his wedding ring. That’s her. One of a few things he has left of her and it came off and he didn’t feel it. The ring he’s worn every day for how many years now? And he didn’t fucking feel it come off. He’s the worst, his brain tells him as he slips into mentally berating himself. 

And the thing is, Jack has known he needs to take off his ring, especially now that you’re ready and in a relationship and together. He’s been mentally preparing for it and thinking about it. He’s been trying to work his way up to it. He was hoping to do it this weekend at some point. 

He never expected to not have a choice. For it to slip off while doing the dishes. He’s been doing the dishes for the past five years, scrubbing his hands at work for the past five years and nothing. It never came off. And he knows he does have a choice. He knows he could slip it back on right now. 

But instead he just stares at it in his palm. 

He doesn’t know what to do. It needed to come off. But he wanted to take it off. Have it be an intentional thing. Be talking to her in his mind when he did it, reassuring himself and her that it’s not that he doesn’t love her anymore because he does, he always will. And instead it came off and he didn’t notice. What does that tell her? But if he puts it back on how long will it be until he can bring himself to take it off again? Was he ever really going to work up to taking it off or did something like this need to happen? Is this a sign from the universe? Did it happen on purpose?

A tapping sound on the glass of the window behind the sink interrupts Jack’s thoughts. He looks up and there’s no fucking way this is real. A bird is there on the windowsill looking back at him and tilting its head back and forth at him how birds do. It’s not just any bird though. 

It’s a mourning dove. His wife’s favorite. 

The irony of the name was not lost on him the first time he saw one after she died. It was years ago. Five and a bit years ago. At her funeral. One had landed on her casket and Jack had come a little unglued for a minute, ended up squeezing Robby’s forearm so tight it was bruised for a couple of weeks. 

Since then they’ve become a little thing for him. He tells himself it’s silly, but he feels like they’re her in a way. A kind of manifestation of her spirit visiting him. Because he’s only seen them a few times since then and each of those times has been poignant. A couple of times when he visited her grave. A few times on the roof at work when his feet got a little too close to the ledge. Once after he kissed a woman other than her for the first time after her death. And now that he really thinks about it he realizes that one landed on the ground in front of him as he waited to cross the street on his way to work on the day he met you. 

He looks back down at his wedding ring and picks it up with his right hand, holds his left hand out as he thinks about putting it back on. More tapping on the glass and that familiar coo has him focusing back on the dove. It’s beautiful. Just like she was. It has a unique line of black feathers just above one of its eyes. It makes the usual blue ring that circles a mourning dove’s eye pop even more. 

It has to mean something, Jack tells himself. Except that’s crazy, right? It’s just a bird on a windowsill. It doesn’t mean it’s her visiting and trying to tell him something.

Jack stares back at it. It feels like a sign. All of it. His ring slipping off while doing the dishes at your house when it hasn’t before in over five years of doing dishes. The dove appearing. It feels like her telling him that it’s okay. It’s okay to not wear his ring. It’s okay to be with you. It feels like her blessing. 

He closes his right hand around his ring and the dove looks at him for a few more seconds, gives him a couple more coos before it flies off leaving Jack standing there trying to process everything that’s happened in the last five minutes. But then his mind goes blank for a moment and there’s nothing but the feeling of his wedding ring pressing into the palm of his right hand. 

Jack’s turning so his back is against the base cabinets as he slides to the floor, tears blurring his vision as it slams into him and consumes him. The memory of that ring going on his finger. Her face and how excited she was. How beautiful she looked in her white dress with that veil. How she could barely get her vows and the ring exchange out, not from tears but from giggles. How her it was. How she held onto his finger once she slid his ring on. How she didn’t let go until the very end of the ceremony when she could finally hold his face as they kissed for the first time as husband and wife. How she was obsessed with his left hand all night, constantly holding it and running her fingers over his ring. How she kissed it that night in bed. 

Jack doesn’t even realize how hard he’s sobbing as he clutches his right hand and ring to his chest, right over his heart. It all replays for him. How they met. Their first date. Their second date. Their first kiss. Their first time. Leaving for his first deployment while they were together. Coming back and her running and jumping into his arms, refusing to leave them all night. 

Getting to be home and spend time with her. All the things they did together in between deployments. Going abroad. Hiking. Renting a cottage on the beach in Connecticut for a weekend. Making dinner at home together. Fun dates. Their sadness when he found out he was being deployed again. Her tears when she had to hug him goodbye. His promise he’d come back to her.

An IED. Physical pain indescribable until the adrenaline fully hit as he tried to save the others around him. Looking down and realizing his foot was gone. 

Waking up in Germany. Waking up at Walter Reed to her asleep in a chair next to his bed. Surgeries. Moving to a hospital in Pittsburgh. Physical therapy. Depression. Finding his therapist. Her right by his side through it all. A prosthetic. An honorable discharge. Her being more than he could ever deserve as he struggled to adjust.

Medical school. Medical school graduation. The pride in her eyes and how tight she hugged him and her breath against his ear as she whispered how proud she was of him. Residency. 

Him picking out her engagement ring. Planning the proposal. Proposing. Wedding planning during residency. Their whole wedding. Their honeymoon. Their talks of kids and a house in the suburbs. Her saying how she wanted a group of little boys that were all the spitting image of their father. Plans to start trying once he became an attending.

Becoming an attending. Deciding not to actively try but more to just not prevent and see what happened for a bit. The death of her mom hitting her hard and putting the brakes on kids for a bit. Holding her as she cried. Helping her plan a funeral. Things slowly getting better. The death of her dad just a year later understandably obliterating it all. Holding her as she cried again. Helping her plan another funeral. Things slowly getting better again.

Deciding to actively try and track her cycle. An emergency medicine and trauma conference in Vegas. Hugging and kissing her goodbye at the airport. Dreaming of her surprising him with a ‘welcome home daddy’ sign when he got back. 

That phone call from Robby as he laid in his hotel bed reading some materials from one of the presentations. 

Denial. Numbness. Yelling at Robby that this wasn’t even close to a funny joke. The slow realization it was the truth. A drunk driver had taken her from him almost instantly but the driver got to walk away with a couple of bruises and a broken arm.

Robby getting him a ticket on the next plane home. Crying silently in that hotel bed because this couldn’t be real. Finally feeling it and sobbing in an airport bathroom with the sound of slot machines in the background. 

The blur of getting back home and Robby being there. Robby telling him the details of what happened and her injuries after he demanded them through a yell when Robby tried to tell him he didn’t need to know, that it wouldn’t make a difference and would just torture himself. Jack screaming at Robby and blaming him for not saving her when Jack knew based on what Robby told him that she was effectively DOA. That there was no hope of her surviving. That if the paramedics hadn’t happened to recognize her as his wife she almost certainly would’ve been pronounced on the scene and never even brought in. Dana grabbing him in the tightest hug as his screams turned into sobs, choked apologies and thank you for trying-s to Robby and asking what he was supposed to do.

Considering killing himself. Considering killing the driver that hit her and then killing himself. 

Planning her funeral. Seeing her again for the first time in her casket. Feeling a pain so deep and a grief so profound he was sure he would drop dead. Her funeral. Trying to give a eulogy. The dove. Watching her be lowered into the ground. Feeling like the photo of her to the side of her casket was mocking him. Feeling like a piece of shit for feeling that. The celebration of life after. Spending too much time comforting other people as they came up to him and apologized for his loss and talked about her. 

All consuming depression. Not leaving his bed for days. Laying on his side and looking at her pillow and crying because he was looking at her pillow and not her face. Because he’d never look at her face like that again. He’d never have her laying in bed with him again.

Slowly coming out of the depression. Finding a new normal. Deciding to live for her as much as it hurt. Working at the Pitt. Things getting better and life and himself feeling stable. Visiting her grave. The years eventually blurring together as he falls into a routine and goes to work and comes home and listens to the scanner and sleeps and goes back to work again. Some dates and casual flings, brief romances. Nothing serious. They grow fewer and farther between.  

And then Jack hits meeting you and his mind stops. 

The sobs don’t. The way he rocks himself slightly in an attempt to self soothe doesn’t. The choked out apologies to her for everything don’t. The way it feels like he’s right back there, on the day he lost her and the day he saw her in her casket doesn’t. The guilt he suddenly feels for being with you doesn’t. The guilt he feels for his wedding ring falling off and him not noticing while he was doing your dishes, washing your child’s highchair tray doesn’t. The ache that fucking dove and what felt like her blessing put in his heart doesn’t. 

Missing her so badly he can’t breathe doesn’t. But neither does his want and need and affection for you. 

Jack hasn’t cried like this in a good while. Hasn’t felt everything all over again and watched his entire life with her and the aftermath play out in his mind in even longer. And he doesn’t understand, or maybe isn’t letting himself understand, why he feels so sad and so guilty and why he had to replay everything in his mind. Why he’s still fucking sobbing and clutching his ring so hard it’ll take hours if not a full day for the indent it leaves behind to fade. 

Deep down Jack knows it’s a form of processing. He knows his ring coming off is a huge thing for him and he knows that’s okay and that this reaction is okay. He and his therapist have talked at length and repeatedly, especially recently, about his possible reactions to taking it off. But he didn’t really take it off, did he?

His sobs taper off as exhaustion hits and he runs out of tears. But his feelings don’t stop. He’s a storm of emotions, has guilt in every direction possible. He hits that numbness that accompanies exhaustion though and it’s a nice change, not feeling every emotion even as he knows he still has them. His head feels fuzzy and it gets harder to think.

Jack lets his head fall back against the cabinet and closes his eyes. It quickly becomes apparent to him though that if he stays here he’ll fall asleep here. So he forces himself up and to the guest bed, pretty much just flops onto it, head barely hitting a pillow. He looks at his ring for a few seconds before his eyes start to close, curls his hand back around it and brings it back close to heart as he falls into a deep sleep.

He wakes hours later to the sound of crying. It’s not a screaming cry like something is wrong or your son is deeply upset but still. It takes him a minute to come back to fully, to remember what happened, to remember the thing he’s still clutching in his right hand is his wedding ring. Jack rolls onto his back and runs his left hand over his face and through his hair to try and fight off the remnants of sleep. And he feels it of course, the lack of it, no metal ring gliding over his skin. 

As he sits up he opens his hand to look at his ring. He feels so fucking melodramatic now. It’s a ring. She’s been dead for over five years. It should have come off a long time ago. It’s not like he has to get rid of it. He just won’t be wearing it anymore. And yet he can’t let go of all those emotions. 

He goes to grab the baby monitor from the nightstand, vaguely wondering why the volume is turned so low but it’s not there. He’s confused for a minute but then it hits him. He left it by the sink. Your son was so quiet and he was so exhausted when he forced himself off the kitchen floor that he just left it there. So who fucking knows how long your son has been awake and crying. After it processes completely it jolts him awake, has him setting his ring on the nightstand and all but running to your son’s room, berating himself further the entire way. 

Jack cannot believe he did that. Forgot the monitor. Left your son nearly alone effectively. Him crying is bad enough but what if something had happened? What if he had started choking? What if someone had broken in? What if he’s been in there for fucking hours crying so long he’s going to get sick now? What if you’d come home to Jack passed out in bed and your son crying? How could you ever forgive him? Ever trust him again? More guilt surges through him and it’s enough to make him teary again because you trust him with your son and he forgot the monitor and your son is one and won’t understand why nobody came for him. Why Jack didn’t come for him. Why Jack left him in there crying alone. 

“Hi Baby,” Jack calls to your son as he opens the door and flicks the light on. “I’m so sorry Bud. I hope you weren’t in here upset for too long.” Your son starts to calm the second he hears Jack’s voice and sees him, small arms reaching up towards Jack asking to be picked up. The big alligator tears rolling down his face make Jack’s heart ache as he picks him up, chubby hands grabbing at Jack’s shirt while Jack settles him against his chest. 

Jack bounces slightly, cupping the back of your son’s head with the hand not holding him, thumb brushing back and forth soothingly. “I’m so sorry Honey.” He turns his head and kisses your son’s temple a few times. He’s stopped crying, he did pretty much as soon as he was in Jack’s arms, just the occasional sniffles and small hiccupped breaths as he settles back down. “I’ve got you. I’m sorry, I really am, and I’m here now, I’ve got you.” 

He settles into the rocking chair that’s there in the nursery and rocks with your son, presses a few more kisses to his head, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo. It calms him. Jack keeps whispering to your son, that he’s sorry and he’s here and everything’s okay and he’ll never do that again. Jack glances at his watch. It hasn’t actually been that long, really it’s been about the length of time your son usually naps for, so it’s unlikely he was crying for that long, right? Unless today was the day he couldn’t sleep and woke up earlier. There’s no way to know and Jack hates it, can only hope he woke up quickly and as soon as your son started crying. 

Your son rests quietly on his chest, hand playing with Jack’s shirt a bit to keep himself occupied, cooing and babbling to himself a little occasionally. It’s comforting, holding him like this and rocking. Jack knows he’s doing this more to soothe himself than your son who’s pretty much completely unbothered now. 

Jack thinks about what precipitated his passing out without the monitor as he holds your son close, namely his ring and the dove. 

Jack knows it was some kind of sign from her and the universe. The whole thing. He doesn’t care how it sounds. He knows it was her blessing. Her way of telling him she’s happy for him and he should be happy too and not feel guilty. And he wishes his guilt could be erased that easily, by a dove and his ring coming off. But it can’t. And it lingers. And Jack is so glad he has someone who understands and won’t hold it against him. Because he’s sure he won’t be out of this funk by the time you get home.    

Even though he knows you’ll understand and won’t hold it against him he still hates that he’s going to be a bit off with you, especially when you just started your relationship officially yesterday. Yes, you cried into him last night from grief but it feels different. Jack brought up pet names and asked a question specifically about your husband. That made you think of your husband. This is his ring falling off. Something that needed to happen anyway. His reaction could easily make it seem like he’s not ready for this or isn’t fully ready to commit to you and let her go in a way. And he doesn’t want you to think that because it’s not true. He is ready for this, he wants this with you so badly, wants you and he is ready to commit to you. He’s been ready and patiently waiting for you. 

He knows he needs to try and get out of his head. Your son starting to chew on his shirt pulls him out of his thoughts. 

“You hungry, little man? Want a snack? A real one, because my shirt isn’t going to do much for you.” Jack looks down at your son and pulls him away from his chest gently. “No it’s not,” he says in a bit of a baby voice, smiling and shaking his head at your son. “It can’t taste very good either.” 

Your son giggles up at Jack at his voice and the way he shakes his head, hands reach for Jack’s face. Jack playfully takes one of your son’s hands and brings it up, mouths at it and makes fake eating noises just to pull more laughter. Jack releases the hand and brings your son up a little closer, leans into him and kisses at his cheeks dramatically, tickling his face with his stubble and his hand on your son’s tummy. It earns him more pealing laughter and makes him smile widely at your son. He loves making your son laugh, could spend all day making him laugh. He loves making your son happy and hearing your son’s laugh helps him, makes him happier and relax a bit. It’s damn near audible serotonin. 

Your son’s eyes shine and he looks so happy, like Jack’s the best thing in the whole world and Jack doesn’t feel like he deserves it in the moment. But he tries to shove that aside to just focus on your son. Your son seems to love eye contact as much as Jack does so it’s easy to catch his gaze and talk to him softly, earnestly, almost achingly so. “I love you Honey, so so much. I hope you know that.”

And he does. Jack loves your son like he’s Jack’s own. Jack, like you, would walk straight into a burning building and through flames for him, would jump in front of a car for him, anything, without a second thought, he’d just do it. Instinctually. And if, god forbid, something ever happened to your son, Jack would bleed himself dry donating his O- blood to your son if that’s what was needed. 

Your son babbles at him in response, smiling at Jack and laughing while clapping his hands. Jack laughs with him and then sighs contentedly. “Alright, you. Let’s get you changed and then get a snack and text mommy and we’ll figure out the rest after, okay?”

Jack’s quick to get your son changed and out to the kitchen, turning off the monitor where it sits by the sink and shaking his head at himself. He’s nervous about telling you, about your reaction. He’d understand if you didn’t trust him with your son anymore, if it somehow ruined things. He just really hopes you still will trust him and nothing is ruined. He can pretty much assure you he’ll never do it again.

Once he has your son squared away with a snack and some water in his highchair Jack sits at the table next to him and texts you. Not telling you what happened never even crossed his mind. He debates calling you instead but he doesn’t want to interrupt your workday more than he has to.  

J - I’m so so sorry. I fell asleep and accidentally left the monitor in the other room. I woke up to him crying and I have no idea how long he was crying for. He calmed as soon as I picked him up and is okay now. Having a snack and some water. But I totally get if you don’t trust me with him anymore and don’t want me watching him by myself anymore. I’m so sorry

Jack stares at his phone waiting for your reply. He knows you’re at work and busy and it might be a bit before you even see that he texted you let alone have the time to read his message and reply. And he knows you might not even want to reply. He’s just praying that you give him something so he knows that you know what happened. 

