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They/Them 34 Minors DNI 🔞 REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

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Updated 7-4-2026

[deathreverse]

hello!! i absolutely adore your writing, its amazing! apt. 17 was just so gorgeous. i was wondering if you would ever write about a plus size reader x jack abbot. maybe something about him doubling down on how much he likes them and their body or shutting down negative (self) talk abt their body?

─── SOFT AROUND THE EDGES

SUMMARY: Jack notices you drifting off in your head before you can stop it and is quick to remind you that he adores every soft and plump inch of you.

WARNINGS: mentions of weight, reader being a bit insecure about it and over analysing, fluff, reassurance and sexual comments

AUTHORS NOTE: thank you for sending in the request my love!! i am not plus size, so please forgive me if this is not what you were looking for but i did try to portray reader as best as i could!

PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Plus Size!Reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Jack Abbot is an observant man.

Perhaps it stems from all the years he served in the Middle East, perhaps it's become habit from his position in PTMC; always looking for micro-changes and silent symptoms.

But when it comes to you—his sweet, soft, lovely fiancé—that attentive gaze intensifies tenfold.

He knows exactly when you’re ringing to drift too far into your head, when you start to silently fold into yourself in fear of taking up too much space. It makes his stomach curdle every single time.

“Hey,” he hums, reaching a hand beneath the table to loop his pinkie finger around yours.

You turn to him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and despite the way it cracks at Jack’s heart, you still look so devastatingly beautiful.

“Come to the bar for a drink with me?”

You don’t even consider it, just thankful for the excuse to sneak away from the stuffy table. It’s not that your cousins wedding isn’t beautiful, it’s not that you’re not happy for her and the beautiful life she’s built with her husband.

It’s just that your family are known to be a bit too performative. Everything has to be perfect, picturesque. And though nobody has outright made any comments, and no lingering or distasteful eyes have been pointed your way, you still can’t help but feel uncomfortable and out of place.

Your dress feels too tight now, but it felt just perfect before you left. And your ankles feel like they’re about to roll with every step you take, but you’ve always felt so confident wearing heels.

Jack’s hand is in yours the moment you’re out of your seat, firm grip on you as his thumb strokes soothingly over yours. You know he can tell there’s something wrong.

The rooftop patio for your cousins reception is decadent. Beautiful warm tones and fairy lights strung across exposed faux beams. There are flowers everywhere of deep oranges and dark greens.

You can’t help but mentally question why she’s gone for an autumnal theme in the summer.

When you reach the bar, you press your front against it with arms bent at the elbows as they lean atop the counter. You feel the heat of Jack’s chest against your back, toned arms reaching around your sides so his palms can rest against the bar top and cage you in.

The position makes you momentarily forget about your insecurities as goosebumps pebble at your flushed skin. The stubble of his facial hair scratches deliciously at the crook of your neck when he dips down to line his lips to your ear.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look in that dress?” Jack’s voice is laced with honey as he whispers to you.

“A few times,” you admit breathlessly.

More than a few times. He’d told you a handful when you were getting ready, and then at least three more times when you were in the car.

Jack hums. “Apparently not enough, if you’re getting in your head right now.”

You swallow down a lump in your throat. It’s not embarrassment you feel, but maybe a bit of shame. Over the years you’ve worked so hard on learning to love yourself, of growing confident and comfortable in your skin. And Jack has always been so vocal about how much he loves your body.

But tonight, you just can’t seem to shake this insecure and inadequate feeling that’s brewing beneath your skin.

“I’m okay,” you say back quietly.

Jack tuts into your neck, lets his hands leave the bar in search of your round hips, palms settling and grip tightening in a way that feels grounding, reassuring.

“Stop it. You’re so beautiful that I don’t know what to do with myself.”

A disbelieving laugh falls from your lips at that, the warmth of his breath against your neck enough to make your mind feel a little fuzzy.

“You know why I love these hips so much?”

Your lashes flutter and you have to remind yourself that you’re in public…at your cousins fucking wedding, no less!

