Saerah Targaryen is my twin sister OC for Aemond Targaryen from House of the Dragon! Here is the ongoing master list of all my Saerah drabbles, headcanons and other stuff
Feel free to give me a prompt, headcanon or anything else you might like to see :D
Headcanons
Aemond taking his two sisters as his wives as Aegon did
How would Saerah have reacted to Aegon’s treatment of Dyana and his general unsavoury habits?
Is Saerah based on any actress or do you have a specific face model in mind?
How is Saerah’s relationship with the Hightower side of her family
Saerah scrapping with Baela at the final supper
Saerah in Highgarden headcanons
Saerah relationship with her nieces and nephews
Headcanons on Saerah and Helaena’s relationship
When Saerah and Aemond were born without a dragon and when Saerah and Vexxa claimed one another
Saerah's relationship with her uncle Daemon
If Aegon had married Saerah instead of Helaena (coming soon)
Drabbles/prompts
do you think saerah would ever intentionally make aemond jealous
The Lover of the Kinslayer
Saerah and Aemond have an affair and get pregnant
The Winds of Change and Dragons
A Kind of Justice
Saerah's very last words to her dying father
The Price for Punishment
Toast from the damned Daughter
Waking the Dragon I
Waking the Dragon II
"Shut up Aegon."
A Poisonous Tongue Spitting Poisonous Truth
If Saerah and Aemond had twins and Alicent's thoughts on the matter
Saerah making Aemond jealous
Threats Masked as Truce
Claiming a Monster
When Saerah found out about Aegon, Aemond and the brothel at 13
I Just Know
Do Not Go Where I Cannot Follow
Saerah x Aemond’s reunion after her exile
Saerah and Aegon II make peace with one another
Where You Go, I Go
The Queen Dowager's Daughter
Other
Targaryen-Hightower siblings being siblings AKA the one where they either hate or tolerate(ish) Aegon
Saerah's dragon
Saerah's certainty that Aemond it it for her
The name of Saerah’s dragon and her thoughts and feelings on Rhaenyra and the Blacks?
Would Aegon ever be dumb enough to try to make a move on Saerah?
Pairing: Titus Danforth x Reader (but this time, it's friends to lovers!)
Summary: One bullet. One gun. One man.
A friendly game of modified Russian Roulette. You ask a question. He either answers or chooses to let you shoot him. Risk death to keep silent. Rinse and repeat.
But what happens when Titus asks you something you're willing to die to hide?
Word Count: 8.3k
A/N: I don't know why I love just making Titus such a yearner but here we go again! This time, with guns!
I did my best to make this a gender neutral reader! So no mentions of gender at all! Reader is AFAB but I don't use any specific terms (like no body part mentions)!
You can check out the warnings for the fic on my AO3. Again, even though there's “gun play” (they just point loaded guns at each other, nothing sexual!), I would honestly say this is a pretty mushy fic all things considered. I've been craving writing a virgin!titus and his first time (because I can never resist writing porn!) so this is my take on that.
Hope it's a fun read ♡
You spin the barrel of the revolver, round and round, before clicking it into place. Titus watches you aim the gun to his head, his eyes locked right on yours like always.
Then, you fire.
Click.
“Fuck.” You sigh, handing him the gun. “I knew I should've brought my own gun.”
“You haven't hit a shot on me yet, even with your gun.” Titus smirks at you, getting to spin the barrel now.
“Neither have you.” Or else you'd be dead.
“Don't you think we should stop doing this?” He clicks the barrel back into place.
“What's the fun in that?” You gesture for him to go. “Hurry up.”
“How was that guy from the banquet?” He asks you nonchalantly.
Because he doesn't care that you went out with some investment banker that you were flirting with at the charity banquet hosted at his estate last week.
He definitely doesn't care.
You laugh, hiding your nerves. “Is that seriously your question?”
“Are you going to answer it?” Titus waits.
You press your lips together. You will not be answering that.
You can't answer it…
So, you point to the gun. “Shoot.”
“Are you fucking serious?” He scoffs, aiming the gun at you. “You know you can just tell me you fucked him.”
“I don't have to tell you shit. Now, shoot.” You stare right into his eyes as he pulls the trigger.
Click.
Your turn. You put your hand out. Titus gives you the gun. You spin the barrel then click it back into place.
“Are you going to make me go with you to that wedding next week?” You ask.
“Yes.” Titus answers easily, curious why you'd waste your turn on such a useless question. “Are you not going to come?”
You shrug, tone flat. “Maybe.”
“What the fuck?” You have never said no to a wedding before.
You love the hunt, maybe even more than Titus does.
What is going on with you?
You've been acting strange ever since you got back from that date. Titus doesn't like to think that maybe it's because you've fallen for that guy.
Is that why you don't want to be his plus one for a wedding?
Because you're taken now?
That pisses him off more than he will ever admit to you…
“I'm getting tired.” You stand up from your seat on the couch in his parlor, faking a yawn. “Play again in the morning?”
Titus clenches his jaw then says in the same tone you had earlier, flat. “Maybe.”
You nod then leave, going to the guest room you usually stay at when you sleep over at the Danforth's.
When you get into the room, you don't make it to the bed. You just slide down with your back against the door, curling into yourself, tears streaming down your face.
You wish Titus hadn't asked you about that scumbag. You were just starting to forget the way that guy slid his hands over your body and touched you without your permission.
Sadly, the sound of him begging for his life when you held his tied up body over the skyscraper you own still doesn't quell the violation you feel. It lingers in the worst kind of way.
You wipe your tears from your face, trying to put yourself back together. But you're unsure if you can.
That's why you don't know if you can go to the wedding with Titus.
Usually, for weddings, you and Titus share a room, sometimes even a bed. You can't have him catch you in the middle of a breakdown. You have barely slept since that day. He'll ask you why and you don't want to tell him it's because some asshole tried to touch you in the backseat of his limo on the way home from what was technically a business dinner.
Because you're afraid of how he'll react.
You're afraid that it'll show you something you've been too scared to face.
Because if he doesn't care, it'll break your heart. But if he does care, then…you don't know what you would do.
You and Titus are friends. You have been since you introduced him to your version of Russian Roulette at a party. He thought you were insane. You said you definitely are. He found that amusing, found you amusing.
Rarely does Titus keep company but you were his only exception. Because he actually liked spending time with you, teetering on the verge of death with every question left unanswered.
That's why the two of you have been friends for years. Just friends, of course.
Because the moment either of you nearly trip over the line, you both act like it never happened.
Like when Titus asked you to dance at a wedding once and you said yes for some reason and it happened to be a slow song and the two of you danced, his arms around your waist, your arms around his neck, bodies pressed up close, chests rising and falling.
It was the longest three minutes of your life, being that close to him, enjoying the closeness.
He never asked you to dance again after that. And you never asked why.
You don't want to. You'd rather not know.
It's the same reason why Titus hasn't said a word about the one time you wrapped your arms around him and laid on his chest when the two of you shared a bed.
It was after a rather grueling hunt. You were trembling the whole time.