You do. You don’t even take that long all things considered, it’s only a minute or so before those three dots appear. 

You - Hey, it’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’ve done the same thing more than once, I promise

You - All that matters is he’s okay. Not surprised he calmed down as soon as you picked him up, he’s so enamored with you! 

You - And of course I still trust you with him. I’ve seen you with him and how aware of him you are and how in tune, so if I had to bet, I’d say he wasn’t crying long at all before it woke you up. And even if he had been crying for a while, it’s okay. I’d still trust you. Like I said, I’ve done it before more than once. It’s just one of those things that happens. Especially if you need a nap just as bad as he does!

Jack lets out a sigh of relief reading your texts. His head is still a fucking mess from everything and he hasn’t forgiven himself for this, he’s just so good at compartmentalizing it’s all in a box on a shelf to deal with later. 

J - Okay. I really am sorry though and I can pretty much guarantee you it won’t happen again

You reply quickly. 

You - It’s really okay, try not to feel bad about it. I know it’s not that easy but just know that I’m not upset or anything 

A few seconds later before Jack can respond there’s another message from you. 

You - You otherwise okay? 

Of course you’d pick up on it and know. Of course you’d worry about him. It makes Jack feel so good to know there’s someone out there who cares about him that much, who he’s that important to in a non-platonic sense. But at the same time part of him hates that he didn’t hide it better, that he’s worrying you and burdening you with himself. 

J - Yeah, just been a day kind of

J - Mentally. Nothing to do with him

He glances up at your son as he waits to see if you reply. “Good stuff?” he laughs, your son having devoured the cheerios Jack gave him. “Want some more?” Your son giggles and claps a bit as Jack pours some more out for him. “You’re the best, you know that Bud?”

You - I’m sorry, Jack. We can talk tonight if you want but don’t have to of course. Just know I’m here for you for whatever. I think I’ll probably be able to leave a little early today too

Jack bites his lip. He doesn’t know if he wants to talk about it, or how much he wants to talk about it. 

J - I know. And okay but don’t rush home on my account 

He sets his phone off to the side and turns his focus back to your son, scooting a bit closer to him. “Oh, thank you,” Jack chuckles when your son offers him a cheerio in his tiny pincer grasp and Jack lets him feed it to him, much to your son’s delight. He does it a few more times and Jack takes every cheerio offered until the two of them have eaten them all. 

Jack takes your son to the living room, sets him down on the floor and gets down to play with him. If you end up being able to leave work a bit early it really won’t be too long before you’re home. 

Playing with your son is a good distraction until it’s not and the walls of the box he’d put everything in start to crumble and all his feelings and guilt from earlier flood his mind. Jack’s at least able to focus on both your son and those feelings at once, not outwardly showing any distress or being off with your son or suddenly less interactive. The feelings just eat away at him inside. The guilt. 

Jack’s not even that aware of time passing until he hears your key in the door. “Hi!” you call out as you walk in and set your stuff down, kick out of your shoes. You’re glad to be home and done with the week and so excited to have a weekend with Jack. You walk into your living room and smile at the sight of Jack and your son on the floor together playing. 

“Hey,” Jack calls back. He lowers his voice as you walk into the room. “Who is that?” he asks your son, “Mommy home?” Your son claps and gets excited, starts to crawl over to you but doesn’t get super far. “How was your day?” 

“Oh you know,” you sigh. “Work.” Jack laughs softly. “How was your guys’ day?” You walk over to pick up your son. He’s still close to Jack and without even being fully conscious of it you run a hand through Jack’s hair affectionately before grabbing your son, picking him up and peppering his face with kisses, cooing at him softly that you missed him and you love him and did he have a good day with Jack.

Jack clears his throat as he stands up and walks over to sit on the couch. “Oh you know,” he repeats your words with a similar sigh, only his has an edge to it that concerns you. “You know.” 

You turn to really look at Jack as he sits on the couch and he hates the way your face drops when you see him. You can tell he cried at some point today and you’re guessing it happened before he fell asleep without the monitor. Your brows furrow together, eyes widening slightly in concern. Jack shakes his head and sighs, ready to apologize for ruining your mood and Friday night. But you speak first. 

“Jack?” You walk over and sit on the couch with your son on your lap near him, but leave a cushion between you in case he wants space. You’re worried about him, quite a lot. You’ve never seen him look this sad and almost lost. “What’s wrong honey?” 

Jack isn’t sure how to even begin to answer because it feels so ridiculous. You’ve had your rings off for a long time. He bets you weren’t like this when you took them off. And even if you were it was so close to when he died and you were pregnant. 

Jack doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything and just holds up his left hand. Your eyes slowly leave his and move to his hand. It doesn’t take you long to notice. And Jack can see it on your face the second you realize. Your eyes go back to his. 

“You took your wedding ring off.”

Jack brings his hand down and sighs, shaking his head. “I didn’t really take it off so much as it fell off while I was doing the dishes.” He looks down at his hand. “It’s on my nightstand, it didn’t get lost in the pipes or anything. I just…” He shrugs. He wants to look back up at you but he can’t bring himself to for some reason. “I didn’t expect it. I’ve done the dishes for over five years, scrubbed my hands at work and it never came off. But today it did. And the worst part is I didn’t even notice when it did. I didn’t realize it until I was drying my hands.”

You’re quiet as you try to think of what to say, what you would want to hear if you were in Jack’s position. And you’re trying to shove the massive guilt that’s hit you aside because this isn’t about you. This is about Jack. But if he hadn’t been doing your and your son’s dishes his ring wouldn’t have come off. It feels like it’s your fault somehow. 

“I… Jack I’m so sorry you didn’t get to do it on your own terms.” You want to move closer to him, rest your hand on him and squeeze reassuringly or hold his hand. But you’re not sure if he’d want that. “You can put it back on, Jack. If you need to or want to. That’s okay.”

Jack had a feeling you’d say that. And he can see in the way you shift a little that you want to be closer to him but aren’t sure if he’d want that. He’s not really sure either now that you’re talking about what happened and it’s all that’s in his mind again. “No.” He shakes his head. “No, it needed to come off. My therapist and I have talked about it. A lot,” he laughs dryly. He forces himself to look at you. “Especially recently, because it’s not fair to you. For us to be together and me to be wearing her ring-”

You’re shaking your head as he speaks and you have to interrupt him. “It’s not unfair to me Jack. It’s just not about fairness in general. I get it, you know I do.” And you do. But you can’t lie to yourself and say it wouldn’t be a little hard to see him put it back on, date him while he wears her ring. You’d never say that though and you imagine you don’t really have to. That Jack just knows because he can put himself in the same position. “If you’re not ready to have it off Jack, that’s okay. I promise.” And you do promise, because even if he did put it back on you would be okay with it even if it was a little hard. 

“I am. It’s been over five years. It needed to come off, truly. It was time.” You can see his eyes get a little glassy and it makes your heart ache for him. You know he must have sobbed about it and you hate that he was alone. Because you know what it’s like. You know what it’s like to suddenly no longer have your wedding ring on and be alone when it happens. You have no idea if he’d have wanted you around when he did it but at least he could have had the option. “I was thinking about it anyway. I was going to try to do it this weekend.” Jack bites his trembling lip and looks down for a moment before looking back up at you, the tears now visible in his eyes. “I just thought I’d get to do it. That it would be this intentional thing and I could talk to her while I did it, you know?”

You let out a shuddery breath and feel tears prick the back of your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper, “I know. And I’m so sorry you didn’t get that Jack.”

Jack takes a breath and shrugs at you, all the emotion disappearing from his face for a second leaving him stone faced. “Stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for.” Jack’s eyes fall down to your son as he starts to babble and wiggle against you more before Jack can see your slight flinch at his words. His tone was sharper than he meant or realized. Colder. He almost sounded annoyed. 

You swallow hard. Both of you knew there would be some really difficult moments during your relationship. Days where the grief was all-consuming and the guilt eating you alive. You just didn’t expect one quite this early on while things are still so new. It’s okay that it is one, just unexpected. “Okay, I’m-” You stop yourself before you apologize again and Jack knows it, looks up at you and gives you the smallest amused smile. It falls quickly though when he sees how upset you are. He hates that he’s the cause. “I, you, um,” you let out a breath, “you’re of course welcome to stay here, always Jack, I hope you know that. And I’m here for you and this if that’s what you need. If you want to talk about, or be close or whatever it is that would help you. I don’t want it to sound like I want you to leave. Of course I’d like you to be here but more than that I want whatever you need and is best for you. I just, it’s also okay if you need to go home, Jack. Be alone and have some time to yourself. Time with her. Go visit her, maybe, if you think that would help.”

You look down at your son while you give Jack time to think, shift him on your lap a little and bounce him on your legs, earning you some squealing laughter. 

“Maybe,” Jack finally says. “I don’t know.” He’s not sure what would be better. The thought of being home and alone with his thoughts sounds awful. But maybe some of the guilt would pass if he wasn’t here with you as terrible as he knows that sounds and is. He doesn’t know. His brain just doesn’t know. He’s paralyzed in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. 

“That’s okay, it’s okay to not know.” You glance around the room as you keep bouncing your knees for your son. You’re trying to think of anything that might help him. Emotionally or just help him figure out what he wants and needs. “He and I can go into my room and give you some space, or go take a walk if that would help?”

Jack shakes his head, frowning at the ideas. “No. This is your house. I’m not confining you to a room in your own house or making you leave.”

“You’re not making me do anything Jack, I’m offering.”

“No.” He’s firm in his answer. “Maybe,” he swallows hard, “maybe I should go for a walk.” He’s not sure if being alone with his thoughts is a good idea but maybe a walk would at least clear his mind a bit. But he also feels bad about it, like he’s just leaving you as soon as he’s struggling with grief. He knows it’s a little more than just normal struggling, but still. He doesn’t want to be that guy, doesn’t want you to feel like you don’t help or he doesn’t want your comfort. 

You’re quiet for a moment, looking down at your son and pulling him up when he wants to stand and bounce on your legs. He’s getting close to walking. You’re not upset that Jack wants to leave and needs space, you’re not sad or hurt. It’s not that. You’re worried because you know how hard it is. How one thing in particular can seem like the best answer.

“Jack,” you whisper, force yourself to look at him so he understands your question. “Are you going to come back?” He nods. Jack understands what your question means. Is he suicidal. He hadn’t even thought about it really. It hadn’t crossed his mind as something to do now, largely, he thinks, because he has you and your son. But Jack hates the fact that he made you worry like that. About losing someone else. “Because you really need to come back, Jack.” You’re still whispering. “Even if it’s not to me.” 

Somehow Jack’s heart breaks a little more. “Hey,” he says softly, tilting his head at you. He reaches out and rests a hand just above your knee. “I didn’t even think about that. I’m going to come back, Sweetheart. To you.” He squeezes your thigh as he speaks, hoping his touch and the honesty he’s trying to project through his eyes will reassure you. “I think I should just try a walk and see if it clears my head or helps me decide what I want to do.”

You nod at him. “Okay. I hope it’ll help.” Jack nods at you and you let out a small breath as he gets up and makes his way to the front door. “Just, um, take your phone? Please. And be safe.” 

Jack smiles at you, lets out the softest laugh through his nose. “I’ve got it, yeah. And I will be.” He turns and rests a hand on the door handle but then turns back to you. “I don’t want you to think this means I’m not ready, or that I can’t be in a relationship with you. Because it doesn’t. I just didn’t expect it and-”

“Hey,” you cut him off gently, “I think a really big and meaningful thing on the grieving the loss of a spouse, I don’t know, checklist, for lack of a better word, happened unexpectedly today and so you’re having a really bad grief day. That’s okay. Those days will happen for both of us. And if on your walk you realize you aren’t ready or can’t be in a relationship with me that’s okay too.”

“I won’t.” He shakes his head. “Because even with all these thoughts and feelings and whatever else right now I feel ready and I want to be in a relationship with you. I just need to try and work it out in my head.” Jack takes in a shuddery breath. He feels like such an asshole for doing this to you. “I’m sorry for dumping all of this and then running.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jack. I don’t feel like you’re dumping anything. Or like you’re running.” You give him a small smile. “You’re taking a walk to clear your head. That’s healthy.”

“I’ll be back tonight. Even if I decide I need to spend some time at my place, okay?”

You nod at him and he turns back and opens the door, stepping out and locking it behind him so you don’t have to get up. You straighten out on the couch so that you’re facing the TV, holding your son close just like Jack did earlier in the day but letting him stay standing on your legs. 

You hate yourself for it but you start crying. Of course you start crying. You feel like you’re totally usurping Jack’s grief and feelings or using them and him somehow but you can’t stop the tears even as your son bounces on you and giggles. They’re not even for yourself, not really. They’re for Jack and how fucking badly you know he’s hurting right now, how much he’s missing her, how guilty in every way he’s feeling, how conflicted he is. Because you’ve been there since you met him. More than once. And you understand. You know your situations aren’t identical and you’d never say you understand perfectly or completely know what he’s going through but on a fairly deep level you understand. You know the emotions and how easily they can swallow you. You cry because you care so much about Jack and hate that he’s hurting and that you can’t do anything to make it better. 

Jack has no idea where he’s walking to. He considered your suggestion for a moment, going to see her. He knows that’s a kind of fucked up luxury he has. He can just go and visit her whenever he wants. You can’t go visit your husband easily like that. He’s in Arlington, a four hour drive away. And he knows you love that and are glad he’s honored there but he’s sure it hurts at times. It’s actually one piece of this he really can’t imagine. He can’t imagine not being able to go see her whenever he wanted.

But Jack decides visiting her right now doesn’t quite feel right. So he just walks. And walks. And walks. It all runs through his head again. Every emotion and feeling and scrap of guilt. He’s not even really fully aware of the conversation he’s having with himself in his head, of how he’s trying to process. He just doesn’t fight anything and lets it happen.

He’s so completely in his head and on auto-pilot that Jack doesn’t even know where he is or how he got here when he stops walking as he hits the entrance to a park. It kind of freaks him out how he doesn’t remember walking here but he just rolls with it, walks into the park and along the trail until he spots a bench a little off the path near some bushes. 

More than anything at this point, Jack finds himself struggling with the guilt. He feels guilty for doing this to you. For dropping this big emotional thing on you that clearly upset you for him and just leaving. For making you wonder if he was going to come back or if you’d never see him again and be stuck with another loss and cleaning out his clothes and belongings that are at your place just like you had to with your husband’s. For scaring you like that. For forgetting the monitor and letting your son cry. 

He knows that in some sense this guilt will be easier to let go. That it really will fade almost completely with time because he can spend time with you. He can apologize and reassure you. You guys can make new happy and fun memories, smile and laugh together.

Jack knows that’s not true for the rest of his guilt. His guilt for not noticing his ring coming off. For not putting it back on. For letting that piece of her go. His guilt for moving on with you even when he knows that’s what she would want, is what he would want for her. And he thought about that each time he was deployed and made her a video just in case he didn’t come back. He always told her. Grieve and then find someone else to share your life with and be happy with. He wanted that for her. But now that he’s here having to be the one to do it, it feels like some form of betrayal in a way. How could he possibly ever get over her? Jack knows it’s not really about getting over. Because he couldn’t really, in the same way you could never truly get over your husband. It’s not a breakup. Nobody chose to end the relationship. It was ripped away. 

But he knows it’s not betrayal. He knows that being with you, falling in love with you, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her anymore, doesn’t diminish how much he loves her. Doesn’t make her some figure in his past that he’ll slowly come to think of less and less until he forgets her. He could never forget her and a part of him will always love her. He doesn’t think he could go a single day without thinking of her even if only for a second. And Jack knows that you would never let him. That if the day came where he started losing his memory that you’d be right by his side with pictures of the two of you and your family together but also with pictures of her and her and him together, tell him all the stories he’s told you about her. 

He knows it’s not betrayal and this is what she would want but it’s so fucking hard at times. He wishes he could just call her. Or that she had left a video telling him to grieve and find someone else. Maybe hearing it directly from her would help. But he can’t and she didn’t. All he has is a dove on your windowsill and while it feels so strongly like a sign and her blessing it’s hard to hold onto that belief at times. 

Jack lets out a long breath and closes his eyes, tips his head back and feels what’s left of the heat from the sun and the slight breeze across his face. He should head back soon so he doesn’t get back after dark. Or at least text you that he’s okay and still walking if it does get dark. But he still doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what he needs. Whether to go back to his house for the night or even the weekend. 

He thinks he’s having an auditory hallucination when he first hears it. That coo of a dove. Jack opens his eyes slowly and brings his head back down. And sure enough there on the opposite end of the bench is a mourning dove. He gives a short laugh of disbelief. So he’s having a visual hallucination too, great. Because this can’t be real. And it especially can’t be real when the dove moves and Jack recognizes it as the same one that was on the windowsill. That line of black feathers just above one of its eyes too unique to be a different bird. 