Jack doesn’t wait for a reply. “Because then I have something sturdy to hold onto when I’m fucking all those horrible thoughts out of you.”

The vulgar of his words has you spinning in his hold with a stern expression, and he can’t help but grin at the sight of it. You point a finger in his face, though your once disapproving expression morphs into something playful.

“Stop it, not here.” You warn but there’s no bite to your tone.

Jack’s grin grows lopsided. “Stop what? Admiring my sexy fiancé and her curves?”

When you roll your eyes, he pinches your hip. “I’m serious, baby. You are gorgeous. I have never once cared about your weight. Never. You are sexy and you are healthy. And you are happy.”

He emphasis his last word with a raised brow, like he’s trying to remind you that you are in fact happy in your appearance, in the woman that you are.

And he’s right. You know he’s right. Jack worships you, would kiss the ground beneath your feet just because you were the one that stepped on it. You know he’s never once been disgusted by you, by your size or the rolls of your body.

“I like that you’re soft around the edges. I’d never want you any other way. You understand me?” He’s using that authoritative tone that he only ever uses in the bedroom. The one where you’re being a bit bratty and need putting in your place.

You stare at him, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth and the nod of your head is barely noticeable, but Jack clocks it nonetheless.

He nods, seemingly satisfied for now and his hands slowly snake up to feel the dip in your waist where he squeezes. His eye twitches slightly when he feels the band of fabric beneath your dress.

“And you can take that fucking shape wear off the second we’re back at the hotel. I want those beautiful thighs wrapped tight around my head the moment I get you alone.”

[polytrixaf]

dont forget that YOU 🫵 are the backbone of this fandom. oh but im not a- DONT CARE. write a bad fic, draw that silly art, make that tumblr post with your headcannon. oh but i have nothing to share- DONT CARE. kudos that fic, write a nice comment, gush in the tags of a reblog.

YOU 🫵 ARE CREATING A FANDOM SPACE BY EXISTING AROUND AND ENCOURAGING CONTENT CREATION

what YOU 🫵 say has impact. make it a good one.

[bluetimeombre]

softer, harder, in-between

synopsis you and Jack have always been two peas in a pod, working the ER together, on the field together, no wonder you started to search for those dark eyes and damning smirk. and you thought for a second, just for a second, he might be searching for you too, until you hear the man you're crushing on airing out everything he hates about you

warningstypical medical drama stuff, in-accurate medical terms. miscommunication. angst. insecure reader. language, jack says things he doesn't mean about reader. angry love confession in the rain. this is not proof-read

authornotei really really really loved this idea and tried so hard to do it justice, I hope you like anon. I tried to stay close to the SWAT idea but I'll be honest I know nothing about American army stuff (i'm british) so I sort of set it as much in the Pitt as I could. I also couldn't find ANYTHING for Jack's military background so I made up some SWAT guys

pitt masterlist. another Jack fic!

Just when you thought the rest of your day was going to be boring, Jack Abbot and his crew of SWAT pushed through the ambulance bay doors, yelling off stats, applying pressure where needed and clearing the way around them.

Which was a welcome change from trying to sell Robby your hypothetical first born child in exchange for a lunch break.

“Intubated neck wound, stats are going down. Got a room?” said Jack.

You were at the gurney in an instance, Robby joining the herd in the pushing of the bed. It took you less than a second to see through the bag in the neck and the blood and the uniform to recognise the one on the gurney. “Hiro? What happened?”

“Warehouse robbery gone wrong,” said Jack with almost absent of mind. He said the words and promptly seemed to realise who he was talking to and looked up- at you- again. “You're working today?”

“Oh no, I just hang around in hopes of seeing you in unfiorm.”

Next to you, Robby chuckled and beyond Jack you gave quick greeting to your laughing buddies, clad in SWAT uniform.

You were what could be called, a floater.