He didn't say a word to you. He just laid there with you, holding you until you fell asleep. Then, when he woke up the next day, you were already up and out of bed.
You never asked him to hold you again. And he never asked why.
Because if Titus admits to himself how much he loved having you cradled in his arms and you reject him, he'd rather be dead.
That's why the two of you play your fun little gun game.
If there's a question neither of you want to answer, you'd rather die by his hand and him by yours.
But it bothers Titus that you won't tell him what happened between you and that motherfucker.
So, he makes a few calls. Finds the guy's name from the guest list.
And learns he's dead.
“Apparently, he committed suicide.” The police detective the Danforths have on payroll tells Titus when they meet up outside the estate. This conversation can't be had over the phone.
“Apparently?” Titus hates that they're beating around the bush.
“His body fell off a very tall building.” The detective states matter of fact. “But I'm not sure it was the same building where they found his body.”
“What?” What the fuck is going on?
“There wasn't enough blood at the scene. I've seen suicides like that before and there simply wasn't enough blood for it to have been where he fell.”
“You think he was moved?”
“It was for sure staged.” The detective taps their foot, a nervous tell.
Titus is good at reading people. Always has been. He can read everyone, except for you.
“What are you hiding?” He steps closer and the detective sighs.
“I'm sure you know who else has cops on their payroll.” That's all the detective says before they get back into their car and drive away.
There is only one other person wealthy enough in the local area that could afford it.
You.
Titus approaches you in the garden, where you're eating a pastry and having a morning cup of tea at one of the outdoor tables.
You look up at him, confused at why he's pointing his revolver at you right now. He opens the barrel, showing you the singular bullet that is always there inside, and then spins before clicking it back into place.
“Did you kill that investment banker?” Titus asks you.
You blink at him. Then, tears well up in your eyes that blur your vision.
“Just shoot me.” You aren't going to answer that.
“Answer the question.” He demands.
“Just shoot me, Titus!” You shout at him because you refuse to answer.
So, he pulls the trigger.
Click.
“What did he do to you?” Titus knows that guy had to have done something for you to stage his fake suicide.
“It's not your turn.” You put your hand out, gesturing for him to hand you the gun.
But he refuses.
“What the fuck did he do to you?” He can't stand that you're hiding this from him.
Because he knows something bad happened. And he hates that he doesn't know what.
He hates that you won't tell him.
Why won't you just tell him!
“I don't want to play anymore.” You get up, turning away from Titus, unable to stop the tears from dripping down your face as you walk away.
“Wait—” Titus goes to grab your arm but you sprint away from him. “Motherfucker!”
He sprints after you.
You can hear him chasing you.
Why is he chasing you?
You need him to leave you alone!
You can't let him see you like this…
Because you don't know how you'll live if he saw you crying and didn't care.
So, you keep running, your goal to get to the guest room. From there, you can grab your things and take the hidden corridor to the parking lot so you can drive away from here.
But Titus tackles you to the forest floor before you can. You flail against his hold, trying to shove him off of you but he grabs your wrists with one hand and pins them above your head before using his body weight to hold you down.
“Why are you running from me?” He asks you, staring down at the way your face is turned to the ground, not wanting to look him in the eye. “Why won't you answer me?”
“Let me go, Titus.” Your words are muffled into the dirt. “Please let me go.”
“No.” He won't because… “I'm never going to let you go.”
You turn to face him then, his words startling you. The tears streaming down your face startle him.
“Do you…” You start to ask the question but then you can't finish it.
You can't. You're too much of a coward to.
“Do I what?”
“Never mind.” You shake your head, blinking away your tears. “Can you please get off me?”
“Why did you run from me?”
“Just shoot me.” You aren't going to answer that.
“You would rather die than answer me?” Titus pulls his revolver out, pressing it against your forehead.
Then, he opens the barrel and you watch as he spins it slowly until the bullet is perfectly placed in the first chamber. He clicks it shut.
You look him in the eyes. He stares back at you.
Titus places his finger over the trigger before asking, “did that bastard touch you?”
You swallow back a sob. You're trembling underneath him. Like you were that night he held you.
“Just shoot me, Titus…” You can't say anything else.
You just close your eyes. Waiting to hear the bullet fire.
Letting the last word you speak be his name.
He pulls the trigger. The gunshot rings through the forest, scaring away all the wildlife, the birds retreating into the sky in droves.
Titus hates the peaceful look on your face. Hates the way it morphs into a pained expression when you realize you aren't dead.
“Why didn't you shoot me…” You open your eyes, watching with dilated pupils as he lets go of your wrists so he can pull out another bullet from his pocket. He loads into the first chamber before clicking the barrel back into place.
Then, Titus presses the gun to the side of his head, his finger steady on the trigger.
Because he's not going to answer that question.
He would rather die than admit that he can't live without you.
He gently caresses your face with his free hand, brushing his fingertips against your soft cheek, wiping away the tears that blur your vision.
He wishes he could kiss you before he dies. But he can't.
Because he would rather die than have you pull away from his kiss.
He would rather die than have you reject him in any way.
It would kill him if you did, so he might as well kill himself and save himself the pain.
So, Titus pulls the trigger.
At the same time you pull him towards you.
The gun fires behind his head, the sound making his ears ring from the proximity. But he doesn't even notice it.
Because you have your hand gripped around the collar of his shirt, your lips pressed against his, your bodies flush together.
Your heart is pounding in your chest. His is too, even louder than the ringing in his ears.
He tosses the gun aside and grabs a hold of your face, kissing you back. You lace your fingers into his soft hair, holding him close to you, not wanting him to pull away. He won't.
How can he when he finally knows what your lips taste like?
That sweet pastry. The bitter tea.
His tastes like the mint lip balm he always keeps in his pocket, the flavor intoxicating.
It feels strangely perfect for Titus. Strong, a bit harsh, overpowering but oddly sweet.
You like it a lot.
You like him a lot.
“Don't fucking run from me ever again.” He breathes all heavy against your lips. “Or I will shoot you next time.”
“No you won't.” Your voice is as breathy as his, giving him a devilish grin in response.
“Shut up.” He latches onto your lips again, silencing the laugh that threatens to escape from you.
Titus lifts you up off the ground before scooping you up into his arms. You cling onto him as he walks the two of you back to his estate.
Though, you expect him to walk you inside.
But he takes you to his car, setting you down so he can open the passenger side door.
“Get in.” He points to it and you listen.
“Where are we going?” You ask him when he starts the car.
“You'll have to shoot me.” He taps his glove compartment. “There's a gun in there. A handgun, though.”
“Titus, I don't think we need to do that anymore…”
“I'm not answering either way.” He keeps his eyes forward, focusing on the road.
You have no clue where he's taking you. He drives the two of you to the airport and takes you onto his private jet. You tell him yours is more economical since it's smaller but he knows you're only saying that so your pilot will tell you the destination.
You go to sit but Titus grabs you and pulls you onto his lap. He's not letting you sit anywhere but right there. He brushes some dirt off your back.