But then a kid who must be four or five yells “Look mommy! A bird!” as they point to the bench. The kid’s mom looks over and nods, says something Jack can’t hear to her daughter. 

Jack tells himself to be relieved that he’s not hallucinating. But it just feels like too much, in every sense. It’s too perfect to be true and mean anything. But it’s also way too coincidental and on point to mean nothing. Right? 

The dove gives a soft coo and then tilts its head to one side as it looks at Jack, eyes almost squinting. He swears it’s a really? look that he’s given Robby a thousand times. Like really the dove had to come find him again to give him the same message. So maybe he is hallucinating. Might as well go full send then. “I’m not convinced that you’re not some very realistic fucking animatronic dove Robby’s controlling off in some fucking bush to try and help me,” Jack huffs and rolls his eyes, doesn’t believe a word of what he’s saying but still.

He can’t believe he’s actually fucking talking to the dove now. Joking with it. He has to laugh at himself and the dove coos a few times as he does, ruffling its feathers again. Jack rubs his face with his hands and shakes his head before looking back at the dove. He bites his lip when he feels that pressure behind his eyes. He won’t cry. Not with this dove. That’s the line. That has to be the fucking line. 

Jack and the dove just look at each other for a few minutes. Maybe it’s true, likely it’s Jack forcing himself to believe it, but it feels like sitting in her presence. He presses his lips in a line as they tremble slightly. “Yeah?” It’s a loaded question. 

He can’t believe he actually just asked that out loud. To the dove. The random bird in a park on a bench. Like it really means something. Like it’s actually her. But Jack wants to believe it is. He wants that comfort. Wants that sign. And he tells himself that’s okay. That it’s human. That humans have been looking for and seeing signs in all sorts of things forever. Jack needs to believe in this. And so he gives himself this and lets himself believe.

The dove coos back at him once. Jack smiles and shakes his head. After a few more coos at Jack the dove flies off. He watches it fly off, laughing as a few tears leak out of his eyes. He brings his head back down and rests his elbows on his knees, holds his face in his hand for a second and gives himself a single muffled sob through his laughter. Because the dove isn’t here now. He’s not crying with the dove. 

He wants to tell you. Jack needs to tell you. And maybe you’ll think he’s totally off the fucking rocker and break it off and that’ll be the real sign. He has a feeling you won’t though. 

Jack wipes his eyes and sniffles and then stands up. He walked on auto-pilot for so long that he actually has to use his phone to get directions to point him in the direction of your place. He feels much better, as kind of crazy as that fact makes him feel. He’ll stay at yours tonight. The whole weekend if you’ll let him. 

Eventually you force yourself to get up. The tears have at least lessened if not stopped completely. You take your son into your room with you and set him on the floor for a second while you change quickly. You don’t know what to do with yourself. Taking a walk with your son crosses your mind but you don’t want to accidentally run into Jack and have him feel like you’re stalking him or can’t give him space. You’re just restless. 

You could go to the park a few blocks up. You doubt Jack is going to go there if he’s taking a walk, it’s not a huge park you can really walk through. But still. You shouldn’t risk it. You sigh and pick your son up, head back to the living room and get down on the floor to play with him like Jack was. You feel like a terrible mother for not giving your son your full attention since you’ve been home so you do your best to go completely into mom mode and forget about everything but your son. 

Two or so hours pass and Jack still isn’t back. You head to the kitchen and put your son in his highchair, get some dinner ready for him. You consider making something for yourself and maybe Jack but you’re not even remotely hungry. You’re vaguely nauseous if anything. But at least the tears have truly stopped and you put in some eyedrops so your eyes hopefully won’t completely give you away when you see Jack again. You don’t want him to feel like you’re taking his trauma and struggle for yourself. 

You’re helping your son eat dinner when you hear the lock turn over and your front door open. It makes your heart rate pick up quite noticeably. You have no idea if the walk will have helped at all, if he’s going to just run in to tell you he’s leaving for tonight or the weekend or forever. Because you can’t help but catastrophize. You don’t even know whether to call out a greeting. But when he doesn’t offer one as he locks the door behind him you figure you shouldn’t either. 

“Hey,” Jack greets you as he walks into the kitchen, kissing the top of your head as he walks by before doing the same to your son who squeals in excitement at seeing Jack. He sounds much better. Happier.

You freeze for a second. It’s not what you expected so it catches you a little off guard. “Hey,” you reply, tracking Jack as he sits down at the table across from you, baby at the end in the middle. He looks lighter. He’s been crying at least a little but he looks lighter and happier and like he found some answers and worked things out and is almost at peace. It gives you whiplash for a few seconds before Jack’s eyes leave your son and turn back to you, that intense gaze of his helping to ground you. He flashes you one of those smiles of his that gives you butterflies. “The walk helped I take it?”

“It did,” he nods at you, still smiling. “Well, actually, it wasn’t really the walk, it was a bird.”

You raise your eyebrows and smile back at him, confusion ghosting your features. “A bird?”

“A bird,” he confirms. “The whole thing is going to sound insane, and like I said yesterday, if you want to kick me out forever at the end I’ll get it. And I’m sorry.” Jack softens a little. “I know you’re going to say don’t be, but I am.”

“And like I said yesterday I very much doubt that’s how I’ll react.” You give him a small smile and turn to help your son finish his dinner. “And you’re right, I’m going to say don’t be sorry because you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything to be sorry for.” You glance over at him with a knowing smile. 

“Still am,” he teases and you roll your eyes affectionately. “What do you want to order for dinner?”

You laugh a little. “How do you know I didn’t make myself something and eat already?” 

Jack doesn’t miss a beat. “You never eat when you’re stressed or worried or anxious.” He shrugs. “It worries me sometimes.”

“I-” you start, but have to stop. He’s right. You never eat when you’re stressed. The fact that he cares about you enough to have noticed and have it worry him isn’t missed by your brain and it makes you feel warm all over.

“You know I’m right.” Jack smirks at you. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” you grumble at him, but have to smile at the sound of his soft laugh. You help your son finish the last bite of his dinner and shrug at Jack. “I don’t know. Whatever you want. Nothing sounds particularly good or bad.” You stand up and grab a pack of baby wipes, start using one to clean your son’s face. 

“I’ve got it, you grab him,” Jack murmurs once your son is clean. 

“No, you take him. You already washed all of this once today. I’ve got it this time.” You turn your attention to your son. “And you want to go see Jack, don’t you Baby?” Your son laughs, holds his arms up and makes grabby hands at both of you really, looking between you and Jack, but eventually settling on Jack. “You really going to tell that face no?” You click your tongue at Jack. 

“I could never,” Jack hums as he picks your son up. “And he knows it.” He bounces your son in his arms a little, smiling at him and making faces. He glances over at you as he does. “Nauseous?” 

You pause before setting the tray in the sink and starting to wash it. You don’t know why you’re surprised. The man clearly knows you and he’s a doctor. There’s probably some outward physical symptoms you were displaying. “A little,” you simper at him, “but it’s passing.” 

“Good.” Jack sits back down with your son and orders something quickly, the lightest of your favorite dishes. “Food’ll be here in twenty.” 

“You didn’t have to do that Jack.” You shoot him a look from the sink. 

“Wanted to.” You shake your head at him with a little smile and bite of your lip as Jack adjusts your son to bounce on him. “Honestly, I had this whole little cooking lesson date at home idea where he and I were going to go pick up ingredients and then when you got home we’d cook and I’d show you things and wear him or he’d chill in his highchair and then… my ring fell off and kind of derailed everything.” The end of the sentence is much quieter than the beginning. 

You look at Jack as you finish drying the tray and set it on the counter. He’s still focused on your son. As much as he’s feeling better he clearly still has some stuff lingering under the surface. “That’s a very sweet idea. I’m sure we can do it someday soon.”

“Yeah.” He nods and glances at you, gives you an uncharacteristically shy smile. “Anyway, I figure once the food is here and we’ve eaten and put him down for the night we could talk? And I could tell you about the bird. A dove, specifically.” 

“I’d like that.” You nod at him and drape the dish towel back over the oven handle and go back and sit across from your boys at the table. “A mourning dove?”

“Mhmm.” Jack confirms, making a face at your son and then tickling his tummy. They’re common enough that he’s not surprised you guessed it.

“Your wife’s favorite,” you say softly, giving Jack an understanding smile when he looks up at you. 

Jack blinks at you for a solid thirty seconds. It strikes him that you said it. As in you didn’t ask it. You said it because you know it’s true. You know they’re her favorite. He must have talked about it once and you remembered. You remembered. “Yeah.” Jack nods, a little dazed. 

Your smile widens a little. “You’re not the only one who notices and remembers things Sweetheart,” you tease him lightly. 

Jack huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes playfully, but his smile makes clear how he really feels. How touched he is. The two of you chat for a bit until the food arrives. Once it does you eat at the table together, your son happy to hang out in his highchair next to you both. You get him down for the night while Jack clears the table and wipes it down. And then you meet him on the couch. 

You pause for a second, unsure of where you should sit. As of late you and Jack have been sitting side by side on the couch and so normally you would just take the seat next to him and not think about it. But you’re not sure where he’s at tonight, if he wants you that close. 

He pats the seat next to him. “Here, please. If you want. It’s okay if you don’t.” 

“No, I do,” you nod as you walk over and sit next to him, put the monitor on the coffee table, “I just wasn’t sure where you were with it tonight.” 

“I appreciate you thinking about it, but I’d like you close. I like having you close.” 

“I, I like having you close too,” you admit with a shy smile and slightly lowered head. You both shift on the couch so that you’re slightly angled and can see each other.

 “I’m going to preface this all by saying I know how crazy and ridiculous some of this is going to sound. But I just… want to believe it. Need to. So I’m trying to let myself. And maybe that’s not the healthiest way to deal with everything, but I can try and figure that out with my therapist later.” You nod and give him an encouraging smile. 

And so Jack begins. He starts with what happened with his ring, finding it. He spells out all of the emotions and guilt and feelings he’s had throughout the day. There are tears from him, moments where you pull him close and let him cry into your neck and chest while you rub his back and kiss his curls. You reassure him at the right times, express your understanding of his feelings and especially of a lot of the guilt. 

Then he finally moves to the dove. He tells you about both instances, at the windowsill and the park and you listen, nod at times and smile. You don’t look at him like he’s crazy or like you’re just putting up with this until he stops talking and you can free yourself. You squeeze his hand and laugh with him when he does. 

Jack shrugs at the end. Even though your reaction has been nothing but positive as you listened he’s still worried about what you’ll have to say. Still feels exceptionally vulnerable. “So, yeah. That’s the story of the bird I guess,” he laughs weakly, clearly somewhat embarrassed. He squeezes your hand that he’s holding to tell you he’s ready to hear what you have to say.

“Oh Jack,” you sigh, squeezing his hand back. His heart races a little faster. He’s not sure what to make of your sigh. “I don’t think there’s any part of that story, of anything you just told me, that’s crazy or ridiculous or insane.” 

Jack lets out a long breath. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

“Nothing to thank me for Sweetheart, I’m being honest with you. That’s what I think.”

“No I know, but…” Jack trails off, not really sure where he wanted to take that sentence. 

“I know.” You nod at him for a second. Now that you have that out there and Jack has relaxed you take a minute to gather your thoughts. Jack can tell it’s what you’re doing by the look in your eye as you keep your eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. Once you have a rough idea of what you want to say you look back at him. “I think it’s like you said Jack. Humans search for meaning and signs in everything. It’s normal. Especially in this context. And I think that if that wasn’t a sign from her then nobody in history has ever truly received a sign from anybody or anything because what happened with that dove was, I don’t even know how to describe it. Intense? Overly coincidental? I guess I don’t know how anyone could have that happen and think it meant nothing and was just two random things that happened at a very specific time with no significance.”

“Okay, good. I’m glad it wasn’t just me.” Jack lets out a bit of a groaned laugh and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Even if it was Jack, who the fuck cares? The only thing that matters is what it meant to you. How it made you feel. What you believe it is. Everyone else’s and the world’s opinions on it are irrelevant. Even mine. To be clear I’m with you on this, I promise. I’m just saying. Nobody but you will ever truly understand what all of that felt like so who is anyone to judge or tell you that your interpretation is wrong?” You shrug at him like it’s so simple. 

And in a way Jack guesses that it is. Because you’re right. Nobody else could ever truly understand. Not even you. “Yeah. I guess I was busy judging myself on behalf of the world about it and never really thought about it like that.” He tilts his head at you. “I’m really glad you don’t think I’m weird for it and that you understand. And uh,” he looks down and grows quieter, almost nervous, “we’re okay, right?” You know he’s asking if you still consider the two of you to be together, a couple.

You smile at him, lean in and press a lingering kiss to his forehead. “We’re more than okay, Jack,” you whisper against his skin, press another quick kiss there and pull back. 

“Good,” he breathes. You look at each other in a comfortable silence for a minute. “Have you,” Jack pauses and debates whether to finish his question. “Have you ever had something like that happen to you? You don’t have to answer either. I just wondered.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, well, I, um, yes. But not quite in the same way? I don’t know. He…” You look down at your lap and laugh softly to yourself before looking back up at Jack. “My husband, he used to give me daisies. All the time, for everything. Every big thing, anniversaries, birthdays, sometimes just because. Before we started dating I must have mentioned it once and so he actually showed up to our first date with a little bouquet of them, it was very sweet. I actually pressed one of them and have it still. Anyway, after I gave birth, when I was in the hospital I had ended up telling the nurses about him and what happened, and my doctor already knew. They felt bad, obviously, and so because I didn’t really have anyone to celebrate with they all went in on getting me some nice flowers.” You let out a bit of a shuddery breath, eyes a little glassy as you think back on the memory.

“It was a bouquet of daisies,” Jack murmurs. 

You smile at him and nod. “It was a bouquet of daisies,” you confirm. “And I asked the nurse who brought them in if there was a reason for daisies and she said when she went to buy them they just kind of called to her.” You shrug. “So, it’s not quite the same, but in the moment and even now I like to believe that he was somehow behind it and was there with us.”

As much as the memory warms Jack’s heart, parts of it break it too. He still hates the thought of you not having anyone, not having any support during labor and birth and after. Hates how your husband’s death was still pretty fresh for you. He can’t even begin to imagine. “I think he was,” Jack nods, reaching out and taking your hand, hoping it gives you some comfort and doesn’t feel weird. “Both behind it and there with you.”

“Thank you.” You nod at him. “Now whenever I see them I think of him, tell myself he’s saying hi.”

Jack nods and gives you a gentle smile. “He is.” 

After a few seconds you and Jack both shift at the same time, lean in and hug each other. “Thank you for trusting me with all of that. The story and your feelings. I’m really glad she helped you find some peace. I would be regardless of what it was about.”

“Thank you for listening and trusting me with the daisies.” He turns his head and presses a kiss to your temple. 

Neither of you have to say anything else. You both get it, understand exactly what it meant to the other and for the two of you as a couple. You settle against Jack a bit once you break the hug.  

The mood is still a little somber. You guess that’s how you would describe it. You tilt your head and pull it back a little, give Jack a small smirk and try to help pick the mood up. You hope it doesn’t backfire. “You want me to ask Robby the first time I meet him if he has a very realistic animatronic mourning dove that he follows you around with?” 

“Please!” Jack snorts a laugh, “I would love to see his coughed out ‘excuse me?’ and his panicked and concerned eyes looking at me for a second before he gives you the actual fucking nicest, ‘no, I can’t say that I do,’ while internally trying to figure out how he’s going to casually pull me aside nicely ask me ‘what the fuck?’”

You giggle with him as Jack laughs at the thought. “You know I could never, right? I’m way too shy and socially awkward around people I don’t know to do that.”

Jack laughs as he nods. He lets his laughter trail off and grows a touch more serious, the smile he’s giving you dripping with the adoration and affection and gratefulness he has for you. “I do know that, yes, it’s something I lo-” Jack catches himself, “really like about you.”

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

Jack is right. Kind of. He doesn’t have to tell Dana and Robby. But they don’t even have to ask to know. Just looking at him is enough. 

“Did Dr. Abbot get divorced?” Trinity poses the question to the group at the hub. 

Nobody answers for a moment. Half the people there don’t know and the other half don’t really want to spread Jack’s business. 

Robby can feel the eyes of the half of the group that doesn’t know on him. He slowly raises his head and shoots them all a don’t gossip look. “No.” He looks at her a little longer. “What prompted that question?” 

Trinity shrugs. “He just used to wear a wedding ring and isn’t now.” 

The iPad in Robby’s hands drops the few inches to the counter as he spins to look at Jack, who apparently just arrived and is speaking with Dana. 

“You have a good weekend?” Dana asks as she looks at Jack over her glasses with a knowing smile. 

“I did, thank you Dana,” he says a little saccharinely. “Did you? Or did you have to work?”

“No I had it off. It was fine. Didn’t do much.” She tries to keep it casual but Jack can see right through it and it almost makes him laugh as he sets his phone on the counter and grabs a few things out of his backpack and puts them in his pockets. “What about you? Do anything fun?” 