By all educational means you were a doctor and a damn good one too. You had every certificate you needed and all the flying colours you could get. You just didn't have a permanent job. You were a sub. You worked mainly at PTMC and on the field but had been known to go to the dark side, a.k.a, Presby.

“Okay, on my count,” you begin. “One, two, three-”

You helped lift him over to the bed.

“Did you intubate him?” you asked,

“Yeah, under active fire,” said Jack.

You looked at Jack. Sweat on his forehead, flecks of grey hair sticking to him and the shirt under his army vest hung lose. He was dishevelled in away romance characters presented on books covers. To lure you in. “You were shot?”

“Shot at.”

“You need to be looked at?”

“No. I'm fine.” His lips were pursed, focus on Hiro.

“Did you see the chords when you intubated?” asked Robby, floating around the two of you as Jack refused to leave Hiro's side and you stayed by Abbot. He'd seen it a dozen times before. A disaster where there was one, there was the other.

There was the occasions he'd hand over to Jack, go home, sleep and come back to find Jack had called in you. You who was always ready to go at the first buzz of your pager. Wherever it was, whatever you had to do. And Robby would look through the patients that night, check the board and understand they hadn't really needed your help all that much.

Jack had.

Now, Robby saw the way you looked at Jack and had seen the gap that existed between the two of you.

“Yeah, I did but it was hard to miss when I cleared them.”

Jack reached and you watched as he stretched, wincing at the pull in his shoulder.

“You should get that looked at,” you told him.

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.”

There was a small roll of the eyes as Jack's gaze rose to meet yours through his goggles. There was almost a tiny hint of a smirk- your favourite kind but it disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“Yeah, c'mon Abbot!” said Charlie, calling from the back of his room where he stood with Diaz, two of the SWAT officers you were most frequent with. “Let doc work you up.”

You chuckled low to yourself, trying to catch Jack's eyes to share the joke but he looked away, his jaw clenching.

So, he wasn't in the joking mood.

“Alright, fellas, out!” leaving the wounded's side you ushered them out in spite of their protests and their giddy, hopeful optimism that Officer Hiro would pull through. “We'll let you know any changes, out!”

You pulled on a gown and cleared a way over.

“Demanding,” said Robby.

“You should hear me in the bedroom,” you teased with a wink.

Over on the other side you caught a small click from Jack's tongue. A disapproval voiced loud enough for others to hear.

You grasped the ultrasound wand from the nurse, circling it around the wound at Hiro's neck while Jack pulled away the gauze he'd packed, carefully minding you. “Good lung sliding, no pneumo-”

The last gauze peeled away in a bloody mess and a rope of blood shot out directly at you for vengeance.

“Geez- woah!”

“Pumper!” you announced, clamping your hand over the wound.

The streak of red cut through the skin on your neck, your gown and the doctors coat you liked to wear just like they did in tv shows. You had a draw full of them at home for instances like that.

“Hey, hey,” Jack was at your side quick as you loomed over the body. “Move back, get yourself cleaned up.”

“I can handle a little blood, Abbot.”

“I know that but-”

“- this is a transected trachea now-”

There was little else time to worry about blood on your gown and coat when the intubation was pulled out, the hole in his throat open.

There was a lot people said about you, with words and looks alike but none of which passed you or bothered you. You knew some thought you abrash and loud, you were, you knew it true. On the field the teams you worked with always thought you as one of them, 'one of the guys' but damn it- you were a good doctor.

You ordered everything correctly, you took them and worked them without so much as a blink and Robby stood behind you approving of everything you did.

It was one of the reasons he always called you in.

“Well done, good breaths sounds, stats are up: in the nineties,” approved Robby.

Jack hummed, pulling off his gloves as you all backed away. “Not bad.”

Your carried your smirk with you and over to him. “Is that the great Jack Abbot stamp of approval?”

“You know I think you're good at you're job,” he said, plainly.

You did know that. You knew that Jack admired your skills. He was one of the only ones who'd seen your skills on the field when sometimes all you had left in your kit was the dregs from other procedures or in the hospital when everything was pristine. He'd worked closest to you, probably out of everyone in either one of your jobs.