“You couldn't let me change before we left?” You shake your head at him.
“You won't need clothes soon.” The heat in his gaze takes you by surprise.
“Titus!” You were not expecting to sleep with him literally moments after kissing him for the first time. “At least buy me dinner first…”
“What the fuck do you think I'm doing right now? We will have dinner…” He grumbles into your shoulder. “You're lucky I'm not ripping your clothes off and taking you here.”
“You wouldn't.”
The look he gives you makes you doubt yourself. Because he definitely would.
“I didn't peg you as someone who couldn't keep it in his pants.” You laugh, snuggling up against him.
He holds you in his arms, thankful you're here with him and not six feet in the ground. Because you would've been if he actually shot you.
“Were you really going to let me kill you?” Titus has to ask.
And he doesn't like the way you nod.
“You still won't tell me what he did to you?”
“It doesn't matter. He's dead.”
It does matter. Titus knows it does because you're trembling. He doesn't like the feeling of you shaking from fear. He'd rather you be shaking from him touching you, making you fall apart in his grasp.
“No one will ever do anything to you again.” He swears to you. “I'll be the one who kills them if they try.”
You lean into Titus, closing your eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat. He must mean it because he's so calm. He has always been calm when it comes to murder.
“Will you tell me where you're taking me?” You can't believe he just took you on a plane and left.
“Will you just be patient?” He rolls his eyes at you.
“Fine. Then you can't kiss me until we land.” You turn your head away from him and he scoffs before grabbing a hold of your face, forcing you to look back at him. “Titus, that hurts!”
“No it doesn't.” He's barely gripping onto your face. He knows you're fucking around.
“I'm not kissing you until you tell me where we're going.”
Titus leans in and you place your hand over his mouth, which pulls a growl out of him. He bites your palm and you yelp!
“What the fuck!” You look at your hand, surprised you aren't bleeding. “Titus, you can't just—”
He grabs the back of your head and then crashes his lips against yours, kissing you with an overbearing kind of strength.
It's so sloppy, his kisses, his tongue dipping into your mouth.
You bite down on it and he yanks himself off of you. “You little—”
“We're even now.” You glare at him. “Now no kissing until you tell me where we're going. Or I'll bite somewhere else next time.”
He huffs with annoyance. “Fine. We're going to Vegas.”
“What?” That was definitely not the place you were expecting. “Why?”
“Because we're going to get married and then I'm going to fuck you.” He is very clear about this, not missing a beat with his words.
There's a lot of things you can say in reaction to his words but you're actually speechless.
He wants to…what?
You stammer out some words, “we can't get married in Vegas. We have to—”
“No, we don't.” Titus read the clauses. He was very thorough about his research with the Lawyer on whether or not marriages between Council families needed a ritual.
They don't.
Only outsiders need to play a game.
You are not an outsider. Neither is he.
Meaning Titus gets to choose not to have a stupid, flashy, excessive wedding.
He can just marry you in private.
Make you his in private.
Without the prying eyes of his family.
He explains this to you and you…can't believe this. “You actually want to get married?”
“Do you not?” You might as well shoot him now if you don't. He'd die if you said no.
“Couldn't you at least have taken me out on a few dates first?” You chuckle.
“We can date after we're married.”
You roll your eyes at him before folding your arms together. “I hope you don't expect me to wear this to get married.”
While you may be in designer clothes, it is loungewear and you were hoping to wear something much nicer for your wedding.
“We'll get you something nice to wear. You can buy the whole fucking store for all I care. Just marry me.” Titus holds you tighter, like you might run away if he doesn't. “Please.”
“Mmm, can you beg a little more?” You say with a smirk.
“I will get on my hands and knees as long as you say yes.” He won't embarrass himself for a no.
“Aren't you supposed to get on your knees regardless?” You flash your ring finger at him. “I want a nice ring.”
“You can have whatever the fuck you want. Will you please marry me?” He hates that you still haven't given him an answer.
And he hates it even more when you finally answer, “just shoot me.”
“I'm going to actually fucking shoot you.” He threatens through gritted teeth and you laugh so loud at his irritation.
“You can be so cute, Titus.” You lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek.
“You can be so fucking annoying.”
“Regretting it yet?” You snuggle against him more. “Are you sure you want to marry me?”
“Yes. Now, are you going to marry me or not?” He needs you to say yes.
Or he's going to fucking kill himself.
Thankfully he won't have to. The tension in his body eases the moment you say, “yes, I'll marry you, Titus. But you're signing a pre-nup.”
“Fuck you.” He growls. He is not doing that.
“You definitely aren't going to fuck me if you don't.” You're not going to sign away half of your fortune to him. You built it all on your own, with some guidance from Mister Le Bail.
You will be keeping your hard earned money!
“We're never getting divorced.” Titus is not going to let you leave him. You should be well aware of that.
Now that he has you, he will do whatever it takes to keep you.
“Then you should sign it.” You nuzzle his nose. “Come on. If you truly believe we'll never divorce, you'll sign it because it'll never get used.”
“I hope you know I'm going to edge you to death later.” He does cave, though. “But fine. I'll sign it. Happy?”
“No. What if I want to cum a lot? Especially on my husband's cock?” Your words make him twitch and harden underneath you. “Are you really going to deny me that?”
He groans. “You are such a little brat.”
“You love it.” You press a little kiss on his lips that he immediately deepens.
Titus might grow addicted to kissing you. He doesn't let your lips go until the two of you land in Vegas. You have to pry him off of you.
“Titus, my lips are going to be all swollen in our wedding photos if you don't stop.”
“We can retake them another day.” He tries to lean back in but you shove off of him.
“Someone is in quite the rush to become my husband.” You put your hand out for him to grab a hold of.
He takes it then drags you out of the plane, his hand refusing to leave yours. “That's because I've waited long enough.”
That gives you pause. “When did you talk the Lawyer?”
“You'll have to shoot me.” Titus is not going to reveal to you how early in your friendship he started falling for you.
Though, it isn't unbelievable that he would. He may have thought you were batshit crazy the first time the two of you met, but so is he. So he realized very soon after how much you both had in common. And then he started to regret that he pigeonholed himself into being just a friend to you.
Little does he know, you have wanted him for just as long. You don't know when it started but you know your heart always skipped a beat whenever he got too close to you. Whenever his hand would casually rest at the small of your back. Whenever he would get angry at someone for bumping into you. You liked him a lot, even his more violent tendencies.
He truly was your match, in every way.
It does also help that you both worship the devil. You're thankful you're marrying him and you won't have to explain that bit to some innocent outsider.
Titus's impatience grows as you both browse stores for what to wear for the wedding and rings. You look stunning in everything you try on so he doesn't understand why you can't just pick something so he can marry you already.
But you take your sweet time, wanting to make the right decision.
Though, from the desire in his eyes, you know whatever you decide to wear is not staying on your body for long.
It's well into the night by the time you and Titus have picked what to wear and you both agreed on the wedding bands. A simple black band with an accent that shines like gunmetal.
A bit too perfect for the two of you.