You text him and when it wakes his phone Dana’s fast enough to glance down and see his new wallpaper. A photo of the three of you. She keeps her head down as she smiles to herself. 

“I did yeah.” Jack doesn’t offer anything more much to her apparent chagrin. She clocks his ringless left hand when he picks up his phone, her eyes widening and mouth dropping open for a second before she closes it and looks back up at him. Jack looks at her. He knows she knows. “I’m going to put my stuff away now.” 

“Yeah, okay.” She nods at him, watching him walk towards the lockers. Once he’s out of sight she spins. “Robby!” She flicks her head to beckon him and walks away from the hub in the middle of the floor. 

“He’s not wearing his ring.” Robby whispers. 

“I know. And his phone’s wallpaper is a picture of the three of them.” Dana nudges his arm as she says it. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Something must have happened.” Dana pauses and glances over Robby’s shoulder to see if Jack is walking back to the floor yet. “He said he had a good weekend and did something fun but he didn’t give any other details.” 

“He’s gonna have to figure out something to say to everyone because Santos already asked if he got divorced because he’s not wearing his ring.” Robby gives Dana a look. They both know Jack is private by nature, but that at the same time he would absolutely hate people thinking he got a divorce. 

“He is.” She nods. “You think we can get him to talk?” She moves her chin subtly to point where Jack is walking back on the floor. 

Robby shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know.” The two turn their attention to Jack, watching as he starts walking to the hub.

He can feel their eyes on him. And they’re not exactly subtle or trying to hide it. He looks at them for a second and stops walking.

Jack sighs before turning and walking into the breakroom. As much as he acts annoyed about it he really does kind of like it. He likes having two people he trusts to talk to you about and show you off to. 

He crosses his arms over his chest as Dana and Robby walk in. “Can I help the two of you?” They both just raise their eyebrows at him. “Aren’t you both off? Go home.” 

“Can’t.” Robby shakes his head and clicks his tongue at Jack. “Haven’t run the board with you yet.” 

Jack scoffs. “Then let’s go fucking run it.” He takes a couple of steps forward. 

“So it led to more?” Dana finally asks, getting Jack to stop walking and cross his arms back over his chest. 

Jack looks at her stoically. “Does it matter to the two of you?” 

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “Yeah it matters Jack! You’re not wearing your ring! It’s been over five years and you haven’t taken it off and now you have her in your life and it comes off? It absolutely matters. She matters! She’s important!”

There’s a little pang for Jack when Robby mentions his ring and his lips turn down for just a split second, but both Robby and Dana catch it. “I didn’t ask if she mattered or if it mattered generally. I asked if it mattered specifically to the two of you.” 

“It does Jack!” Dana smiles at him. “Like I said before, we want to see you happy and support you.”

Jack looks at the two of them for a second before taking a deep breath and settling his hands on his hips. “Yes, if you must know, there’s more than just friendship now.” He can’t fight off the smile that pulls onto his face as he says it. Nor does he really want to.

“Oh yeah?” Dana’s smile grows and she raises her eyebrows at him. 

“Are you like together?” Robby asks. “Like is she your girlfriend? Or is it like the dating stage before you make it official?” 

“Oh my god,” Jack mutters, shaking his head and looking away from them. “Yes, we’re together and she’s my girlfriend, okay?”

“Since when?” Dana beams at him. Jack knows how happy she is for him, knows she and Robby have seen him at his lowest and truly do just want him to be happy and are excited for him and care and are accordingly being affectionately nosey. 

“Really?” Jack sighs. 

“Has to be pretty recent, we’d have noticed otherwise,” Robby says to Dana. 

“Really, I guess,” Jack mutters to himself. “Thursday night, okay? Thursday night.”

“So I’m guessing you haven’t been out on a real date yet,” Dana hums at him. “It’s important to go on dates without the baby. Real dates.” 

“Yes, I know, thank you.” Jack gives her an exaggeratedly annoyed smile. 

“And do romantic things,” Robby adds.

“I do romantic things! I know to do them! I-” Jack huffs and shakes his head. “What the fuck even is this? I don’t need dating or relationship advice! And we’ve been together all of five days, can we all slow the fuck down?”

“Listen,” Dana starts. “I’m just saying. I’ve been in the baby phase before and I know I was married, but it can be easy to fall into a routine and always have him with you. So if you guys ever need a sitter, I’m more than happy to do that for you, okay?”

“I would be happy to as well,” Robby offers. 

Jack nods at them both as he considers. “Yeah, I kind of like that. The idea of his sitter being a medical professional. And I’ve thought about it before. How the two of you would be my preferred sitters. But,” he shrugs at them, trying a little too hard to look uneffected, “he’s not my kid, so it’s not my decision.” 

“For some reason I think she’d take your opinion into consideration pretty seriously.” Dana smirks at him. 

“This would, you know, require us meeting her,” Robby teases him. 

Jack stares at him. “Thank you for that very helpful insight Michael.” 

“I’m just saying.” Robby smirks a little and shrugs at Jack. 

“Yes,” Jack sings the word a little, “she would like to meet you both. We’ll get it set up. Figure out something to do.”

“Good.” Dana nods approvingly. “We’ll be on our best behavior to convince her to let us babysit for you guys. Won’t we Robinavitch?” 

“Why’d you say it like that?” Robby looks at her with mock offense. “Of course I will be.” 

“She’s going to like you.” Jack rolls his eyes at the two of them. “She’s shy though, has some social anxiety. So if she’s quiet and seems a bit reserved it’s just because she’s shy and it has nothing to do with you guys. She opens up more as she gets comfortable but she’s just quiet by nature. So it’s different.” He nods at both of them. They both know what he means. That you’re not extroverted like his wife. That you’re kind of the polar opposite in a way. Jack clears his throat. “Now is there any other part of my relationship you’d like to plan or be involved in? You wanna actually plan the dates too?” Jack asks pointedly, though there’s enough of a ghost of a smile on his face for the two to know he’s not actually mad.

There’s silence for a few seconds but then Robby apparently just can’t help himself. “You have condoms? You should keep one in your wa-”

“Robby!” Dana lightly smacks his arm with the papers she’s holding as Jack glares at Robby with a set face. “Really? Even for you!” Dana shakes her head at him, but it’s quite obvious to Jack she’s biting down a smile. And when she turns back to look at Jack she gives him the quickest flash of a he’s right though look. 

“What? I just like fucking with him sometimes!” Robby half laughs as he twists and moves his body away from Dana and her papers. He looks back at Jack. 

Once he and Robby have locked eyes Jack speaks. “I’m going to give Myrna your home address,” he deadpans so stone faced and stoically he can see Robby have the quickest flash of worry that he might actually do it.

“Oh come on I was joking!” Robby holds his hands out to his side. After a beat he gives the smallest shrug and lowers his voice. “Kind of.” 

“See,” Jack looks at Dana and waves towards Robby, “and I was going to offer to show you guys pictures and then Michael had to open his fucking mouth.”

“Woah woah woah!” Dana shakes her head and moves closer to Jack, holding her hands up in acquiescence. “Don’t punish me for his bullshit! I didn’t say anything. I just volunteered to babysit!”

Robby scoffs loudly. “Thank you Dana, for the solidarity. I’m really feeling it right now.”

“I actually do genuinely appreciate you offering, Dana. We may take you up on that soon. But she’s not going to let you do it for free,” Jack tells her in a much softer voice. He pulls his phone out and starts pulling up some photos to show her. 

“I can babysit too!” Robby offers. “I’m also a medical professional you know!” 

Jack flicks his eyes up to look at Robby, stone faced again. “That’s debatable.” 

“I made one joke! After being so supportive-”

“Shut up and get over here to look,” Jack cuts him off with a slight cock of his head to tell Robby he’s just fucking with him back and not actually upset. “And yes, we might ask you to babysit one day too.”

Jack brings up a few random photos of your son that he’s taken over the months while watching him, a few of him and your son. “God, he is just too fuckin cute,” Dana laughs. 

“The cutest.” Jack smiles fondly as he looks at your son. 

He brings up a few more of your son, a couple of you and your son. Then he hits Thursday. 

“This was on Thursday. It was his first birthday. We took him to the zoo.” Jack laughs softly as he looks at the photos. “He loves animals.” He offers his phone to Dana. “You can go through.” 

Dana does, her and Robby laughing sweetly at some of them and awing at others. She stops on a photo of a three of you that you’d had someone take. “Oh Jack,” Dana coos, “you guys look so happy. All three of you.” 

“Yeah.” Robby nods, smiles to himself. “And that little boy loves you.”

Jack flushes at that. He’s not really sure why but it makes him a little emotional. He watches as Dana flicks through some more photos. “He’s a year old, he’s hit the stage of liking anyone who gives him attention.” He has no idea why he’s downplaying it like he doesn’t absolutely fucking love the fact that your son loves him.

Jack doesn’t have to see Robby to know he’s rolling his eyes. It’s clear in his voice. “That is so not true Jack. And he loved you that first time we met him.” 

“He’s right,” Dana agrees, “babies can be pretty good judges of character. They’ll stay away from and cry around people they don’t like. And he did love you when we met. So just accept the boy loves you.” 

Jack just hums in response. It makes him smile though. He loves your son too. “And she’s beautiful, Jack. You can tell you make her happy.” Dana looks away from the phone and at Jack. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling as he looks down at you, “she makes me happy too.”

Dana and Robby share a look. “You know she’d be really happy for you Jack,” Robby says softly, talking about Jack’s wife. “She would want this for you.” 

“He’s right again,” Dana whispers, leaning into Jack and wrapping an arm around him and giving him his phone back. 

Jack leans into her in a silent thank you. “Two times in one day,” he says quietly, “someone better mark it on the calendar.” Robby huffs at him but Jack looks up and smirks at him for a second before giving Robby a genuine, slightly emotional smile and tipping his head at him. “Thank you, Robby.” Robby returns Jack’s smile with an identical one of his own. “And thank you,” he tells Dana as he bumps into her and returns her half hug. “Can we go run the board now?” 

“I think we can,” Robby nods, clapping Jack on the shoulder as they walk towards the door. “But hey,” Robby pauses by the door, opening it so Dana can walk out but looking at Jack who raises his eyebrows at him. “You weren’t serious about giving Myrna my address?”

Jack’s stoic look returns, not a hint of real emotion on his face. “Not today,” he deadpans and walks out. 

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

“I feel ridiculous for being this emotional about something so simple. It’s just a haircut.” You shake your head but lean into Jack a bit more as you both stand and watch your son get his hair cut. 

He’s needed it. He has for a bit you’ve just struggled to bring yourself to do it and life got busy. But earlier this week you’d worked yourself up to it and asked Jack if the place he got his hair cut also did kids’ hair. He’d been a little surprised by the question, for some reason it felt kind of meaningful in some way that you wanted your son to go to his barber shop. He told himself that realistically it was probably just because you didn’t know where else to go, but you could have gone wherever you get your hair done, but maybe they just don’t take kids. 

In any event your son is here at Jack’s barber shop getting a haircut. And you had asked Jack to come with you again once you made the appointment. He’d told you that you didn’t need to ask again, of course he would. You’ve been together a little over a week now and things have been good. Steady and sweet. Lots of hugs and forehead kisses and side cuddles on the couch when you’ve both been home at the same time. 

“First haircut, though. It’s kind of a big deal,” Jack murmurs to you, hand rubbing your back. 

“I don’t even know why I’m like this.”

“You don’t need to know why. You’re allowed to just feel. But I’m guessing it’s because it’s a sign of him growing up.” Jack presses a kiss to the top of your head. He’s not super sure how much you’ve thought about the end result but he wants you to be prepared. “Sweetheart, you know this haircut is most likely going to make him look much older?”

You go still and then Jack hears you sniffle. “No!” Your voice gets adorably high-pitched like you’re fighting back tears and you turn further into Jack and rest your forehead in the crook of his shoulder while you let a couple of tears fall. 

“I’ve got you,” Jack says with a sad little laugh, holding you close and rubbing your back. “I just wanted you to be prepared.” 

“I didn’t even think about that, I was just so focused on the haircut generally,” you mumble into him.

“I kind of thought so,” he murmurs, wiping away the one or two stray tears when you pull your face from his shoulder.

“God,” you huff at yourself, “when I said come with me to be my shoulder to cry on I didn’t think I was going to mean it literally.” 

Jack chuckles. “That’s alright, it’s part of what I’m here for. As in right now and generally, you know?” 

You look up at him and smile. You know he means as your boyfriend. “I do, yeah.” 

Later that night you and Jack are in the kitchen grabbing some water to take to bed with you and putting away a couple of things that have dried on the dish rack. You’d just finished watching your current show on the couch together like you often do. Jack had been right. The haircut makes your son look older. You’d had a little moment about it after you guys left the shop but you were able to move past it pretty quickly. 

Something about the day and the night has felt different for you. Jack has been so understanding and sweet and supportive and perfect, not just over the last week and a bit you’ve been together officially but even the three months before that, just in a different capacity. And you want more with him. You want to express your thanks and affection through more than hugs and side cuddles on the couch and forehead and cheek kisses. You want more of Jack. And you feel ready.

He’s putting the last of the dishes away.

“Hey Jack?”

“Yeah, Sweetheart?” His eyebrows raise a little as he shuts the cabinet door and turns to look at you. 

“Thank you. For today. Coming with me and holding me while I cried.” You shrug with a soft laugh. “I’m sorry you have to do so much of that right now.”

“You’re welcome. I was very happy to come, thank you for inviting me.” He walks closer to you but lets you initiate any touching. You wrap your arms around his waist loosely as you look up at him, his arms doing the same. “You have nothing to apologize for though. And I don’t feel like I’m having to hold you while you cry particularly often. Even if I was, I wouldn’t care. I mean I would care in the sense that I fucking hate seeing you upset, but not at the fact that you needed and wanted me to hold you. And I’m pretty sure you’ve held me while I cried recently too.” He tilts his head and gives you a little smirk. 

“I would anytime you needed.” You take a step closer to him and wrap your arms around him a little tighter, one of Jack’s arms around your waist while his other hand rubs up and down your back. 

Jack laughs softly, eyes crinkling so perfectly you could scream. “Same for you.” 

He looks beautiful in the flickering light of the lit candle on the kitchen table. Unfairly handsome with the way his skin glows and with his molten eyes and kissable and suckable lips and salt and pepper stubble. Jack’s thinking the same thing about you in this light. How the flickering light makes your eyes look like they’re shimmering, how the shadows hit perfectly to highlight your features and how the soft glow of the candle makes you look radiant. 

“What are you thinking about so hard?” you ask him a little breathlessly, closing the last of the distance between your bodies so that you’re flush against each other chest to chest, both your and Jack’s arms tightening around each other.

“That you’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “Incredibly so.” 

The smile that pulls on your face is bashful. “Funny, I was just thinking how incredibly handsome you are.” You lean your head up and in towards his, eyes dropping down to his lips for a second before returning to his eyes. “And how I’d like you to kiss me.” 

This close you can just about see Jack’s pupils dilate a little further. God does he fucking want to kiss you. But he finds himself unable to just do it without checking. “We don’t have to do this. You do not owe me. Not for going with you or because you cried and I held you or for anything at all. Ever.”

You nod at him. 

Jack brings his head down towards yours, tilting it slightly, eyes focused on your lips for a moment before going back to your eyes. “Say it please.” 

“I know. I know I don’t owe you,” you whisper, “I promise. I want this. I’ve been wanting this. And I’m ready.” 

“Okay,” he whispers, leaning his head down and towards yours further. Your lips are just about touching now.

“Jack,” you breathe against his lips. 

He nods once. “Yeah? You sure?” 

You nod at him. “Please.”

Jack doesn’t need asked twice. And so in your candle lit kitchen you share your first kiss. He presses his lips to yours in an almost painfully sweet and chaste kiss, holding his lips against yours just the right amount of time before he pulls away to look you in the eye, check in, see if you liked it, if you want more, if that’s enough for the night. 

The look in your eyes tells him all he needs to know just as the look in his tells you. But Jack doesn’t have time to even move in to kiss you again because you’re already kissing him, one hand resting on his chest while the other comes to cup his jaw and keep him close. 

You’re stealing kiss after kiss from each other, most of them starting to linger. Starting to get just a touch hotter. No open mouths or tongue or hard sucking, just more urgent.

Even kissing you Jack is respectful, though you expected absolutely nothing less with how he is, how he treats you. He lets you set the pace, follows your lead. There are soft noises of appreciation from each of you, the sounds slipping out easily even with the relatively chaste kissing you’re doing. 

You can feel the uncertainty of Jack’s hands as they rest against your hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles over your shirt. You know it’s not that he’s not confident or is particularly self-conscious, but that he’s not sure what you’re okay with, where you’re okay with his hands being. It makes you smile against his lips. 

“What?” he asks against your lips as he smiles just because you are. 

“Nothing.” You take another kiss. “You’re just very cute.”

“Oh?” Jack kisses you again.