But there was always something about Jack that kept him far away. He was always a man that was so calm, which in the the face of conflict wasn't a bad call. Yet, it was the quiet moments in between- the way his footfall would slow to match yours, or the glances he'd steal at you half way across the ward, or the extra snacks he'd pack that had you searching rooms for him, checking shifts to see if you'd be around him.

Then when you were, Jack pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, acted like he wanted to be anywhere else sometimes than at your side.

He was a complicated man. Annoyingly that's what added to your attraction- and everyone knew it.

Once the two of you told Officer Charlie and Diaz that Hiro was stable enough to be taken to surgery you followed after Jack.

“You sure you don't want me to look at that shoulder for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, it's fine,” he excused.

“Don't want the paperwork?”

“Something like that,” said Jack, still shifting around in pain as he tried to roll his shoulder out.

“Okay, okay, but get it looked at!” you called off, ready to shed your coat or at least try and rub off some of Hiro's blood.

There was a mutter from Jack before he went another way.

You looked back to him once, watching as he walked off with a small limp that probably wasn't detectable to anyone that didn't analyse him like you did. It was a brutal sort of thing, SWAT, and with Abbot's sleep schedule you knew it was only worse. Eight- maybe ten hour shifts for so little sleep to get thrown back into the fire- literally. You wondered how he did it.

And, why.

Jack flexed out his shoulder at the press of the q-tip to his back.

He meant it, the wound really wasn't that bad. It had grazed through his clothes and vest but still hit just enough to leave an angry welt and bruising. He was content to hide away and sort it himself if it weren't for the fact he couldn't reach.

Then Samira Mohan walked by and offered her help. He was already tired, annoyed that those punks had thought it a good idea to rob a warehouse in the middle of the day, already worried about Hiro and his recovery. Then- there was you, with your snarky comments while saving his life, not batting a lash at the blood that got splattered on you in the mean time and still having time to flirt with Robby.

And prancing around in this scrub pants that were surely just a bit too tight.

Jack was wound up, which was why he admitted surrender and allowed Mohan to clean out his wound.

“Why do you do this?” she'd asked.

Jack had folded his arms over his chest, suddenly very aware he was shirtless in front of her. “My therapist says I need a hobby. I suck at golf.”

She hummed. “Funny.”

“Thank you.”

He made conversation to be polite, asking about the fellowships he knew others were already applying for. Crus had been telling him about them and he knew Mohan was searching to.

They were chatting was all when Robby walked by, looking in to check.

He frowned when he saw Mohan and Abbot, pausing in his fly by with a hand in the door way.

Jack watched as Robby looked around again at the ward, undoubtedly searching for you.

“We're almost finished up here,” said Mohan.

Robby held up his hands. “I didn't say anything,” he said, leaning in the doorway. He passed Jack a nod. “You good?”

“Getting there, thanks to Doctor Mohan's capable hands.” Jack kept his eyes averted from Robby as if he'd done something wrong. He hadn't. He'd told you the wound didn't need looking at because he was going to handle it.

Robby looked at him the sort of way he looked at patients when he knew they were lying about their scale of pain. “Can you give us a second?”

Just as Jack was about to push himself up Samira moved behind him.

“Er, yeah, sure. No problem,” she said, pulling off her gloves and listing off post-care instructions from instinct. “Keep it clean and the dressing fresh.”

“Can do, Doctor Mohan. Thank you.”

Robby stepped out of the way for Mohan before walking in, staring at Jack with his hands in his pockets.

Jack found his shirt discarded on the floor and pulled it over him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Clearly,” said Jack.

“Are you avoiding her, now?”

Jack didn't need to ask who he was talking about and Robby didn't need to specify. “Course not.”

“Did she do something?”

“No.”