So, when the two of you check into one of the hotels the Danforths own on the strip and are in the penthouse suite, Titus gets on one knee and officially proposes to you.
“Will you marry me?” He opens the black box with the matching band you picked, which he is already wearing. “And please don't tell me to shoot you because I will shoot myself instead.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” You laugh at his intense glare. “I'm kidding! Of course I'll marry you, Titus.”
He slides the ring onto your finger then gets up from his kneel, grabbing your face to kiss you. You melt into it, thankful you both are finally in a bit of privacy.
You're certain the news sites will be hit with an onslaught of articles about you two getting married. You know plenty of people saw you both buying stuff.
“Where are we getting married?” You ask Titus. There's plenty of places still open.
“Right here.” Titus gestures for you to walk further into the suite.
You nearly shriek when you see the Lawyer appear out of nowhere. “Holy shit, you're like a shadow, sneaking up like that!”
“Sorry. Mr. Danforth wanted me to keep quiet until he was ready.” The Lawyer gestures for the two of you to come forward, so he can show you the bylaws that state that marriages between Council families are strongly encouraged and do not require a ritual sacrifice.
“I do have a prenup.”
“I saw. It has been notarized.” The Lawyer glances over at Titus, a bit surprised that he agreed to sign your very extensive prenuptial agreement. “You both should get dressed and then let's make this official!”
You throw on the outfit you picked, which is a gorgeous dark red, the color closer to black but with beautiful blood red details. It's exactly what you pictured you'd wear down the aisle if you had the choice to.
You were never a fan of white. Too clean. Too pristine. Not your style.
Since you don't need to host a classic wedding, you can wear whatever you'd like. You get to have a private ceremony with just Titus, the Lawyer and of course Mister Le Bail watching in spirit. You both are already wearing your rings so the ceremony itself is mostly a formality.
Mostly an excuse for Titus to kiss you to seal the marriage. You smile against his lips, kissing him back, and the Lawyer pronounces you two married.
“Mister Le Bail looks forward to the future with you two.” He says to you both before disappearing entirely.
Titus is quick to pick you up into his arms, carrying you straight to bed. You lightly smack him on the chest, “we still haven't eaten dinner yet!”
“I'm hungry for something else.” He drops you onto the plush sheets, pulling off his blood red tie.
“Titus!” You shout at him when he climbs on top of you.
“Say my name louder.” He says with a smirk, shrugging off his jacket and slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
“We are not fucking until I've eaten.” You haven't had anything since that small pastry this morning.
He groans. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes!” You shove him off of you.
“Fine. Order food and then let me eat you out until it shows up.” He gestures to the room service menu then laughs maniacally at your shocked expression. “What? I can't enjoy you while we wait?”
“Are you really that eager?” You can't believe how forward he's being.
“I've been waiting a long time to finally do this with someone. Can you blame me?” Titus has been waiting his whole life to touch his person. The person he'd spend the rest of his life with.
And that's you.
So yes, he wants to touch you as soon as possible.
“Wait.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean you've been waiting?”
His expression drops. “Fuck.”
“Titus…” You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you a virgin?”
There's a brief moment of pure silence, that stretches longer than Titus would've liked.
“There's a revolver in the nightstand.” He says, pointing at the drawer. “You can shoot me.”
Him saying that is enough of an answer.
In the few years you have known him, you never saw him take anyone home. He rarely flirted. He doesn't like to be touched. He doesn't even like touching other people, unless it's to kill. Or unless it's you.
Maybe that should've been your first clue that he liked you more than just as a friend…
“I'm not going to shoot my husband.” You shake your head at him then smile, trying to reassure him.
“So you…still want to be with me?” He was worried that if you found out, you wouldn't want to marry him.
“Of course. We definitely shouldn't rush this, though.” You tell him, giving him a gentle peck on the cheek. “I'd want it to be special for you if I'm your first ever.”
Titus doesn't know how to react to that. A part of him hoped that if he could just push forward, full speed ahead, he could maybe avoid this conversation. He was afraid you'd find his inexperience lacking. It's a part of why he wanted to make sure you married him.
He didn't want you to leave him over this.
But from the warm look in your eyes, Titus realizes he worried for nothing.
You are perfectly content with being his first. “Come here. Let's order some dinner and then cuddle and talk first, okay?”
You open your arms, inviting him to lay down beside you.
“I don't want to lay in these clothes.”
“We can lay naked.” You prompt and he looks nervous about that so you quickly add, "only if it's okay with you. No pressure.”
“I've never…done that before.” Technically he's never done anything. Not even kiss.
Though thankfully you didn't seem to realize that you kissing him while he had a loaded gun to the side of his head was his first kiss ever.
That was one hell of a first kiss.
“We don't have to be completely naked. Or well, you don't. I can be, if you'd like.” You offer.
He seems to like that. “Okay. Let's do that.”
Titus keeps on the undershirt he was wearing and his boxers. You strip off your wedding clothes completely, leaving yourself bare. His heart pounds so hard at the sight of your body, all the blood rushing downwards immediately.
“Spoon me while I look at the menu?” You invite him to lay behind you after you grab the menu.
He does so, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back against his chest. He reads the menu with you from over your shoulder. You bite back a chuckle at how nervous he is to touch you, his hands hovering over your skin.
“You can slide your hands wherever you want, Titus.” You don't mind it at all. He is your husband now, after all.
You want him to touch you.
He lets out several harsh breaths against the nape of your neck, his chest rising and falling so quickly against your back. “I don't want to do it wrong.”
“Aw, don't think like that. Just experiment. Explore my body. Have fun.” You want him to relax. You aren't going to judge him if he grabs a little too hard.
“Will you order first?” He wants your undivided attention.
You pick something and so does he before he calls it into the kitchen. He requests for them to not come into the room and to just leave it in the hallway and ring the room when it's there. He definitely doesn't want anyone coming in while the two of you are laying like this together under the covers.
“Can I face you?” You ask him and he nods against your shoulder.
You turn around and catch the way his eyes roam your body. You reach up to cup his face in your hands, feeling how warm his skin is. He's blushing.
You never thought you'd see Titus look so cute before.
“I want to kiss my husband. Is that okay?” You want to make sure he's comfortable.
Titus looks at you, at how kind your eyes are staring back at him. He knows then that he made the right choice. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.
“Please kiss me.” He says back, not hiding his desire. “I really want to kiss you too.”
You smile at that then lean up, kissing him. He kisses you back, slipping his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His hands start to roam the length of your back, loving how your skin feels against his palms. He slides them downwards, unable to stop himself from grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him, his cock grinding up against your lower stomach through his boxers.
“Woah, you're big.” You free yourself from his lips to look down at how thick his cock is. “You've really never fucked anyone?”
He shakes his head. “The idea of sex repulsed me, until I met you. You're the only one I've ever considered touching.”
“Only considered?” You tease, earning yourself a nasty glare.
“I want to fuck you.” Titus doesn't know what it's like to be buried inside of you but he definitely wants to know.
“Then I'll need some prep to take you.” You're certain he'll be the biggest you've ever taken.