You nod a little. “Yeah.” It’s mumbled against his lips. Your hands leave his chest and jaw to find his and bring them up to hold your face, silently communicating to him that it’s okay for him to hold your face like that, touch you like that. 

Jack doesn’t get to appreciate his hands holding your face very long because you’re grabbing them again, wrapping them around you and using your hand to make his hand squeeze and grab at your hip and waist, bring one up to hold the back of your neck, kissing each other all the while. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your lips. And he means it. He’s very thankful for you showing him what you’re okay with. 

“Thank you,” you mumble back, continuing to kiss him.

The last kiss breaks naturally and you pull apart. You’re both panting softly, less because you’re out of breath and more because you’re just worked up for each other. 

“That was…” You feel a little lightheaded. 

“Yeah.” Like you, Jack is a little dizzy from kissing you. “That felt so good.” He’s struggling to come up with words.

“Felt so… right,” you laugh, the sound breathless and airy. 

“Good.” Jack nods and smiles at you.  

“Did it for you?” you ask, suddenly a touch self-conscious. “Feel right?”

“Oh yeah, Sweetheart,” he drawls the first two words with a quiet and shaky laugh that says everything you need to know about just how good and right kissing you felt, “that felt right.” 

It’s then you get a good enough flicker of light to really notice the flush of his cheeks and neck. “Good.” You lean up and kiss him again.

The two of you kiss for another minute or so before you naturally break apart again. But this time Jack rests his forehead against yours. 

“We should probably go get some sleep,” Jack whispers.

“I’m not opposed to doing this all night.” You smile. 

Jack’s breathy laugh fans across your lips. “Neither am I. Believe me, neither am I.”

“I know you’re right though.” You can’t help the way your bottom lip pushes out in the slightest pout. 

“I really wish I wasn’t,” Jack groans before pulling his forehead from yours. 

You giggle at him. “But you are.” 

You share smiles before actually grabbing the water you in part initially came into the kitchen for. You grab the monitor and Jack blows the candle out as he follows you into the hallway, illuminated only by the nightlight you have so neither you, nor Jack now, has to blind yourself if you need to get to your son in the middle of the night. 

Like always as of late, Jack walks you to your bedroom door. “Thank you for a great day, Jack. And night.” You lean up and give him a quick kiss. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

He smiles at you. “No, thank you. For the great day and fantastic night.” Jack winks at you with a small slightly smirked smile that makes you bite your lip and laugh to yourself, bashful again. He leans back down asking for one last kiss that you’re happy to give him, along with a hug. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

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

Jack’s finishing up his shift Wednesday morning around 8:30. A trauma had come in right at shift change, so he’s only just had the chance to run the board with Robby. He’s signing off on a few last things and then is out, looking forward to some sleep. 

He nods a quick goodbye to Dana and starts to leave the hub when he hears a baby crying.

But it’s not just a baby crying. Jack would recognize that cry anywhere. Ice starts to spread through his veins.

Your son is here and crying and he is decidedly not happy. It’s not his usual cry. And for Jack if your son is randomly showing up here in his ED and not happy and crying the way he is, it means something is wrong. 

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

I hope it was okay and worth the wait and you enjoyed and I would love to hear your thoughts and comments! They give me much joy and inspiration! Liking, replies and reblogging are so so appreciated! My inbox is always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming! As are my DMs! 🙂

Do we want more of these two? I have like seven thousand ideas for the two of them if more than just myself would like to see more of them lol. The next couple of parts would probably less time jumping like this one and then I think it would probably pick back up again. Let me know if you'd like more!

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[so-and-sos-blog]

I've had similar thoughts to lapislantern's argument here (I hope you don't mind me shortening the reblog chain). The past year has gotten me leaning a lot more towards your side, but I think there is something to this argument.

(Apologies if this gets rambly and/or if I overexplain things that are obvious.)

When you put up a poster, you are signaling two things:

1. The content of the poster.

2. That there is a reason why sharing that content was worth designing the poster, printing it with paper and ink, and going around putting it up in places.

If you want to inform people of something they don't know or convince them of something they don't agree with, then point 2 is basically trivial. But someone has to not agree. Nobody puts up posters saying "the sky is blue". It's true, but everyone knows it's true, and everyone knows that everyone knows.

Similarly (warning for antisemitic slogan), no reasonable person would put up a poster saying "Jews will not replace us". Of course you won't. That doesn't even make sense. But in the context of believing that Jews are trying to "replace" white people, then the statement becomes a rallying cry. The full message is "I know that Jews are trying to replace us, but they will fail because we are strong". That interpretation provides the reason for putting up the poster. And I'd argue that anyone who sees that poster will immediately understand that. Thus, that reason ("Jews are trying to replace us") is part of the message.

(See also: "not all men" -> "feminists hate all men", "it's okay to be white" -> "SJWs are trying to make you think that being white is bad".)

Could it have been intended to mean something else? Maybe, but there are two things to note. First, if I'm right, it conveys this idea regardless. "Convey" here means it might put the idea in people's heads, persuade people to believe it, or embolden people who already agree against those who disagree. And if it does, then that's going to cause harm, and that matters. Second, if the author meant something different, there's at least a chance that they would have realized the problem and avoided it. But they didn't, and that's evidence.

So, about the hostages.

Back in late 2023, it seemed (to me and apparently a bunch of people I'd been following) like everyone outside of Tumblr was talking about October 7th, about the hostages, about condemning antisemitism, and nobody was talking about what Israel was doing to the people of Gaza. And if they did, they downplayed it, and/or they were lambasted for "making no mention of October 7th/the hostages/Israel's right to defend itself". Celebrities were being blacklisted for posting links to Palestinian charities on social media. Someone painted over a "Free Palestine" mural to make it say "Free the hostages". Only after the ICJ hearing in early 2024 did the mainstream conversation seem to turn against Israel. That might not be a good description of the full picture, but that was what I perceived.

And in that context, saying "Bring them home"/“Free the hostages” or whatever seems pointless to say. Nobody is saying "don't bring them home, I hope they die". But people are saying "it's not worth killing thousands of other people just to bring them home" and being attacked for it. And to someone who either doesn't know or doesn't care very much about the Palestinian death toll, the latter sounds like the former: they would believe that if you oppose Israel’s actions in the war, you must just not care about the hostages and/or about Jews. I'm 90% sure I have seen at least someone saying exactly that. And that interpretation provides a reason to put up the poster. And so that seems to be the message that the poster conveys.

At least, that's what I would have said early on. But in a cultural context where "I care about these Israeli lives" *isn't* obvious, all of that might be moot. And after following a few Jumblr blogs for a year, and watching antizionist blogs on my dash get progressively more deranged, I don't know anymore.

But I hope that all makes sense.

no like fr the way that a lot of people look at israelis -- there's no group of people on earth i look at that way. literally no group of people where i'd look at posters of hostages from that group and go "that's obviously genocide propaganda i'm tearing it down." certainly not any group of people where i'd watch a video of their house blowing up and hear a woman crying for her dog in the rubble and point and laugh.

i can't even imagine having that response honestly. i can imagine apathy sure but glee? over people suffering? looking at a whole nationality that way? there's no way

i think that has to corrode your soul. i mean how can't it?

[ladyloveandjustice]

One thing that always bothered me as a kid, and still bothers me, is it honestly makes so little sense Steph didn't rank super high on the scale of Martial Artists after receiving the Robin training, if it's so amazing. Considering what she could do while untrained, the experience she had, it's baffling that no one ever considered her a prodigy, or that she wasn't at least notably more skilled than say, Tim was, when she started out as Robin.

Like, Steph was in the field and knocking out grown men twice her size with zero training. It was not even mentioned that she took martial arts classes or anything to explain how she can do this, just gymnastics and softball. And both were high school gymnastics, high school softball, not fancy expensive classes??? Even Babs, in Batgirl Y1 had the advantage of having taken martial arts classes and presumably a lot more since her goal was to be in the FBI.

Meanwhile Steph like. She's jumping off rooftops and surfing trains and taking down bad guys with nothing. Tim's gone through extensive Batman training and trained with Lady Shiva and all this stuff, and obviously she's not as good as him and needs him to watch her back at times, but she can keep up with him, and even saves him or get the jump on him quite a few times, and that's incredible when you think about it. Tim gave her gadgets and instructions in the field, but it's never shown that he taught her any moves.

There's even a panel where Batman notes Stephanie almost snuck up on him and "not many people can do that" when again, no training, no martial arts classes, this is way before he agreed to give her any help at all-- and then for some reason, after noting this girl with no training is more talented than most people he knows, just keeps telling her she's not good enough and should go home.

That's a ridiculous level of raw talent, and it's honestly so bizarre nobody in the Batfamily ever noted that and kept telling her to go home. When she does get training, it's very sporadic, it is not clear how much Batman or Black Canary trained her the first time, he disappeared on her and then fired her as soon as he came back, and we never saw her get trained on screen by Dinah (the only person who ever acknowledged she had talent). She sparred with Cass, but Cass never taught her anything. Despite all this, she was noticeably getting way better during the era.

But when she received the six month Robin training that's supposed to make them so strong or whatever...how did that not result in her being a prodigy? She's the only Robin who was an experienced superhero before she took on the mantle?

Bruce literally tells her "Tim did this better" when he was training her about something, which makes no sense considering she came into being Robin with way more skills and experience and martial arts prowess??? When she was surviving on her own and fighting villains before that? When she could nearly sneak up on Bruce even before that?

You could claim she's a "bad student" or whatever, but she was a clearly very good at taking her gymnastic coach's instructions, enough to become a genius at it, so that doesn't really hold water.

The only explanation that would make any sense would be that Bruce taught her badly on purpose. which. unfortunately wouldn't be too far out of character from how he treated her in that era. (And that she apparently improved a lot under Babs tutelage as Batgirl but not his. So. Not a good look for him)

I mean the real answer for why all this makes no sense is DCs misogyny ofc. But it’s pretty wild how there’s no justification for this in universe.

[camilaswife]

The Cut That Always Bleeds

Natalie scatorccio x reader yellowjackets x reader jackie taylor x reader (if you squintttttt)

Words: 4.1k

Warnings!: angst, cursing, death, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, mentions of getting high (??).

four months.

The team had been in the wilderness for four months.

Everything felt so... empty.

Everyone was already sick and tired of the routine in this place: wake up, hunt, do your chores, sleep, and repeat.

Even Natalie who you always had known wanted to be anywhere but her home wanted rescue to finally find them.

But you? You didn't want to go back home, you didn't want to stay in the wilderness.

All you wished for at this point was a peaceful death.

After Laura Lee passed tragically all you wanted was to go out of this life just like her. You fantasized about it, really, you fantasized how you wanted to go out, maybe you would die in a heroic act just like your older sister, maybe you would die while hunting, but the animal could be used as a feast for the team.

Or maybe you would be the feast.

Of course you tried to not think about it. You tried really hard, but it always came back, in the back of your mind you always had that thought of you dying in some way out here.

Your original plan the night that Laura Lee died of running away and going to the same place she passed and self-exiting the day after, that plan was quickly demolished when the team suggested having a ‘doomcoming’ in honor of the fact that they would probably all be dead in weeks which you tried to interject by saying that it might be a stupid idea which was quickly brushed off by the team.

You had to hold on a little longer.

So here you were, sitting on the floor of the cabin, putting on some of your makeup that survived the plane crash, getting ready for what would be the worst night in your life so far.

“Cute dress.” You heard from behind you.

You stopped and closed the lipgloss you were putting on to turn around, seeing jackie.

“Thanks, you look pretty good too” you said looking at her green floral dress, jackie always looked so… perfect. Even in this situation, she looked great. And sure, you didn't look half bad considering the place you were in, maybe in other people's eyes you just looked like a glam obsessed girl with her floral mini dress and her best attempt at doing light makeup with what you had. But you always went about life with the motto, “if you don't feel good, you don't look good.” And well, right now you don't necessarily feel good to say the least.

“You need help with your makeup?” She asked nicely, you nodded as she sat down in front of you picking up some of your pink blush and a brush. maybe you needed this, maybe you just needed to feel like a normal teenage girl with her best friends to make yourself distracted.

Maybe.

“Shaunas fucking jeff.” Jackie blurted out while doing your makeup.

Well that's not what you expected today.

“What? Jackie, I'm so sorry” was all you could say. I mean, in no world would you think that Shauna, Jackie's best friend out of all people, would do something like that. It seemed so… unlike her.

Jackie shrugged as if none of it bothered her, you and Jackie were alike in that sense, you were both good at putting up a facade even when everything was going to shit.

“It's fine, it's not like that's the worst thing going on right now anyway.” She said so carelessly even though you saw her saddened expression. You put a hand on her shoulder, making her stop what she was doing.

“You know I'm here if you need anything, right jax?” you told her, even though you weren't shauna, you still hoped that she knew that she had someone in this place. She nodded and resumed doing your makeup.

“You know, I appreciate you being my friend but, remember that you can't always ignore the fact that you have shit to deal with too, you lost your sister, you also deserve to have someone to talk to.” She was right, and you knew it, would you listen? Probably not. But it still felt nice to have someone remind you of that.

She finished your makeup with a gloss and put everything away, you looked in the mirror that was in your makeup bag, it was only slightly cracked at the edges so you could still see well enough. You looked nice, you looked pretty, you even looked sane, which wasn't exactly what you would call yourself right now but at least you didn't look crazy.

Jackie had left to do something that you didn't hear, too lost in your thoughts to pay attention. You stayed in the same spot for a while, trying to think about anything besides your sister.

You glanced outside and saw Natalie, she was in a cheetah print dress (which you bought for her a couple months ago) with her usual combat boots and fishnets.

God she looked beautiful.

You had to consistently remind yourself that she was with Travis, even though each time you looked at her that thought vanished from your head.

You stood up and walked outside, heading straight for Natalie. You approached her and tapped on her shoulder.

“Hey pretty lady. You look good” you saw her smile and instantly mirrored it back.

“Pretty lady? God, what are you, a frat dude? Thanks, you look really pretty too.” She said with a breathy chuckle. Her gaze roamed over your outfit then to your face, taking your appearance in, she didn't miss how your cheeks slightly flushed pink.

“Thanks nat, I tried my best. Well, actually, Jackie did her best, she did my makeup for me.” You said casually, thinking nothing of it.

Nat tilted her head and glanced at Travis who was behind you staring intensely at Natalie which you didn't notice because you were too focused on not so sneakily checking her out.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” She asked suddenly.“What's up?” You asked back.

“Well since this entire doomcoming thing is technically just wilderness homecoming, do you wanna be my date?” you let out a chuckle at that, the first genuine laugh you let out in four months.

“Well I didn't get the memo that dates were a thing at a doomcoming. But yeah, I'll be your date” it sounded like a good idea, until you realized she was still with travis.

“Wait, did Travis not ask you? Because God knows I wouldn't wanna compete with that guy.” You tried to joke at the end even though you were being serious. Her expression got serious as she glanced at Travis once more, this time you followed her gaze and looked at him too.

“We, um… we aren't together anymore” she said looking down at her boots, clearly affected by it. Just by looking at her made you want to walk over to Travis and tell him what he deserved even though he was your friend.

“Oh, I'm really sorry nat, I didn't know.” You said trying to not say anything that would make her sadder or mad. She just nodded and looked back at you.

“So, I'll see you at doomcoming then?” You knew her changing the subject meant she didn't wanna speak about it, so you went with it.

“Right, I'll see you then, pretty lady.” you joked trying to lighten the mood. She let out a laugh and nodded.

“Right, I'll see you then.” you walked away sneakily shooting a glance at Travis, slightly angry at him even though you didn't know why him and Natalie broke up.

A couple hours later, everyone gathered at a makeshift room in the woods for doomcoming. You and Natalie hand in hand slightly farther away from everyone as they watch Tai and Van share a kiss, finally not hiding their love for each other.

God how you wished you could do the same with natalie- wait, no. She doesn't see you as more than her best friend.

Right?

The girls passed around some type of pasty soup made out of whatever they had for food, and some crushed berries to mimic booze. You took one glance at the soup and grimaced, you took a couple sips of the soup and immediately put it down.

“God, this tastes like shit.” You told Natalie while grimacing, she chuckled and was about to say something before Lottie spoke up, saying that we needed a moment of silence for Laura Lee. Your heart ached, remembering what happened, the plane, the smoke, the explosion, the way you had fallen on your knees sobbing while Natalie tried to soothe you, it was one of the worst days of your life.

“To Laura lee” everyone said in sync, lottie glanced at you with a small smile. You knew she went through the same as you, Laura Lee was Lotties best friend, so you understood what she was going through right now.

After a while Natalie had moved to somewhere else that you didn't see, so you walked over next to coach Ben and drank the liquid in your cup. At some point some of the girls started slow dancing, you thought to ask Natalie to dance as well until you realized that she was too busy looking at Jackie and Travis dancing together.

Right, she still loves travis, stop thinking otherwise.