“So what was all that? Back in trauma?” asked Robby. His eyes were beady, waiting to pick up on any shift in Jack or anything that might betray him. But Robby wore his heart on his sleeve. He might think he doesn't or thinks he's good at hiding such emotions away but Jack and everyone else sees them anyhow.

Jack had his heart buried deep down. “I dunno, man,” he huffed, ignoring the burning sensation as he pulled his shirt back over him. “Maybe I just didn't feel like joking around when my buddy was bleeding out on the table.”

Robby shook his head, eyes creasing. “People bleed out all the time.”

Jacks lips pursed as he worked on tucking his shirt back into his pants. Anything to keep him occupied and averted from Robby’s knowing gaze.

“I haven’t seen you this worked up since you first met her,” he teased.

“Now I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abbot grumbled.

Robby chuckled low in his throat, leaning back on the wall comfortable like he was watching his favourite show. “When two consenting adults like each other very much-”

“I don’t,” said Jack, abrupt. “I don’t… like her.”

“Jack, c’mon-”

Jack turned to Robby. He considered his confusion. Sure, you were a great doctor and even better on the field. Something about the chaos seemed to focus you, bringing out your best self. You were funny, even at the worse times.

“She’s not it for me,” he said, trying to mean those words.

Your smile first thing in the morning didn’t warm him. The fact you knew his coffee order after only two days of working together didn’t make him feel special. You were incredibly intelligent. Beautiful.

Jack twisted and turned around his wedding band.

Robby watched, heaving a sigh. “Brother…”

Jack couldn’t keep you in his heart when his dead wife still held a place there. It wasn’t fair to you.

“She’s not it, Robby.”

“And why not?” He asked, pushing and prodding against his bag of lies like he knew he was carrying it.

“She’s different- we’re two different. You know with my- with my wife we worked. She wasn’t a doctor, she didn’t throw her life away on field missions. She wasn’t… she wasn’t ruthless, she was soft. Perfect for me.”

He pressed down against the metal band branding him.

“You’re not gonna give yourself a chance to be happy because she’s not like your wife?” Asked Robby.

Jack glanced back at him. “I know what works for me. I can’t be with someone as loud or… bash. She’s-she’s brutal, you know.”

Robby nodded but there was a furrow between his brows. “We all have our own ways of dealing with things.”

“Her way is drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there’s no healthy habits there,” argued Jack. Why he was arguing about you with Robby he didn’t know. Why he was defending himself with words that fell like led on his tongue he had no idea.

“Okay,” said Robby in a way that marked defeat.

But Jack didn’t believe what he was saying. He heard himself and frowned. “And I don’t even think she’s a person who could settle down. Hmm, I mean look at her job? She’s constantly in between them.”

“She’s a sub, that’s what she does-”

“- scared of commitment,” corrected Jack.

Robby scoffed out a laugh of disbelief. “Okay, you’re in a mood or something.” He pushed himself from the wall.

“No, I’m not,” he argued a little too quick and a little too harsh to be okay with what he was saying. “She’s a good person she’s just not my person. You know she-she doesn’t even like flowers, who doesn’t like flowers?”

“She’s more than a good person, Jack,” said Robby with an air of defeat about him. With one last look back to Jack he left, closing the door gently behind him.

In the seconds the door was open Jack sort a peek out. You were at the nurses desk, leaning over a tablet, the blue glow illuminating you. There was a troubled look to your face, scrunching your brows and marring your usual unflappable gaze. Jack almost wanted to see the chart himself and ask what was bothering you, but he knew you never told him, only ever let it be yourself that saw your problems.

Another thing he couldn’t stand. You’d never ask for help.

Even if, Jack couldn’t admit it out loud, he’d help without an invitation too.

You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised, yet doctors ran on hope. Without hope trauma rooms became morgues and body’s became empty vessels. You’d built hope into your system, kept somewhere between your heart and stomach.

That’s why you felt it plummet.

She’s not it for me.

There was no intention to listen in on a conversation that clearly you weren’t supposed to know about. You'd just been passing by when you heard your name from Jacks mouth. That was enough to stop you in place. If your feet weren't frozen you would have moved, made yourself busy or call up to surgery to check on Hiro.