“Are you afraid I won't fit?” Titus hadn't thought of that as a possibility. But now that he's looking at you, reality sinks in that he's much bigger than you…
“You'll fit. But I don't want it to be unpleasant. I'd want you not to worry about me during your first time.” You want him to have the freedom to pound into you at whatever pace he'd like. But if you're going to do that, you want it to be easy for him to slip in.
“Will you show me?” He's fighting through all the nervous signals in his body to be open with you. “I want to know how to make you cum.”
“That's sweet of you.” You press a little kiss to his forehead. “You don't have to, just so you know. For the first few times, let's just focus on you.”
Titus shakes his head. “If you don't cum, I don't want to cum.”
“I didn't realize how self-disciplined you were.” You nudge him playfully, your hand sliding down the length of his body. You feel him tightening up the lower you go. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah.” He says with a shaky swallow that you can visibly see.
“Hey, don't force yourself.” You take your hands off of him and he looks relieved. “We have plenty of time to get to know each other. There's no rush. You don't have to push yourself to do anything you aren't comfortable with.”
“I must be fucking exhausting to deal with.” Titus hates that he can't just have sex with you. He hates that being touched makes him so nervous.
“Not at all.” You actually find it very fun. “I like this a lot.”
“What?”
You chuckle. “You're so shy. It's endearing.”
He glares at you. “I am not shy.”
“Then what are you?”
“I don't know, fucking anxious?” He admits out loud. “I'm scared you're going to hate being touched by me and then hate touching me.”
You roll away from him for a second, which makes his heart drop in his chest. But then he sees you open the drawer, pulling out the revolver. You check the chamber, seeing the single bullet. So, you spin and then click it in place.
Then, you point the gun at him and ask, “do you want to have sex with me?”
“Of course.” That's an easy question.
“Okay. Your turn.” You hand him the gun. “Ask me anything you're nervous about.”
Titus pops the barrel out, spinning it before clicking it back in place and pointing it at you.
You stare at him with such loving eyes as he asks, “will you leave me if I'm bad at sex?”
“No.” You answer honestly. “I will never leave you, Titus.”
Weirdly enough, this is comforting to him. Because he knows you aren't lying. It's one of the rules. You either answer truthfully or you risk getting shot. So, Titus understands now that you're trying to give him the words of affirmation he has been craving.
He hands you back the gun. You spin the barrel, click it back in place, then aim.
“Is there anything you've been super excited to do?” You decide that's a fun question.
“Going down on you.” His answer shocks you.
“Seriously?” Your response makes his skin flush redder.
“It's not your turn anymore.” He gestures for the gun.
He points it back at you and asks, “what is something you'd really like in bed?”
You curve your lips into a big grin and then answer, “having my husband go down on me.”
Titus's cock twitches at that. He'd like to do that. He'd like that a lot…
“Do you want to keep asking questions or do you want to try?” You spread your legs open, inviting him to explore.
He bites his lip, staring right at you. “I'm afraid I'll fuck it up. I've only seen videos.”
“You've done research?”
“Just fucking shoot me.” He doesn't want to reveal how many videos he had to watch to try and understand how to do this properly.
You put the gun aside. “I won't shoot my husband. I will help him though.”
You show him every part of you, then you tell him what you like where and the pacing. You're very open about this with him because you feel comfortable with Titus and you want him to be comfortable too.
“You don't have to if you're worried.” You want him to be sure he's in a good headspace for this and not forcing himself.
“I want to.” He really wants to. He just has to get over the hurdle of being anxious about it. “You'll tell me if I'm doing it wrong?”
“I will guide you, don't worry. Just go slow.”
“Okay.” He nods then tries to get comfortable between your legs, hooking his arms under your thighs. “Is this okay?”
“I like it.” You touch his hands, holding onto them. “How about I squeeze your hands when I like something? Would that help?”
“That works.”
“Take your time.” You rub the back of his hands, trying to comfort him.
Titus never realized how daunting it could be to do something like this. Mainly because he wants you to feel good. He definitely doesn't want you to feel bad.
So, he leans in and drags his tongue up once, tasting you for the first time. His cock throbs so much in his boxers from how wet you are on his tongue.
That's all for him, right? Because of him?
“Do you usually get this wet?” He wants to know.
You shake your head. “Only when I'm really turned on.”
“And you are now?”
“A lot.” You find it very hot how much he wants to please you.
That gives him the courage to keep going. He does a few gentle swipes up and down before focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves he has read so much about. He tries a few motions, like swirling his tongue and flicking it back and forth, along with different speeds and rhythms. You squeeze his hands when he finds the right one that has you stiffening up against his tongue, making it easier for him to tease it.
The sounds you're making in response to him are almost enough for him to want to cum right here. That, and you saying, “Titus, right there, oh fuck—”
Your thighs shake in his hold when your first orgasm rolls over you. He moves off of you, letting you take a breather afterwards. He can't help the smile that forms on his face at the sight of you all dazed. He has to do that again.
“Can I keep going?” He checks in with you, to see if you're ready.
“Yeah.” You can't believe how hard you came.
Usually it isn't that easy but Titus was so focused on getting it right that the moment he did, his tongue moved perfectly, sending you straight into an orgasm.
And he does it exceptionally well again, only this time, he decides to also dip his tongue inside of you every now and then.
By the time your next orgasm rolls through you, you're already desperate for him to be inside of you. But it doesn't look like he wants to stop any time soon, his tongue still moving exactly the way you need him to over and over again.
“Put a finger inside of me.” You aren't normally this demanding but you have to feel full. You've been clenching around nothing. You need something inside of you for longer than his tongue just dipping in and out.
Titus finds where his tongue had slipped in and then pushes his finger into you from that spot. You arch your back, moaning when he curls his finger.
“One more, please.” You need to feel fuller.
The moment he has two fingers inside of you, you start to grind your hips against his hand, riding his fingers. He's never seen such an unbelievable sight before. Your chest is heaving, you're moaning his name, you're desperate to cum again.
“Put your mouth back on me.” You'll burst when he does.
“Say please again.” He liked that.
“Please, Titus.” You let out such a happy noise when you feel his tongue again. “Oh fuck, don't stop, please don't stop—”
You cum all over his face and his fingers, unable to hold back from how good it felt.
So, you get a little greedy, “keep going. Don't stop even if I'm squirming. Make me cry out your name.”
Titus nods and by his own judgment, he adds another finger, fitting three inside of you. The moan that leaves your lips in response is like heaven to him.
The way you grab his hair when his mouth is back on you sends such bliss through him. He loves how unapologetic you are, grinding yourself against his face, wanting more and more.
“Titus, I'm going to cum so hard, you're going to make me cum so hard—” Your words are so encouraging that when you do finally cum, he makes sure it doesn't stop. “Oh fuck, Titus, I can't stop cumming, it feels so good. Please don't stop, please.”
He really likes hearing you beg. He's learning a lot about his preferences right now.