You sighed and immediately pushed that idea to the back of your mind, distracting yourself by listening to what Misty was saying to coach, something about the dance or something.

Poor girl, she was so sweet but God was she clueless, was it not obvious that coach ben wasn't into her?

After coach Ben declined her offer, a few moments passed before nat came up to you two, saying that she had real booze with her, you heard the word booze and your ears perked up, mentally thanking nat because God knows that you need a real drink.

You and coach went with her to this tree and all of you sat down.You and coach drank most of the booze because Natalie said she didn't want it, better for you, you needed this after everything that happened. A while passed and you all started feeling funny, you lifted your hand and moved it around, realizing everything looked weird.

Goddammit misty.

You usually didn't do good when you were high or drunk, always ending up in some mental breakdown, so you stayed silent, trying to ground yourself and stay as calm as possible. Half of the conversation Natalie and coach Ben had you didn't hear because of how high you were. You started thinking frantically about all that's happened in these four months.

Why hasn't rescue come? I lost my sister. Winter is coming soon. I just wanted to go to nationals. The girl I love doesnt feel the same. I'm in love with natalie.

Wait, what?

Oh my god.

I'm in love with natalie.

You looked to your left and saw Natalie in the same lying position as you looking up at the sky, your eyes roamed over her dress, to her chest, to her face. Admiring every little feature on her.

Your actions happened before your mind could register it.

You slightly sat up and leaned in to kiss her, your hands going to her hair and hers going to your hips. She didn't question what you were doing partially because you both were high and partially because you two had been here multiple times before, messy kisses with your fingers tangling in her platinum hair while she rubbed soft circles on your hips.

You two had never established what you were back home, whether it was just occasional sex or it was best friends with benefits you didn't know, but it felt right.

The first night you kissed her was in your room while some random nirvana record you had gotten because of her played in the background, just like right now, you did it impulsively.

You were flipping through a random magazine you'd bought weeks prior while she hummed to the record while laying down, hand propped up on her head watching you. You'd closed the magazine and thrown it somewhere random on your bed, looking up at her through your lashes.

“Hi.” you said softly. “Hi” she mirrored your words glancing down at your glossy lips. You slowly leaned up to her as if you guys always did this, she met you halfway, slightly brushing against your lips as if she was testing the waters, as if she was waiting for you to pull back and never speak to her again. But you didn't, you leaned further, hand shooting up to her hair, so she did the same, deepening the kiss and putting her free hand on your hip, pulling you in closer.

She positioned herself so that she was on top of you, your legs going on either side of her hips with one hand still in her hair and the other unbuttoning your blouse. She slightly pulled back, breathless and half lidded eyes.

“Wait, are you sure?” She asked, she knew you were a virgin so she wanted- no, needed to make sure that you wanted this as much as her.

You nodded and pulled off your shirt, revealing your lacy white bra. You pulled her back into the kiss, pulling her as close as possible as if she would fade away.

And here you were in the middle of nowhere in the exact same position as the first time you and Natalie had kissed, your hands in her hair and hers on your hips just like that night. Except this time you knew, you knew that you were in love with her, you knew that this wasn't a passing thing.

You pulled back and laid back down, breath uneven, lipstick slightly smudged from the kiss.

You glanced at coach Ben and just said a quiet “sorry” even though he didn't even process what was going on so he just waved it off.

It was already getting dark as the feeling of the high wore off, thank god. You sat up, wrapping your arms around your legs, lost in thought, again.You snapped out of it once you saw Natalie stand up, dusting her dress off. Your brows furrowed

“what are you doing?” You asked confused.

“To go find Travis” was all she said. You scoffed and nodded.

Fucking great.

“i- um, I'll go with you, it's not safe to go alone.” You said making excuses to go with her.

Not even an hour after we kissed?

She nodded and just said “sure”. So you followed her to go find her beloved little travis.

You followed after her quietly since you didn't even want to talk about what happened, you were too caught up in your thoughts until you heard someone screaming for help that sounded like…Jackie?

You and Natalie ran into the cabin hearing Jackie's screams from the closet, Natalie opened it revealing a startled jackie. Once she saw that it was Natalie that opened the door she had a guilty look on her face for some reason and ran out of the cabin.

Naturally you followed her to wherever she was going, Natalie right behind you two.

You all stopped once you saw everyone in the same place, Lottie with a weird headpiece that had antlers on it, and Shauna with a knife to travis’ throat.

Holy shit she had a knife to his throat.

Nat ran up to Shauna and pushed Shauna off of Travis making the knife in Shauna's hand fly out.

“Nat the knife!” Jackie yelled. You went over and untied travis as natalie yelled at lottie while she maniacally laughed like a fucking psychopath.

God, what in the actual fuck was going on?

Natalie went over to Travis and asked him if he was okay before he replied with a dry “im fine” and ran away.

You looked around at the girls, specifically Shauna, seeing her apologetic face towards Jackie, mumbling some apology for what she did. You scoffed and left to go back to the cabin, having enough shit happen for the day, you just wanted sleep at this point.

God how you wished Laura Lee was here, to give you advice, to comfort you. Even though you didn't necessarily believe in all her religious shit you still appreciated anytime she would tell you a small piece of advice, or when you had hard times, you had her to talk to, always.

Everyone was sitting by the fireplace about to eat a bear that lottie had killed, lottie was saying one of her bullshit prayers so you repeated it carelessly just wanting this to be over.

“You didn't say it.” Misty whispered to Jackie who was right next to you.

“Jackie didn't say it.” She told everyone as if saying that would make everyone thank her for pointing it out.

Misty shut the fuck up.” You said, you were already pissed enough about last night, and if it weren't for her stupid fucking shrooms none of this would've happened.

“No, I did not thank the dirt for bringing us a brain dead bear.” She said, obviously annoyed.

“What is even happening right now? The fuck is wrong with you all?” She wasn't wrong, everyone was acting like nothing happened last night, like they didn't almost kill travis.

“It's fine you guys she doesn't have to-”

“Oh, shut up, tai. Don’t pretend like you weren't a part of it. What, we're just not gonna talk about it? We just howl at the moon now and have fucking orgies? And somehow I'm the one who did something wrong?” She said, Everyone except you looked at her like she was saying something wrong.

“Jackie calm down.” Shauna said as if she was wrong.

“Don't tell me to calm down! What were you gonna do to Travis last night, shauna?” She crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Answer me!” Her voice wavered slightly.

“I don't know. I don't remember.” Shauna said.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes but she was too caught up with Jackie to notice.

“Bullshit.” Jackie simply said.

“You had a knife to his throat. If we hadn't come, you would've killed him-”

“Just shut up! None of this would've happened if it wasn't for you. if you hadn't-”

“Hadn't what? Huh? Stolen him? Wow. The irony.” Jackie taunted her.

“Shauna was fucking jeff.” You bit your lip remembering what Jackie had told you yesterday.

“Yeah, thats who's responsible for her little bundle of joy"

“It was you. You read my journal”

“How could you? You were my best friend. Y-you dont even like him-” Jackie said, her voice cracking.

“And how would you know? You're so obsessed with yourself, i'm surprised you're aware other people even exist”

“Shauna! Just fuck off-” you told her, trying to make her stop.

“Shut up!” she yelled back at you.

“You know you never even asked me if I wanted to go to Rutgers? You just assumed I'd go wherever you wanted. You tell me what to wear, what to do, who to hook up with. I don't even like soccer! But you just get everything you want. All the time like it's nothing. And the rest of us, we're just extras in the movie of your fսcking life.”

“Oh my God, you're such a cliché. Oh, is the, is the sad little sidekick mad? Did I force you to live in my shadow, Shauna? It must be hard being this jealous all the time. What? You're so fսcking jealous of me, you can barely breathe.”

“Are you quoting Beaches at me right now?”

“What? No.”

“I'm not jealous of you, Jackie. I feel sorry for you. Because you're weak. And I think that deep down, you know it. I'm sure everyone back home is so fսcking sad to be losing their perfect little princess, but they'll never know how tragic and boring and insecure you really are. Or how high school was the best your life was ever gonna get.”

“fսck you. That's it. You know what? That's it. That's it. Get... get out. Go on, get out!”

“No."

“I can't be around you, I... I can't even fսcking look at you right now.”

“Well, that sounds like your problem. So maybe you should leave.”

“Maybe you'd be better off, since we're all so crazy.”

“Mari, for the love of God, shut up” you told her, right now wasn't the exact moment to encourage Jackie to leave.

“Okay, everybody just stop. Nobody is going outside.”

“Stay out of it, Coach.”

of fucking course lottie had to say something.

“You know what? Fine.”

“Jackie, come on. Don't go outside.”

“Don't pretend like this isn't what you wanted the entire fսcking time. I don't even know who you are anymore.”

“Or maybe you never did.”

Jackie slammed the door as she left the cabin.

You were about to go and follow her to tell her to come back in but you decided otherwise, thinking that Shauna would apologize and she would come back in.

The next morning you woke up with the sound of the cabin door opening, you saw someone running out of it and immediately got up, realizing everyone woke up at the same time as you.

Everyone stood up and ran outside seeing shauna uncovering something in the snow.

Jackie.

You stood next to everyone as you watched shauna desperately call out for Jackie, hoping she wasn't gone, but she was.

Jackie froze to death overnight.

Your jaw dropped and your eyes got teary, why did this have to happen? Why didn't Shauna bring her in? Why the fuck were teenage girl going through all of this?

You couldn't stand watching this anymore so you grabbed your coat from inside and started walking away, nat stopped you by putting her hand on your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” She asked worriedly.

“Fuck off.” Was all you said before practically running away. You didn't want to be mean but it just came out, you needed to be alone, you couldn't handle this anymore.

So you ran, you ran as far as you could without looking back. You ran until your legs gave out and your chest felt like it was sinking in on itself making you fall to your knees and hands, feeling the freezing snow under your hands you tried your best to breathe evenly while you quickly failed at.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and quickly turned around pushing whoever it was. You looked at the person and saw misty on the ground trying to stand up.

“S-sorry, I just followed you, I thought you might need some help since I saw you run away-"

“Just fuck off misty! For fucks sake none of this would've happened if it weren't for you!” Misty's eyes widened when you yelled at her.

“If it weren't for you stupid fucking shrooms none of this would've happened! Travis wouldn't have gotten almost murdered! Jackie wouldn't have died! This is all your fucking fault!” Tears threatened to spill over your eyes but you weren't gonna let misty out of all people see you cry so you wiped at them and kept yelling.

“Fuck you misty! I cant fucking stand you so just go away!” She nodded and ran away from you. You leaned back on a random tree and looked up at the sky, letting your sobs out now that she was finally gone.

“God Laura Lee, why did you leave me here? Why couldn't I die with you?” You said in-between sobs.

You got on your knees and looked up at the sky again, putting your hands together and sighing before you did the thing Laura Lee always taught you to do even if you didn't want to.

Pray.

“Dear heavenly father, please take me with her, please, I just- i cant fucking do this anymore… I can't. If you're not gonna save us just kill me, I don't want to live this life of pain and suffering anymore… If you love me so much like everyone says just please- help me with what I ask. If you love us so fucking much you wouldn't have put us in this situation. So for fucks sake just- just kill me, let me die in peace… amen.”

you did a cross motion on your upper body and let every cry, every tear that you had been holding back out.

Nothing will ever get easier out here.

first swan fic !!!

I hope you all enjoyed it, it's very angsty but I thought it would be fitting for her first fic, (which is why it focuses both on her & nat and also just on the situation they were all in) more swan x nat fics coming soon !!

@emmynemm @daisyjonesgf @cr3stawrites I hope you enjoy😌

(lace dividers by @cursed-carmine)

[ririleil]

vampire!suna and witch!reader headcanons

a/n: these hcs are actually related to a fic i wrote write right here but they could serve as a standalone! there are more hcs under the cut so feel free to check them out! i might make a pt 2 for these hcs because i still have a whole lot of stuff for vampire!suna and witch!reader. im so sorry if this was too wordy i tried to make it as short as i could but anyways, pls do enjoy!!!

cw: mentions of death, blood, and implied sh (very mild but still, do take caution!)

masterlist

you both first met on a quiet night at a library when you stayed behind to help sort through books. you saw a sleeping suna in one of the reading alcoves. he was too still, too pale, with hands that looked too cold to be alive. you also sensed no living mana emanating from him. 

without knowing he's a vampire, you immediately assumed the worst. you thought he had died, or someone had murdered him and left his corpse to rot alone in the library. to make sure of it, you reached down to check for a pulse but felt nothing at all.

instead of calling for help, you took this chance to try out on a resuscitation or revival spell (you had a let-me-do-it-spell-first mentality)

you were halfway through the spell when he opened one eye and with cold hands, suddenly grabbed you by the wrist. 

"could you not chant a necromancy spell directly into my ear while im sleeping? thanks"

startled, you jumped back and smacked him with the nearest book you could grab (he dodged and funnily enough, the book you grabbed was about vampire anatomy and physiology)  

“you were just lying there! dead and cold!”

“uh, im literally a vampire? thats kind of my whole vibe” 

you guys had a mini back and forth banter. you were kind of embarrassed by the encounter so you scowled at him the entire time while he just smirked at your reactions. he liked how unshaken you were. most people would've just ran away from him.

and that’s where it all started. he kept showing up lately after that night. around closing time when you’re there.  

at first, you thought suna visiting the library every night was him being annoying. eventually, you realized it’s one of the only places he feels calm enough to fall asleep.

suna is that one vampire who will still and always ask for permission to come inside your house (except for that one time when he desperately needed your blood) everytime he visits without fail. he won't get in until you let him. even though vampires can enter and exit someone's property freely once already invited, suna still has the need to put distance. he even does it to mess with you for shits and giggles. in a teasing tone, he'll say something like:

"aren't you gonna let me in? or will you just stand there blocking the door?" "suna, stop messing around and just get in, will you?"

you guys banter like two roommates in a very “old couple way”. he called you a hag one time because you speak like an old witch sometimes and you retaliated by calling him nosferatu

you guys share the same humor in morbid things. no one else laughs at it. but you guys crack up everytime.

“if you bite me in my sleep, i swear i’ll curse you to puke slugs for a month” “bet”

asides the library, vampire!suna sleeps in weird places. the attic, his basement, crypts, your couch (his favorite). he dislikes coffins—claims that they are too outdated and too last century.

one of your specialties is making magical tea blends, whether it's for calming or for boosting effects, etc. you occasionally add drops of your witch blood to suna’s tea blend for him to recharge but not enough to satisfy his hunger. you didn't tell him about it but he knows. and he's silently thankful for that.

suna can turn into a bat but refuses to unless it's absolutely necessary. you once pestered him to turn into one because you haven't seen that form of him before. you already did though. once. when you saved what you thought was a regular bat but it was actually suna transformed into one and you tried to “adopt” him. 

you cast quiet wards around his resting places so no one could stumble across him or disturb him while he's asleep. suna, without your knowledge, shadows you in town at night time when you're out searching for magic items or ingredients. he just wants to make sure you're safe and doesn't want you to be alone in dark alleys (you're capable enough to defend yourself, he just wants to be there). 

suna is annoyingly fast. he moves soundlessly and appears beside people without warning, it startles them. you're the only one who doesn't flinch anymore (unless you're hyper focused with something else);

whenever he tries to scare you in that way to mess with you, it always ends in failure with you saying “you don't scare me, suna. let it go.” in a blunt tone. he's glad though, that you don't find him scary at all.

despite being dead for years, something about your exasperated sighs and your passion and dedication in spellwork make his unbeating, dead heart flicker. he likes watching you while you work and pretends not to be fascinated by you (you know he's staring but you pretend you didn't).

suna once half joked about watching everyone around him fade and die. you calmly and seriously replied “i know a few spells and rituals to stop aging or slow time if you ever get tired of being alone.” he didn't reply, but he noticed the look you gave him. it stuck with him forever.

a/n: if you've reached this part, thank you sm for reading until the end. also, did you guys catch the sinners reference?

photo credits: pinterest

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

© ririleil 2025 | do not copy, modify, repost, or translate without my permission

[haveasnickerss]

I swear they are canon, not bc they were canonically confirmed, but bc the fandom just made it canon. Officially, no they aren't canon. In reality, almost everyone considers it canon to the point we forget they aren't

wdym Dooku ain't Yan Dooku, he is, just like Cody is Kote, and that name was given to him by Jango, so that's why he later changed it to Cody and only the people that are close to him know him as Kote (17 calls him Kote)

Even if clones aren't fluent in Mando'a, I do believe they at least know some words and phrases, that they were either taught to them by Jango (who btw, was actually proud of his boys, I did reblog a post that explains it if you have the patience to look for it) or that they heard from their trainers, who were mandalorians (that's actually another not technically canon but in reality canon thing). So I firmly believe that they know how to curse, how to say the remembrance, ways of calling themselves (vod, vode), random war chants and phrases like "Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur" (today is a good day for someone else to die) and other phrases to give important messages, like "gar shuk meh kyrayc" (lit. You're not use to me dead- basically to encourage someone to rest) or "Haat, ijaa, haa'it" (which is basically a super strong promise, lit. Truth, honor, vision)

Also, the 212th needs its medics. That's all the reason we need. And Helix and Bones are badasses. No more explanation needed

Do I even need to explain the Anidala one? Like they canonically literally kissed in front of both Obi-wan and Yoda, they literally were like we pretend we don't see (I strongly believe Obi-wan was expecting Anakin to make the right decision for himself, to actually choose, either the order/his duty or his love for Padme, bc although I believe a balance can be archived between love and duty, Anakin did not have that ability to balance both, so his love became attachment (which this is something some day I'll sit down to write all my thoughts about) and he was unable to let go, and he also didn't want to stop being a Jedi (I think he idolized the concept a bit, until the pedestal he put it on became resentment, a thought for later me) (bc yes the Jedi order did have its flaws and so did the members, but it wasn't as bad as some ppl picture it)

So yeah. They're kinda of an open secret. Also Rex is a terrible liar. He also deserves a raise.