But as Jack went on your heart plummeted.

She's brutal.

It wasn't until you heard Robby defend you that you moved away, hiding with your back to the exam room and hunching over a tablet that held no chart.

You'd always assumed Jack was just harder to crack then some of the other SWAT guys. You could read most of them within days, know their moods from a glance. You'd never been able to read Jack and maybe it was because he didn't want to be known by you.

You thought seeing Hiro with a hole in his neck would be the worst thing of the day but you caught your reflection in the black screen of the tablet and resented the way things blurred around you.

She's not it for me.

“Hey-” Robby was behind you and you tucked your head into your chest. His hand squeezed your shoulder. “Central twelve when you have a chance.”

“You got it, boss.” Luckily your voice remained steady despite the waver in your throat.

Robby gave a nod and left you to it.

Had Jack had hatred for you since you knew him and just never said a word? Did you do something for him to harbour these feelings?

Besides from not being his wife.

The door closed again and on instinct you looked over your shoulder, catching Jack adjusting his belt. He looked up and found your gaze, offering you a pulled smile.

It was like every other smile he'd ever given you.

You'd been so blind with affection to not see it. What a fool.

You couldn't even pull your lips back up, you just walked away.

Weeks went by in flashes of sleepless nights and lonely days.

The sick and injured didn't wait for you to get over yourself, instead they helped.

You offered yourself like a lamb to the slaughter in Presby and even Westbridge. You pulled doubles, catching small naps in any empty exam room or on-call room you could find. You started to learn staff names when you'd never cared before.

A group of nurses at Westbridge even invited you out for drinks.

“Drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there's no healthy habits there” you remembered Jack's voice and declined their invitation.

When SWAT called you had an excuse. A plumber was coming around... you were re-modelling; suddenly your apartment was going through half a dozen makeovers and all your childhood friends were visiting.

“You know you're not a very good liar,” Diaz had said when he called you for a drink and you declined. That day you were taking your mom's dog to the vet (your mom was a cat person and in another state)

Your apartment became a cave and you became a shell of yourself, un-ironically listening to the high school musical soundtrack and crying.

And still you couldn't find it in yourself to be angry at Jack. Of course he wouldn't want you- he had a wife. And a memory of that wife to keep him walm. What could he do with you? If you weren't his type, you weren't his type. If it was just that maybe you could have moved on.

But he didn't like you as a person and that stung more.

You didn't know how long it had been since you were last at PTMC, only long enough that you started to scramble corridors in your mind and forget what some of the nurses sounded like.

“We have a mass casualty event,” said Robby on the phone one Sunday morning. His voice sounded different, but you supposed time played tricks on your memory. “School bus incident. You in?”

You were in pyjamas at home, some crappy tv on low. “I'll have to check, Presby might need me.”

Robby scoffed down the line. “Have they called yet?”

“Well, no-”

“Then get your ass over here.”

“Robby-”

“Please, please get your ass over here,” he said down the line, sighing heavily. “I.... I could really use another set of hands.”

Robby didn't say please. Ever. So how could you say no.

Within the hour you were dressed an,d thrown into the anarchy.

You got through the ambulance doors, was thrown a gown and got to work. You didn't even see Robby to let him know you were there, you just found Langdon and worked beside him.

“I need some help over here!” yelled out a paramedic.

At once you and Langdon were at her side, pushing along the gurney.

“Kid, fracted tib-fib, pupils mid range and sluggish- couldn't get a line we had to intubate.”

“Dana what's open?” called out Langdon.

“Room in trauma one!”

Mass casualty meant trauma rooms doubled up, pushed up against either wall. Mass casualty meant extra hands called in- like you. Still, when you pushed through the door and found Jack's eyes look up you spared half a second in apprehension.

“You're here,” was all he said.

You didn't know what to say. There was some snarky comment on the tip of your tongue as you settled the boy in the corner but you remembered you weren't supposed to be that person.