Like how when you start trying to squeeze your thighs together, trying to get him to stop even though you just begged him not to, he thrusts his fingers into you deeper, making you cry out his name as he drills them into you over and over again.
Titus pulls his mouth off of you so he can watch you squirt on his fingers, moaning his name when you do. You're gasping for air as he slows his fingers to a stop before pulling them out completely.
“Can I fuck you now?” Titus has to be inside of you after how hard you just came. He needs that to happen on his cock.
“Please fuck me.” You want his cock buried deeper than his fingers were.
Titus sheds his shirt and boxers, letting you see his cock for the first time. He really is big. You haven't been this excited to have sex in a long time.
“Are you ready for your husband to fuck you?” Titus lines up his cock, waiting for you to nod. “I'll go slow.”
“You don't have to go slow.” You're very prepared to take him after all those orgasms. “Just do whatever feels good for you. I've cum plenty and I'm sure I'll cum more once you're inside of me.”
“I feel like I might cum too quickly.” He has done a bit of preparation on that front on his own, edging himself patiently to try to last longer but he's worried the moment he's buried inside of you, he won't be able to resist cumming.
“It's okay if you do.” You don't want him to have his mind clouded with unnecessary things right now. “Trust me, Titus. Whatever happens, I'm not going to leave you. I love you.”
You don't intend to say it but the words just come out. Titus stares down at you, shock coloring his features.
Then, he grabs the revolver, spinning the barrel then pointing it to your forehead. “Do you actually love me?”
You nod, blinking back happy tears. “I do. I love you a lot. I've loved you this whole time.”
And he has to do the same, his eyes watering uncontrollably. Because he never thought he'd hear you say those words.
Titus hands you the gun and tells you, “you can ask me.”
You set the gun aside, shaking your head, then say back, “I trust you love me too.”
“I fucking love you. I'm fucking crazy about you.” This has to be what love is because Titus has never been this obsessed with someone before in his entire life. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Then hurry up and fuck me already.” You spread yourself open for him.
He lines his cock up, checking with his finger where exactly he should go, then he presses into you, the tip of his cock sinking in easily. It takes every shred of willpower inside of him not to cum right away. You're perfect, wrapped so warm and so tightly around him.
How will he ever be able to live without this feeling? He will have to fuck you every day from now on.
You let out an airy sigh when Titus hilts, filling you up so completely. You press your fingers against your lower belly, kneading yourself right there, feeling him deep inside of you.
“Let me do that.” He moves your hand out of the way, massaging your belly like he has seen in videos online. He feels you tighten up when he gets it right. “Feel good?”
“So good.” You arch your back, grinding against his cock, your body starting to shake in response. “Oh fuck, Titus, that's incredible…”
He starts moving slowly, focusing on your reactions, trying to figure out what pace has you moaning under him. He is so grateful you aren't as shy as he is. You let him see how to make you unravel beneath him.
And it makes him go mad with lust.
“Am I a good fuck?” He asks you as he pounds you deep, drawing gasps from your lips.
“Fucking amazing.” You stroke his ego a bit and he smiles so beautifully.
“Do you want my cum?” He wants to hear you beg for it. “I'll give it to you if you ask nicely.”
“Please give me your cum, Titus.” You want to feel him fill you up. “I want to cum when you do, please.”
“I'd like that a lot. Let's cum together.” He can't hold back much longer.
Titus cums and as he's spilling his release inside of you, your body convulses under him, your orgasm shooting through you. He has never felt such bliss before. It must have to do with how lovely you look beneath him.
“We have to do that again.” He says when he lays down beside you.
You chuckle at his enthusiasm, turning to face him. “We will. We're married. We can do it everyday.”
“Would you like that?” The visible look of anxiety returns on Titus's face.
You reach over him, grabbing the revolver, putting it back in his hand. “Ask me again.”
There is a strange comfort in spinning the barrel and clicking it shut. It eases his wavering thoughts as he points the gun at you, his eyes locked on yours when he asks, “would you like it if we fucked everyday?”
“I'd like that very much.” You say with a big grin on your face. “Especially if you're going to be that eager.”
“Are you making fun of me?” He glares at you and you snatch the gun from him.
“It's not your turn!” You spin the barrel and click it in place. Then, you ask, “do you want to fuck again after dinner?”
“Yes.” Titus doesn't want to leave this suite until he knows your body like the back of his hand.
You hand him the gun but he just tosses it aside so he can grab you and kiss you. You chuckle against his lips, pulling him in closer to you, letting him overpower you with all of his warm affection.
The telephone rings in the bedroom, which probably means that dinner is ready, so you pull Titus off of you to say, “it's time to eat.”
“I want to eat something else first.” His words earn him a roll of your eyes.
“Food first, fucking after.” You nudge him to get off of you.
He grumbles. “Fine.”
You and him enjoy dinner together and for the first time in Titus's life, he feels a sense of peace. He doesn't feel any of that tension that usually plagues his body. He's completely relaxed.
And it's all thanks to you and your silly gun game.
A/N: Oh mushy Titus, how I love mushy Titus ♡ I hope I did a good job making this gender-neutral! It was quite the challenge and I'm unsure if I can muster the strength to do it again but I definitely will if I ever add to this!
Honestly this turned out way sweeter than I thought it was going to consider they were pointing guns at each other the entire time LOL but hey, that's the fun of writing, you never know where the pen is going to take you! See you all in the next one ~
#do you think most people are so domesticated they have yet to find their bowl of snow?#people who’s talents lie somewhere outside all this#such as digging really nice holes
“The medieval warrior, realizing the consequences of his impulsive act, immediately approached the owner of the drone and offered to pay for the damage.
The owner of the drone was so impressed by the brilliant attack that he suggested organizing a competition for bringing down “dragons” with short spears next year.
Drone owners have another year to develop a unique “dragon-like” design for their flying machines.” (x)
I am 100% cooler with this knowing that the spear-thrower realized “oops maybe I shouldn’t have done that” and tried to make it right, and that the guy who the drone belonged to was cool with it
part one - we go way back | a jack abbot 'return to me' au
pairing: 2000s!jack abbot x f!reader, based on the movie return to me
warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), talk of chronic illness, some general angst, talk of death and grief
word count: 3k
summary: your body heals, but you feel halted in time. jack is similarly stunted by his own grief. upon meeting you, he cannot help the feeling that he knows you, despite being unable to place it.
notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with any of my work or this fic. i hope you enjoy part one. <3 if you're interested in reading future parts, the masterlist for this fic can be found here. as always, please like, reblog, and leave feedback <3
many things go unconsidered when you’re chronically ill for the majority of your life. such as, you don’t necessarily have a robust skill set to go out and compete with transplants for new york city jobs. so, you work at lucky’s. your family had been the owners and operators of the irish-italian restaurant practically as long as new york city had existed. it felt like that to those who came, anyway. there were photos of your family strewn upon the entire restaurant. your mother, her beautiful smile. you as a toddler on her shoulders, having no idea what the future held in store for you.
it felt full circle, you waitressing here, the same way that your mom did. regulars often said that you were the spitting image of her, and it sent a dagger straight through you every time, regardless of how well intentioned the words were. to them, your mother was a fond memory, a tragic cautionary tale. to you, she was joy that was ripped away from you, a ghost that would always haunt you, your former sluggish heart a slick reminder of her with every struggling heartbeat.