Also, if you have a Padawan and a Master, why wouldn't the Padawan call their master's master a grandmaster?? It just makes sense, it's logic, and don't tell me they didn't care about lineages, Yoda literally liked to mess with lineages, he was constantly making sure certain ppl ended up on his.

So yeah. It not only makes sense. It's also cute. And yes, I do have an obsession with the theory Dooku wanted to bring Obi-wan to his side (and the reason he mentioned there was a sith lord in the Senate in ep II) was bc he was his grandpadawan. And deep down, very very deep down, in the part of his soul that wasn't corrupted by the dark side he still cared. A little bit. Even if they weren't close when he was still in the order.

So yeah. I've just ranted a little bit. I don't know how it happened (my opinions got the better of me). I just wanted to reblog...

Reminder to myself that

Helix and Bones of 212th are fanon characters

Dooku is canonically not a Yan

Grandmaster and grandpadawan are not real terms when it comes to lineages

Padme and Anakin's marriage is not an open secret

Clones don't speak Mando'a

Cal Kestis and Caleb Dume weren't best friends before Order 66

Kote is not Cody's name

However, I will be ignoring these facts just because I can and no one can do anything to stop me

[palskippah]

Hi! Drew this based on a video of a dad making no big deal of his daughter spilling water, and a woman that answered with: "my dad told me something similar once! 'you don't matter to me' pretty much the same, right?" (cries)

Anyways, warning because there's mentions of child abuse (both emotional and physical) under the cut, with that idea in mind, so please be careful if that could be triggering

-So, with the idea of Ballister having had an abusive father as a kid, I thought it could work to show him as someone who’s made peace with the fact that he just had a terrible dad and a bad childhood overall, and that it makes him feel really safe to know that his daughter will never be hit or unfairly punished for something as small as spilling water.

>(I hope it makes sense what I mean sjdfks as in, there's this sense of safety in knowing that he's built a good family, and that he chose a good man to raise Nimona with)

-Anyways I know that Ambrosius is also depicted to have an abusive relationship with the director (his mom here) (also more of the emotional kind, where he's diminished and manipulated), so he too is set in trying to not repeat what he had grown up with (and even experienced through some of his adult years)- it's something both of them are actively working on, making sure that Nimona never has to go through what they did.

-Ambrosius' abuse was emotional and Ballister's mostly was physical.

>Sometimes Ambrosius has a hard time setting boundaries and often self-doubts himself on what he does when it comes to raising their kid, if he's doing it right or not

>With Ballister is much simpler in a way, because not hitting his daughter is something that he can do so easily. It has never crossed his mind to hurt her, and he knows with absolute certainty that he never will.

> Sometimes this thought haunts him, and sometimes it just amazes him in the worst way, because what had been going through his dad's head - to see his own daughter desperately apologizing for a small mistake, and yet deciding to hurt her, and sometimes with absolutely no reason.

>Also Ballister doesn't forgive his dad, at all. He straight up hates him, and that hate feels completely justified, he wouldn’t even try to reason with it. His dad was cruel, and Ballister didn't deserve any of it.

>With that, here's what would come immediately after the comic, but from what Ballister's seeing

>(I feel like there's a missing middle panel, of him turning back to work posture, but I didn't know how to include it pipipi)

-It was supposed to be like a parallel- him just briefly comparing what's now his family and what it used to be - and how he actually sees himself in Nimona a lot, only that she's happier, she isn't scared, and she's got two people that would give their all to protect her.

(also maybe the sentence came out too harsh but it's like a really brief thought - meaning more deeply, 'I hate him for what he did to me' i hope that comes through ;;)

-Also I had thought of making it about Ballister responding in a kind way when Nimona makes a mistake, like, showing that he tries to not be his dad (and he'd never, ever be), but I thought it'd mean a lot to him too to see that Ambrosius is just a good dad too that treats his daughter with kindness (also that he can trust that Nimona is safe when she's with Ambrosius)

That's it! :>

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

I think the haitanis losing against mitsuya and hakkai/ smiley and angry was purely for the plot, maybe it's just me but there's a clear difference in strength between then and them being defeated feels forced😭 like both of them are strong but once theyre separated they suddenly cant win? It doesn't really make sense to me but again it's just what I think🤷🏻‍♀️

I think it's because they've potentially come to overrely on each other in fights, we can actually especially see this in the beginning of their fight with Mitsuya. Mitsuya was getting some decent hits in there and got close a few times to doing some damage to one of them but each time the other brother would then come in and attack Mitsuya. A few of these definitely makes it seem like Mitsuya would win or at the very least make it a close fight if he was in a 1v1.

Hakkai also mentions that the problem with the Haitani's is that they're unpredictable, something which they can do because there's two of them and because they work so well together, you can't watch both.

This also matches what Angry said during the tenjiku fight. He was able to read Rindou but couldn't watch Ran at the same time, which is why no attacks against Rindou properly worked.

There's also the way that Hakkai's plan happened very quickly and they didn't have a lot of time to react and likely didn't know what to do in such a random situation. Both brother's are strong but their fighting styles compliment each other very well and they're used to working together (not not ambushing people with bricks and pipes). Plus Hakkai had fought against Rindou before so likely knew some of his moves from then and Mitsuya is very strong and fast, something Ran even comments on.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I’ve heard what jobs you think that Hermione and Harry would be good at. I was wondering what job you think would be a good fit for Ron.

Anonymous asked:

I saw you just did Hermoine’s career and I really love the idea of her being a journalist! I was wondering what you think would be a well, better, career for the rest of the Golden Trio? We know JKR made Harry Head Auror, a choice that I very much disagree with. I personally like the idea of him being a professional quidditch player or the DADA professor a lot more. And for Ron, I believe he also became a high ranking Auror…? Correct me if I’m wrong. I was just wondering what you’d think their better career choices would be!

Talked about Harry here & here.

Talked about Hermione here & here.

So, let's talk about Ron:

I actually like Ron in a ministry position more than either Harry or Hermione. Ron is the member of the trio best suited to work within the system. He is good with people, familiar with how the world works, fine with bending the rules and the corruption here and there, and has the mindset to be able to work within it and make the best of it. He is also the most balanced member of the trio and the one I'd trust the most as minister (kinda discussed here), especially if we give him a few more years to grow into his own.

In semi-canon (because nothing outside of the books is fully canon to me, and the epilogue does not mention their professions), Ron became an Auror with Harry, then, 2 years later, stepped down to join George in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Now, I don't think this is as antithetical to Ron's character as Harry and Hermione's future jobs are.

(For context, Hermione is not Minister material, she is best suited to work in a position that allows her more leeway to bring the change she wants + she isn't a diplomat, she's a "my way or the highway" type of person. Harry, while charismatic, isn't much for working as part of a team. Even within the Golden Trio, he does a lot on his own as he hates asking for help and risking others. This would be even worse if he needs to work with authority and bureaucracy — specifically authority and bureaucracy of a corrupt system he dislikes and disrespects)

I can't say I'm a huge fan of Auror!Ron, since this isn't something he was ever passionate about or interested in. Harry wanted to be an Auror because it's the only thing an adult he respected (at the time at least. He didn't know it was Barty) told him he'd be good at, which is so rare for Harry (in my headcanon, Harry is an Auror program dropout, because it makes sense he'd start as an Auror). Ron doesn't have the same connection to DADA nor the same sense of responsibility Harry does, so it makes even less sense for him. I can see him decide to go to Auror training with Harry, as it's something none of his brothers did, but I do like that he doesn't stay there. I mean, if he does, he'd still keep getting compared to Harry, which I am trying to avoid.

My ideal job for Ron would position him somewhere he won't be compared to Harry or any of his brothers, because that's what he really wants. And if he goes to work in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Ron is literally stepping into Fred's shoes. So, I don't like that, thematically for Ron, even though, character-wise, as a character who cares about his family a lot, it makes sense.

So, in my personal headcanon, Harry would quit being an Auror to become a professor, and Hermione would honestly be a brilliant journalist (a headcanon I adopted from a different anon, but it fits her so well and would be a fun parallel with Rita). But Ron is someone I'm a bit more vague on since I can see him in multiple careers.

Currently, the top career on my mind for Ron is a Healer, maybe — it'll set him apart from his other siblings and Harry, he has the grades for it, he can keep his cool under pressure, he likes helping people, and he's good at cheering people up when things are bleak with humor. I think Ron could be a good Healer if he chooses to pursue it. The only big downside for me is that it doesn't lean into Ron's strategic nature (which becoming head-Auror or another ministry position could). And I can't see him inventing new cures or potions, that's not Ron — but he'd be good at actually caring for people and using the healing spells/potions at his disposal creatively when needed.

Plus, Ron's wand (his own, baught post-CoS) is willow and unicorn hair, and according to Pottermore, willow wands are particularly suited for healing magic:

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

(Source)

So, yeah, Healer Ron is my favorite idea at the moment. If anyone has other ideas for Ron, I'd love to hear them because I really do struggle with him more, since he doesn't have a specific field he is good at/passionate about like Harry or Neville, nor does he have Hermione's spesific convictions.

[cybermvtt]

SOREYY I KNOW PEOPLE DIDN'T FOLLOW ME FOR TADC CONTENT BUT 8GEH IT'S MY GUILTY PLEASURE AND I NEED TO TALK ABOUT JAX THAT FUCKED UP STUPID IDIOT

So now let me give u my overanaylizations and infodumping (most of it is Jax 💔 srry I'm Jax pilled)

- I'm so deadass when I say I didn't realize when Jax was talking about his "backstory" it was a Breaking Bad reference. I lowk thought his backstory was gonna be like a Charlotte situation from ONE maybe and then I realized it was a Breaking Bad reference, which makes it funnier

- It's interesting that Caine can in some way alter how the characters think (with how he made Jax vegan) makes u kinda think what's real and what's not or what the characters truly believe and what they don't

- I KNEW IT I KNEW THE REASON HE WAS SUCH AN ASS WAS SO HE DIDN'T GET CLOSE TO PEOPLE I KNEW IT BIG BRAIN BIG

- Also kind of random but trans Jax real

- ^ to go with that (I saw someone else say it and I very much agree) ofc canonically I feel like the main reason Jax didn't like the maid dress is like obvious, it would make him embarrassed esp when he doesn't rlly like to be embarrassed but to embarrass others. But with him being so viscerally upset about it, I like to project and say that it's bc he's transmasc and prob more dysphoric about it as well

- ^^ to also go with that I don't think anyone in the circus rlly knows he's trans since he's so closed off (I think even though Jax has been an ass to Gangle, she wouldn't do something like that, esp since she's close with Zooble who's expressed they're dysphoria before) maybe like Ribbit would've been the only one (probs Kaufmo too?? Think it's been hinted that was possibly another person Jax was close to before he abstracted, due to him being upset when Ragatha mentioned his funeral, and Jax not being present for said funeral) but no one for sure knows besides Jax himself (though I imagine he gives off hints)

- I think Ragatha mentioning how Jax has no more friends and us seeing later that friend was Ribbit also opens up more to maybe why he's upset. 1) Ofc the obvious, he lost a close friend and 2) maybe it got so bad for him mentally that he almost abstracted himself? So it just doesn't bring up good memories in general? We've seen multiple times how characters can almost abstract (Pomni and Gangle) and I wouldn't put it past Jax to have possibly been in so much mental distress that it almost happened to him, idk just a fun theory to play around with

- ^ maybe that could be a reason why he didn't attend Kaufmos funeral, Ribbits made him too upset (possibly causing some sort of breakdown or close abstraction as said)

- Gangle and Zooble lesbians real

- I feel like Jax maybe was like some sort of actor in his life, or like a comedian idk, something like that with how he breaks the 4th wall and is really good with improv when it comes to talking

- Pomni and Ragatha lesbians real (but make it tragic)

- Also I unironically love Bubble sm underrated character. I think this episode shows a clear shift in something going wrong with the ai, since Bubble is way more unhinged (even Caine notices) Caine is also kinda going insane (also with certain things like how Jax said he had a tail but then looks and has no tail)

- I find it funny Jax probably watches anime but just hates slice of life specifically

- Feel like the evil versions of them in some way could kind of project what they don't want to become/insecurities of who they are (Jax being more whimpy, Pomni being more cruel, etc.)

- Ik it's probably a joke but I feel the vegan thing could mean something (esp with Jax suggesting the first adventure and mentioning something about his mom which could be a throw away line but we never know)

- ^ maybe he used to hunt with his mom? Lived in the Savannah? Something like that

- Ragatha being a doll now makes a lot more sense and definetly confirms that everyone's design means SOMETHING

- ^ Ragatha being a doll could be like a representation of being thrown around and abused by her mother, Zooble being Zooble could represent dysphoria they had in they're past life, Jax could maybe be some thing to do with running away from his problems constantly, Gangle shows her fragile nature and also a representation of putting on a mask for depression, Kingers I feel has to do with his closeness with his wife being like a king and a queen together, and Pomnis is a little difficult but maybe something to do with like performance in some way idk

- I think Jax could've also grown up on a farm maybe since he had a reaction when hearing about it from Ragatha (That could maybe explain some sort of fear for corn idk)

- Them not knowing about Queenie is crazy, I'm wondering if she abstracted immediately after she got into the circus

- Very interesting seeing the beef Jax and Ragatha have, I knew it ran deeper then just "they hate each other" but I find it interesting how deep there beef could be

- I don't personally think it's super strange for Jax and Pomni to get close, Pomni out of all the cast makes sense due to her attitude, she tries to understand Jax rather than do what the others do (ignore him, be mean back, etc)

- I feel like a lot of Jax and how he is towards Gangle in specific could be him just trying to project, like a bully to the bullied. I imagine he has his own slew of mental problems which is why when he sees Gangle being happy after being depressed for so long he questions if she (or him for that matter of fact) can truly be happy aswell

- I think Ragatha is kinda pissed about Jax and Pomnis friendship for a couple reasons 1) Ragatha has been there longer than Pomni, she's probably been trying to get close to Jax for awhile but he doesn't budge, to her it can be frustrating seeing the new person, who hasn't been there for long, suddenly form and get more close to Jax so easily rather than her where it's probably taken longer and been harder to. 2) I think that's also something to do with how she's tried her hardest to make Pomni feel welcomed and tried really hard being Pomnis close friend. 3) the obvious, she's a people pleaser, she clearly wants everyone to view her as good and nice, she cares more about others than herself. And 4) being kinda left alone on her own at the end of the episode (also secret answer 5. Probably something to do with her and Jax realationship, I feel like they've had some sort of falling out or big arguement before the events of the show)

- I think the reason Jax sees Ragathas attempts at connection and kindness as trying to take advantage of people could be his own experiences regarding someone else in his past life or Ragatha herself, another reason is due to how he doesn't open up, he sees it as being taken advantage of when people wanna know him

- ^ to go with that Ribbits abstraction probably didn't help that, probably making him think that even if he DOES get close to someone they eventually leave in some way

- Also WHY R WE NOT TALKING ABOUT THE MANNEQUIN?? He's up to something and idk what it is, could be another example of the ai going rougue

- Kingers favorite color is black I think

- ^ Pomnis is possibly red??