“my love, i’m going to need you to pick up that four top,” your grandfather says. his name is john, and he loves you more than the moon or the stars or anything else. you think that if he had to watch his daughter go tragically, that he simply wouldn’t be able to make it if you went, too. that thought acted as a resolve to not give up without a valiant effort and a hardwon fight. “you got it?”
“yep– got it.” you take a stack of four menus and place them under your arm, adjusting your hair as you walk through the bustling restaurant. you like four tops– like double dates, like groups of friends, like complete little families. you like hearing them banter amongst themselves and like immersing yourself into their lives, if only for a single evening. “welcome in,” you say, timid, as you set the menus down, your eyes scanning across each of them.
you feel sorry for the man on the far left; he’s clearly not the most comfortable– his shoulders are slightly hunched, and there are two indents between his brows that lead you to wonder if he ever relaxes that area of his face. the image of your thumb sweeping across that spot flashes across your imagination like a watercolor painting, and you have to shake the image away. there’s this feeling deep in your chest, this knowing… like perhaps you’ve passed him on the street before, or maybe he was in a waiting room at the same time as you. you can’t place it, but there’s this feeling that you can’t shake.
the rest of the group doesn’t rouse fantasies from you. there’s another handsome man who’s fished out readers to assess the menu, and a woman far too pretty for him to his right. there’s the girlfriend of mr. furrowed brows– or, you presume it’s his girlfriend. she’s talking loudly about how long it had been since she’d gotten laid.
and then, him, again. nervously messing with a wedding ring– oh, married?-- and trying to look anywhere except at the woman he’s next to. okay, so not his girlfriend. or maybe she was. hey, who were you to judge? you’re a late-twenties virgin who’s barely been kissed. if you could be married and in a relationship, you might just consider it, if only to catch up with your peers.
“can i get you all anything else besides water?”
“oh, i’m going to need the strongest mocktail that you have,” says the not-laid woman, winking at you. you swallow. are you her new conquest? her rattling off is somehow charming, even if it is not your natural predisposition.
“i can make you a mean not-paloma?” you offer, to which she vigorously nods her head of bright red hair. the other two put in their less humorous drink orders, and it leaves the man on the far side, still working at his ring.
yet, you don’t know if he’s looked anywhere other than you since you approached. he certainly hasn’t looked at the drink menu, so when you raise your eyebrows at him, he swallows. “do you need a little more time?” you ask, gentle as a butterfly.
“do i know you?” he asks, leaning forward towards you, releasing his grip on his ring. he looks you up and down, this look exists on his face that you can’t quite place. “i swear… i swear i know you, but i can’t place it.”
your mouth opens and closes and you laugh, nodding your head. “i thought that same thing!”
it wasn’t typical of you to know men who you weren’t related to– or frank. but he was practically family, too. dating and love was a whole world that you’d barely dipped a toe into, and that mel’s friend, trinity, was all but begging you to dive into headfirst. there was a timidness that you felt– you felt so far behind in all of the ways that counted. what man was going to want to spend time bringing you up to speed on love and sex and the way of the modern world? you weren’t in the business of wanting to be taken advantage of, either. and you were bait for men who were not well adjusted.
“and… to drink?” you ask again, clutching at your server pad, knocking your pen against it.
“right.” he looks back down and back up. “um– surprise me.”
your hand rubs at your chest. above the spot where a scar travels down your sternum, covered in full by the turtleneck you wear. “you got it.”
–
jack stares down at his menu long after you’ve walked off. the woman beside him, cassie, nudges jack and says, “i think she has a crush on you.”
upon shaking her hand and hearing the name cassie rather than marsha, jack had looked at robby with confusion. under his breath, robby had said, "marsha cancelled, but cassie's great."
it wasn’t that there was anything wrong with cassie. there really, truly, wasn’t. she’s beautiful and she’s made jack laugh several times since he had taken his seat. but there was just something that wasn’t there, that can’t be forced or replicated. it would be a lot easier if he could just jump straight into bed with her after this dinner was all said and done. honestly, it would probably do him some good.
“you good, brother?” robby asks from across the table.
jack’s head jumps up and he nods, his head, even throws a wink in his direction to appease him. “i just need to run to the restroom.”
and he does exactly that. he stands up and lets out a deep exhale and weaves his way through the dinner room, which is incredibly narrow, by the way. as jack makes his way around a corner, so do you. and the not-paloma that you had suggested for cassie ends up all over the both of you.
“shit,” he hisses, immediately sinking down to wear glass has shattered. every head has turned to look at the two of you– and embarrassment is written all over you, and it makes jack feel like the worst person in the world. “i’m so fucking sorry. i wasn’t watching where i was going.”
“it’s alright,” you say, even though it’s clear by the look on your face that you’re flustered. jack is about to warn you not to touch any of the glass when you do anyway– you’re shaky, and you’re lacking a good grip, and it slices right into the palm of your hand. “fuck,” you hiss, bringing it in to your chest, cradling your hand.
this is where jack can be useful. there’s a problem that doesn’t involve him, or his emotions? he’s your guy. “hey, hey–” he reaches out and grasps your wrist. his touch is light on purpose. a heavy-handed doctor is not comforting in the slightest. “just… come here.”
he helps you up and ushers you away from the mess. blood runs down your wrist and the look on your face screams if i could just curl up and die, right now, i probably would.
“what did you do to my granddaughter, you bastard?!” jack assumes the man is your grandfather, considering he self-declared.
a groan falls from your lips and you tip your head back, looking at the ceiling. another man comes out of the kitchen with an equal amount of ire, and you hold your hands out to both of them. a rather dramatic scene, considering the blood. “i dropped the glass and cut my hand on it. i am fine. and no one did anything to me. can we all take a collective breath?”
your eyes dart from your grandfather, to the other man, and then to jack. you breathe in deep and release it, and so does jack. it does calm him, weirdly.
“i’m a doctor,” jack says, because it feels relevant. “i’ve got some stuff in my truck. just– wait here, and i’ll bring something back that can help. do you have a break room?”
“we have a kitchen with a table,” the cook says, looking at jack, still disgruntled with him. “hurry up, doc.”
jack doesn’t have to be told twice. he spins on his heel and looks at michael and heather and cassie, who are all staring at him with equal expressions of disbelief. “you wanna go?” robby mouths, and jack scoffs and shakes his head.
“what about my not-paloma?” jack hears cassie ask as he swings the door open.
–
you’re sat on the aforementioned table– a retired poker table from your uncle’s house that had become the pseudo break table– with a rag wrapped around your hand and your head knocked back against the wall. how is that people can move through the world and not feel any sort of embarrassment? all you ever seem to feel is embarrassed, or outside of yourself. and now is no different. it would figure that you meet a handsome man– he’s on a date. not only that, you spilled a tray full of drinks right onto him. and yourself, but you didn’t care about that. then, the cherry on top, in your valiant effort to try and minimize the mess, you go and wound yourself.
the man, the doctor, comes back in with what looks like a military-grade first aid kit. you smile and he approaches you carefully, both of you smelling like grapefruit. “i’m really sorry, again.”
“you don’t have to be sorry,” you say with a shake of your head. “i should’ve said corner. i’m still kind of getting the swing of things around here.”
“just start?” he asks. he perches on the edge of the table and lays his hand out gestures for yours. you place it delicately in his palm and he peels away the bloodied towel.
“sort of. six months ago. i haven’t waitressed before.”
he hums and examines your hand. “yeah, there’s some glass in here.” he looks up at you. “do you get woozy about these sorts of things?” he halts abruptly. “nothin’ wrong with that if you do– i just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
you smile and shake your head. “not at all.”
if only he knew, is what you joke internally. “alright. well, i’ll take good care of you.”
that same burning feeling engulfs you. you tuck your chin down towards your chest as you allow him to carefully pluck the pieces of glass from your hand, depositing them into a small glass that your uncle had supplied. he’s methodical– trustworthy. you can sense the competency that he possesses. if he wasn’t in his element before, he surely is now. “i didn’t get your name,” you say as you watch him work.
he looks up at you and smiles. “jack.”
“nice to meet you,” you say, wincing slightly as he takes alcohol from his kit and cleans the wound once he’s taken all the glass from it. he wraps it with a lightweight bandage. “looks like i’m good as new.”
“yeah. just be careful and it should heal just fine.” his lip quirks up to the side. “i really don’t know you?”
you press your lips together. “i can’t put my finger on it.”
“must’ve been my dreams, then.” jack smirks and stands up, offering his hand to help you. “you should take the night off. doctors orders.”
your eyes widen slightly. “it’s slammed in there.”
jack looks over at your uncle. “what was your name, sir?”
“luke.”
“luke, i’m going to need you to relieve your employee for the evening. doctors orders.”
“whatever she needs, she gets. she can have the year off.”
jack looks back at you, satisfied. you huff and don’t quite know what to do with your hands. do you thank him with a handshake? a hug? no, that’s too much, you think to yourself. “thank you.” you decide your words are a good place to begin.
“no need to thank me.” he pauses. looks like he’s thinking quite hard. “if i come back here, same time tomorrow, will you be here?”
you blink, eyes full of stars. “yes.”
“then i’ll be here.”
—
when jack comes out of the door to the kitchen, his table is looking at him expectantly. robby, half-frustrated and half-perplexed. heather, perhaps more self aware than robby, raising an eyebrow at jack. and cassie who looks like she could hardly care less about it all.
“all good?” robby asks as jack takes his seat and straightens up a bit.
“yeah. she cut up her hand, so i fixed her up. gonna come back for my kit tomorrow.”
“oh, you’re coming back?” cassie asks and she smirks, knowing, and jack feels a flush creep up his neck and to his face. “good on you. she’s cute.”
“it’s not—“ jack sighs, because it is exactly whatever cassie thinks it is.
“hey, no hard feelings.” cassie leans in and says, quietly, “i’m gay. robby’s head is up his own ass too far to realize.” she lifts up her mocktail and clinks it against jack’s glass, that landed on the table in the time he was in the back. “and i wanted the free dinner on someone else’s dime.”
with a loud laugh, jack nods his head. “you got it.”
you come out of the kitchen with a bandaged hand and a bag on your shoulder, trotting towards the back door. you catch jack’s eye and he raises his hand. you raise yours in a response and duck your head down, trying and failing to conceal a smile. you pass through the door, the sound of you going up the stairs to the apartment above ringing in jack’s ears the whole way.
—
“this one,” trinity says, pulling a lower-cut navy top out of your closet and putting it into your hand.
“i don’t–” you sigh. “i don’t want him to see my scar.”
trinity’s brows furrow. “didn’t you say that he’s a doctor? if he’s a doctor, then i highly doubt a scar is going to scare him off any.” she pauses, reconsidering. “and if it does, he’s a piece of shit anyway, and not worth your precious time.”
“yeah, but… if i wear that, then i have to explain, and i really, really don’t want to do that right off of the bat. it’s embarrassing.”
“you survived a heart transplant. that’s not embarrassing. that’s fucking badass.” she hangs the top back up. “but, i get it.”
“i just…” you trace the raised skin. “my whole life, all i’ve ever been allowed to be was the girl with the bad heart. and i just… i guess, i would just really like to be the girl who works at lucky’s. or the girl who smashed her hand in with glass. or literally anything else besides the girl with the bad heart. and now i have that opportunity, and i really just don’t want to mess it up.” you look desperately to mel. “do i make any sense?”
“of course,” she says. “of course you do.”
trinity sighs. “you do,” she affirms. she hands you a shirt with a high neckline. “so go be the girl who works at lucky’s, then.”
you swallow and resolve yourself. you throw your shirt over your head and slip the pretty green fabric over your head. the neckline touches your collarbones, covering any visibility of your scar, and you feel familiar comfort wash over you. this is safe. this makes you feel safe.
mel approaches you, and you wonder if your nervousness is permeating over to you, because she wrings her hands. “have a good time. be safe.” she puts her hands on your shoulders. “you’re going to be so, so great.”
“thanks, mel.” you wrap your arms around her and pull her in, and she tenses for a moment before she relaxes into your hold. it has been that way since you were both small.
when you pull back, all three of you look at each other and you suck in a breath. “okay!” you look at your watch. it’s almost seven o’ clock, the time that jack was there just the night prior. you sling your small bag over your shoulder and you approach the stairs, taking in a deep breath.
it’s just a date, you tell yourself. that’s what frank would say if he were here– which he might as well be, considering mel is going to give him all of the details anyway– but frank has been dating for much longer than you have. this isn’t just a date for you. it’s your first real date, not one that was forced upon you by trinity or whoever else in the past year that was trying to make your brittle baby bird wings spread and soar. this was the first date where you wanted it.
jack is there and he’s sat around a small table with your grandfather and your uncle and your uncle’s friend, jimmy. you lean against the doorway and watch them for a moment, biting down on your lip to contain the smile from spreading.
“she’s a gentle girl,” you hear your uncle say, pointing at him. “now you’re not gonna fuck with that, alright? she’s a good girl. and it’s going to stay that way.”
“yes, sir.” jack says with a nod of his head. he looks up and his eye catches yours and he smiles, and so do you. “i’m a gentleman.”
An idea, a feeling became clear to me. The hunter did not hate the wolf. The wolf did not hate the sheep. But violence felt inevitable between them. Perhaps, i thought, this was the way of the world. It would hunt you and kill you just for being who you are.
The first time my man and I shared a bed, I apparently got up, walked around to his side of the bed and yelled at his face to go to sleep, then promptly tucked myself back in my side of the bed.
Since then, it’s a struggle to ask my boyfriend if I’d said something mean to him while asleep.