- Rlly cool how much range and emotion Jax shows in the episode, idk what happened at Spudsys but if it made the man start to break down his walls than I can only imagine

That's all I rlly have rn, huge info dump mainly hcs and theories plus Jax post ofc, but I hope u enjoyed my info dumping. If I have more I'll let u gamers know okay bye bye

[midnight--sadness]

what do you think about lbh saying inho doesnt care if gihun lives or dies?

honestly, i don't quite know what to think.

i didn't read the full interview, just a few snippets. lbh mentions that inho's true goal is to show gihun that humanity sucks and that inho was right all along. he wants gihun to agree with him.

but this kinda goes against what he's said in the past - inho having a slight wavering of heart and a small part of him wanting gihun to be right. if he wants gihun to be right and felt his heart waver, wouldn't he care if gihun lives?

lbh says this abt caring or not in the context of shooting the guard who was going to kill gihun. and i understand why he did that. inho needed to further gain gihun's trust and he protecting gihun is the right way to do it.

but then lbh said, in another interview, that inho wasn't very confident in killing jungbae and he did it to teach gihun a lesson. which also makes sense, but why do all of that if he could just kill gihun? he could have unmasked himself (he'd take them to a private room so the others guards wouldn't see his face), showing gihun that "youngil" never existed in the first place and that he is hwang inho and junho lied just to twist the knife even more. then he kills both jungbae and gihun.

because it's strange how gihun living or dying doesn't matter but inho won't kill him and won't let him die....

i'm choosing to see it as inho wanting to prove to himself that gihun's fate doesn't matter to him. but that slight wavering of his heart, the small part of him rooting for gihun, is starting to affect him. and he does care abt gihun, even if he doesn't want to or wont acknowledge it.

(also i kinda need them to stop interviewing the cast lol they can't say much abt of spoilers and so end up contradicting themselves a bit. also, this is kind of a heel turn for lbh. he's been saying for weeks that inho does feel something for gihun but now he doesn't care? idk it seems weird.)

[in-a-trice]

dunno if this'd be useful for anyone, but i figured i'd throw it out there -- i've been trying to recreate what felwinter might have "actually" looked like for a project i'm working on/because it's been bothering me lately. so i present my notes on the subject

a disclaimer: i'm basing this off of the 4 times we see holograms of him in-game, and the very few descriptions we have of his clothes (which is just described as an "overcoat" iirc). so there's lots of wiggle room. a lot of this was done by attempting to logic out what would have made the most sense

so, lo and behold, i came up with something like this (cut into multiple pieces bc i used a massive canvas):

more rambling + design notes beneath the cut so this doesn't get too long

i think it's worth noting that while he was certainly a warlock, i think it's fair to expect him to take after titans as well (considering he mentioned learning from jolder and both of his exotics are melee-focused). i didn't incorporate this as much as i would have liked to in this design, but that's mainly due to me not wanting to stray too far from the hologram references

the colors are a guess at best. i still really enjoy the idea of having his overcoat be black, but all of the other iron banner armor only had the rust red, green, and brown so i felt bad doing that coloring *__* "but why is his armor painted black then" i think he would have attempted to make it match his helm, assuming that his helm is iron painted black. but who knows. the metal very well might have been gold, considering his shotgun was green & gold.

i was considering making one or two of the "bags" he has be holsters, but i don't remember any mention of him having a hand cannon/sidearm/any gun that would actually fit in a holster of that size because afaik it only ever mentions him having a shotgun, and then there's that machine gun named after him. so yeah they're now ammo pouches for his shotgun EDIT: thank you to the person who reminded me that he, in fact, does have a sidearm. i completely forgot about that. thus, if i were to do this over he would have a holster (likely his right side, but i don't know if he's right or left handed) and a bag on the other side. :)

from the videos i found, i couldn't tell if his coat had a slit in the back. i added that in anyways because, if he didn't have one, there would have to be a lot of extra, unneeded fabric that would get in the way in a fight (since we see the holograms with fabric still around his legs even in those wider stances)

on the topic of the coat and covering his legs in those wide stances, i think it's fair to assume that there's some sort of strap in his coat to keep it so close to his legs (like horse riding long coats). that's mainly because the material would be heavier (overcoat), and thus would definitely not rest like it does in the holograms. then again, maybe that's for modesty by the bungie devs....? i'm not really sure. it's confusing

i....think i referenced every iron banner set for warlocks. i'm not too sure, lol. there's a lot and i got lost while searching

all of the other iron banner sets always had the wolves with the tree, so it was interesting they gave him just the tree. but i might also have missed the wolves in game. who knows.

the collar and the chest piece of the robes. yeah. i had no idea what to make of it - i decided to go with the loincloth being part of the belt (like titan bonds). the collar (Even though i really, really like fur) i decided to make look like some kind of cowl…i have some regrets on that still

i mentioned it in my screenshot ramblings, but it looks like he isn't wearing a breastplate of any kind considering the fabric is so form-fitting. that was an interesting choice by bungie but, hey, i'm not one to judge lol. i kept the version i drew with the breastplate because i liked it

i did have versions of this where he had different colors (rust red instead of green/black overcoat/gold details), but the file got corrupted so i took it as a sign and didn't redraw those couple designs/recolors when i remade this. sorry

ideally, i also would have included more elements of kazakh + uzbek culture into his design since he's loosely mentioned to have lived in that general area (west of the aral seas). however, the iron lords seem to have a lot more western influence so....? kazakh and uzbek clothing also tend have a lot of details (intricate embroidery), and i'm not sure how practical that would be for an iron lord that's out in the field for a lot of the time (+ doesn't particularly care for expression)

i still feel like he should have some sort of chest design, since nearly all of the iron banner armor has that. however, it's super awkward with the design i decided to go with, considering the iron lords like circular designs and the frame the robes give is.....not a circle. awkward.

anyways, that's all i really have to say. if there's something i missed in any capacity (in lore/writing, in the game screenshots, etc), please tell me!! i'd love to hear other people's thoughts and ideas!

[goldenclover-16]

BHMassacre!AU

Happy to see so much positive feedback for my mini AU so here it is, this is long so buckle up. Also want to mention if anyone wants to make content on this AU feel free as long as it's credited, actually tag me I'd love to see what people make of this.

Anyway sone context so this makes sense.

When BH sucks things into himself he is able to feel it, inanimate and dead things feel so little that he usually doesn't notice, he's always unintentionally sucking up stones and stuff so he's just kinda learnt to block it out. But alive things feel good, he will notice and might have to take a moment to even himself out. Not to mention he has a constant feeling of hunger, it was dulled a lot when shrunk and he can keep a lid on it but it's always there.

Also some pre-BFDI lore cause I can. When BH first turned from a star to a Black Hole the sudden hunger absolutely consumed him and he sucked up his entire system in a frenzy. Starving and on a dopamine high he searched for more planets to try and satiate him. But space is big and eventually those feelings died down and he was horrified at what he did, he cared for his system so much and he killed it all. He made a promise to himself to never let himself cause such destruction again.

Okay final context paragraph but I wanted to establish how One's deals work in this AU. When she calls in a favour and its an action the contestant can perform it of their own volition. If they refuse then they will be forced, their body being puppeteered to carry it out. Whether they are conscious or not while in this state is up to One. But she can also just mindfuck with them, using the favour to change something about them whether that be to forget or insert memories that didn't happen or change something about their personality. She can only do one thing thought so if done carelessly they could tell that it was One's deal.

Okay now onto the actual AU.

It starts somewhere between TPOT16-17 where One makes a deal with BH to help him keep the crack stable. It's not gone but he doesn't need to put nearly as much effort into keeping it closed.

Then jump to somewhere in the future where One reveals herself. The contestants are trying to keep Two away from One since his long depression has left him a state where he is unable to fight. (I should mention that everyone has been let out of the elimination zone to help). Fanny, Ice Cube, Donut and Basketball are leading the fight and filling everyone in one what they know about One.

At some point in the conflict One is fighting Fanny, Tree, Marker, GB, TB, TV, Remote and Black Hole himself right outside the hotel. It's for the most part evenly matched with BH doing some heavy lifting. That is until One uses her telekinesis to throw everyone out of the clearing leaving only her and BH. Here is a basis of the conversation I have happening.

One - Oh that's it!

*Everyone gets thrown*

BH - Guys! Ugh, won't you ever give up? We wont let you hurt us or Two!

One - Oh I wont need to, you will. It'll make things easier for me anyway.

BH - What? I wouldn't hurt them!

One - Oh you will; and I mean all this death prevention stuff you've been doing, it' cute. But say, Black Hole. Don't you ever feel a little. . .Hungry?

BH - . . .what..?

One - Oh please no need to hide it, we both know how good it feels to suck things up, I've seen it. The little moments you take to pull yourself together after someone falls into you. The way you stare at the others sometimes.

BH - Shut up. . .

One - Cmon! Why deny yourself? Remember that dream you had, for the challenge? Remember how good it felt to give in and destroy everything?

BH - Shut up! I won't and you can't make me!

One - Can't I?

*One summons the signed contract next to her*

One - You really think I can't make you?

BH - You. . you wouldn't . .

One - *Giggles* Wouldn't I?

The contract glows as One activates it, there's a moment of dead silence and BH almost wonders if it didn't work before he feels it. The hunger that's always been simmering in the back of his mind is getting louder, more prominent in his thoughts. If he had a face there'd be a look of sheer horror as he realises what's happening and that fact he can do nothing to stop it. He knows he needs to get out, as far away from everyone as possible but while trying to get himself together enough to move Marker, concerned for his friend, walks to him.

He can't hear what Marker is saying the thoughts are too loud he's so hungry he needs to eat. And there's something he can eat right Infront of him. . . It's too much. Marker tries to reach out seeing BH not responding only to be suddenly dragged into him. And it's euphoric why did he ever try and prevent this, to deny himself such pleasant feelings for such silly reasons like feelings. But he's still hungry he needs more.

Everyone else gets the hint with Markers death and scatters with only Tree, Fanny and TB being the only ones to escape unharmed (or about as unharmed as you can get). From there Black Hole goes on a rampage, tearing apart the hotel and nearby building trying to find people. With no warnings most of the cast are killed in the initial bloodbath.

From here it would follow what's left of the cast trying to survive and keep Two safe until they are strong enough to take on One and return everything to normal.

The survivors I have are as follows.

Fanny, Tree - Tried to warn the group with Two about BH but were too late to arrive. Fled to the snowy mountain afterwards, the cold is inconvenient for both of them but it's safe for now. Trying to figure out a way to bring BH back to normal. Fanny is paranoid, her deal hasn't been called in.

TB, TV - GB's underground factory. TV was broken during the initial encounter and TB is trying to repair him. Under a lot of pressure, it wont be safe for long.

RF, Basketball - Ruins of the above ground factory. RF's speed allowed them to survive the massacre and they circled back to find others. Found the recovery centre and tried to use it, it's too broken to work.

TD - Initially tried to flee with Eraser, Pen and Liy but the rest were killed in the massacre. Merged with the lake and is hiding in the depths.

Dora, 8ball, FireyJR - Dora scooped them up and ran into the forest during the massacre. Trying to figure out what to do now.

Ice cube, Two, Grassy - Icy able to drag Two off in the chaos without being seen by One. Hiding in the atwosement park haunted house basement. Trying to comfort Grassy to the best of her ability. Trying to find a way to leave to find Fanny.

Four, X - N/A

Went missing during the massacre. Unlikely to be dead though due to their power.

Wow this was longer then I expected. Thank you so much for reading this word vomit I came up with at midnight and extremely tired. If people do enjoy this then I'll make a comic. Can't guarantee it will be good but a comic nonetheless.

[damnfandomproblems]

We have a lot of replies to the discussion around 9275 so I'm going to round up a few here.

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Anon (replying to this ask):

Not to mention people can have gender dysphoria, trauma related to pregnancy, etc, and even if they're just wired in a way that it grosses them out, it doesn't mean they're a bad person or doing anything bad by voicing it

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Anon (replying to same ask):

Next thing you know people will be shaming others for not liking children "because they were a child, once" or for not liking dicks or pussy and finding them to look strange "because they're just a body part" People need to get out of the house more, these aren't rare opinions lol

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Anon:

The reading comprehension on this blog's really gone downhill the last while, huh

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Anon:

Good grief. The last thing I expected when I saw this problem earlier, was for someone to rant about how women are fired from jobs due to pregnancy, cultural taboos about breastfeeding, and all sorts of systemic issues, and how OP somehow contributed to that by simply having a squick that probably had nothing to do with any of that. Pray tell how that makes sense. Whoever sent that in, you are not firing on all cylinders. Bot flies are natural too. They're also gross.

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Anon:

"They didn't say it WAS body horror, only that it's LIKE body horror" There is very little difference between saying something "is something" or "is like something." Just leave it at "It squicks me and makes me uncomfortable, please tag it" and move on. Asking for it to be tagged is perfectly reasonable. Finding it uncomfortable is perfectly reasonable. Comparing a natural process to body horror is not... especially the commenters going on about how just seeing pregnant people irl freaks them out. Those are people's bodies you are commenting on.

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Anon (replying to this ask):

If you think people being grossed out by pregnancy is the reason women have to fight to keep their jobs, please share what drugs you're on.

[moonsmultimusings]

Melodrama was more or less required of an actor. One could argue that there was no need to perform off-stage, but Zen would counter as quickly that doing something one loved as a career could easily lead to a bit of working off the clock. Acting weaved its way into his daily life as seamlessly as exercising, and he knew from experience that ladies tended to like a guy with a sense of humor.

The inverse could be said of Chaesun in turn. Surely any guy worth his salt would appreciate her willingness to joke around. She put on a show of her own, with her attempt at 'hard-to-get.' He thought Seven and Yoosung had once mentioned some Japanese word for girls who acted that way, but he had no recollection of it off the top of his head.

Even despite her efforts, the way her cheeks puffed out and her lower lip presented itself when she pouted was cute. Her efforts were far from convincing, but he didn't imagine she particularly needed director's notes at the moment. “It doesn't do any more for me than you do already,” was his answer, unabashed in its flirtatious tone. Some guys liked pursuing a girl who played hard to get, and while he could understand the appeal of a chase, he didn't imagine he could find himself falling into such a trap with no interest shown towards him. He wouldn't be hooked without it.

Her arm looped around his waist, and he settled his own over her shoulders protectively. There was no reason to believe anyone dangerous should be just outside, but considering their earlier experience, he couldn't fault her for exercising caution. He was happy to oblige as they stepped out into the night together.

Their trip to the store was about as long as his alone typically were. The difference was primarily in himself, as he didn't strike up conversations with anyone else, nor was he approached due to his looks. Alternatively, they did purchase more than he tended to himself, and outside of the area he typically shopped in, which meant a bit more searching. Thankfully, they weren't stopped by security at any point, even if he could feel the way store personnel kept an eye on him, apparently believing he was likely to steal something due to his attire. This didn't prevent them from making any of their purchases and obtaining some dinner that she could ideally stomach now that she had settled more.

As they made their way back, bags in hand, he couldn't help but wonder about whether this is what they would be like in the future. Maybe they wouldn't be returning here (even if it had a special place in his heart due mostly to nostalgia), but going out together for a late night, shopping and joking together, and then heading home for quality time… It sounded strikingly domestic, considering how little chance he'd believed someone like himself had at that sort of life when he was younger and trying to find ways to survive in the world on his own.

Yet as they breached the entryway, he couldn't help but heave a sigh. It contained both relief and a sort of bittersweet contentment. “Ah, we survived…” Though this would normally have been a joke, the odds weren't zero that they wouldn't have. He pulled his hood down and lowered his mask first. “Do I need to give you some acting lessons for next time?” he couldn't help but ask. While she had done well to play it off much of the time, he knew that her giggles with their whispered jokes and teases with one another may have drawn a bit more attention too.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Interestingly, she found his traditional sensibilities alluring. They weren’t restrictive or extremely overbearing. They might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but she appreciated them. She never had to worry about whether he respected her, and he would always listen to her before passing judgment. Being accustomed to her emotional needs being neglected and punished, being treated so delicately when feeling so exposed was a breath of fresh air. The choice not to be impetuous said more than words could. It backed what he said in the chat after they met for the first time, that he saw a future with her and wanted to make her his, but wanted to do it right. If that were true, she’d wait as long as it took for things to be done properly. No one claimed that it wouldn’t require self-discipline, however. The smallest things he would do or say were adorable, the most well-intended touch beckoned her nearer, but she’d persist for him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Drawn against his side, she snickered at his melodrama. Zen was still so unfair! “ I can’t be sexy ; I can’t be cute … Hm . Would you prefer I play hard-to-get ? ” Her lower lip had stuck out in another pout. Their playful games still carried that silent longing. A kiss? What a nice mental image; that made her pulse pick up. She’d store that one away. Hopefully it didn’t haunt her tonight while she lay alone, sleeping separately from him when he’s so close by. Chaesun cleared her throat and gave it her best shot. “ Don’t get any weird ideas . I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble , that’s all ! ” Having already made their interest painfully obvious, it was a little late to act coy convincingly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Another glance from the side. “ I sincerely hope this does nothing for you . ” Letting out a huff, she stuck up her nose, if only to keep herself from laughing. There was potential peril out there, but her new favorite person had a way of making everything okay again. The longer she spent with him, the more convinced she became that fate was on their side.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Now that he was all suited up, she wrapped her arm around his waist. This was even closer and more couple-y than holding hands. It was as if she couldn’t resist being close to him. This had to be another symptom of growing romantic attraction. A slice of it may have been added protection, but she was trying not to focus on the negatives right now. “ Let’s get going. If we wait any longer, my stomach might digest itself . ” She still didn’t have much of an appetite, but the physical sensation of hunger was present. Her stomach grumbled again, as if to add emphasis to her words.