Jack didn't like that person.

“Yeah, in the flesh,” replied Frank instead.

“Chest trauma on the right!” you assessed. “We need an X-ray in here.”

“X-ray's backed up,” Jack called from where he hovered over another patient.

“Then get me an ultrasound!” you called out. “Push five migs of epi down the tube and hang a unit of O-neg on the rapid infuser.”

“BP'S eighty over fifty, pulse is at one-twelve!” called out Princess.

You felt someone bump in your shoulder and knew by inhale it was Jack. He was close at your side, pulling off and on another pair of gloves.

“What have you got?” he asked.

It wasn't instinct to move away from him. It was practised control that had you swapping sides with Frank, practically pushing him into Jack.

“Chest trauma to the right, he's tacky,” he explained quickly.

You pulled out your stethoscope, listening closely. “His breathing's stridor, I need a thoracotomy tray!”

“A thoracotomy?” asked Jack, voice oddly quiet in the trauma as if it was whispered just next to you. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I'm a good doctor, if I'm nothing else,” you bit out, swinging your stethoscope back around your neck. You weren't going to allow yourself to fall back into old habits, of questioning what Jack didn't like so much about you. You focused on the un-conscious boy under the mercy of your hands. You ordered the right tools, made the cut neat and precise, pushing more pain relief.

“Any tamponade?” asked Jack.

You checked the boys blood pressure. “No, pericardium's dry.”

“Okay, start an-”

“- start an internal massage-”

You and Jack said at the same time.

Frank seemed stuck in headlights before he reached through the incision in the boys chest and slowly started to work the heart.

“Pulse?”

“Barely.”

Jack frowned, looking over at your work. “Cross clamp the aorta, and push another mig of antropine.”

“I need suction!”

“Got anything for surgery?” asked a new voice, Doctor Walsh checking between the patients in the room.

“Oh no, we've brought the OR down to us,” said Jack.

Doctor Walsh rounded, catching the suction and the message of the heart. “Are you doing a thoracotomy right now?”

“Don't look at me,” said Jack, surrendering.

Before anyone could argue with you, question your capability you snapped out. “I know what I'm doing!”

Jack was silent, Frank smirked and Walsh rose a brow.

“Clamped,” said Princess.

“Someone push in another of antropine and get another unit of blood in,” you ordered.

There was a sudden buzzing as all eyes averted to the monitor.

“He's going into V-fib!”

You wiped your bloody and gloved hands down your gown. “Okay, I need internal panels!”

They were handed to you and Jack rushed to your side.

“You want me to-” he started but you already had the panels in hand and were ordering their charge.

“Charge to thirty! Clear!”

Like you were cupping the heart with your own hands you nudged the panels on either side and shocked. There were little miracles sometimes in the ED and with a bus full of school children you needed miracles.

“There! He's stable!” said Princess.

“We've got a girl coming in, needs stabalising and an ortho consult!” said Lena, throwing the door open. It seemed everyone had been called in.

“I'll take this guy, don't want you getting all the credit,” smirked Walsh as she and the team wheeled out the boy. She looked back at you, almost waiting for you to say more- some funny joke or flirtatious tease.

You only waved past her to get the young girl into the room.

Everyone in the room looked at you as you honed in on the next casualty, ignoring the pang in your heart at Jack's gaze.

When the girl for ortho came in you could only work on stabilising her before Park the Shark descended and took her up, assuring the bag was on ice. He gave you a less ten friendly look. Seemingly Jack wasn't the only one who couldn't stand you.

The hours ticked by in bodies of different kids, in shades of blood and traumas. By the time you got outside for some fresh air it was night and one lonely ambulance sat with you.

You were catching your breath when you heard the doors slide open and shut again. You imagined it was someone else wanting some peace and air, or a paramedic heading back out on the road.

“You were impressive in there,” said Jack, coming to stand next to you. There was a large enough gap that another body could have fit there.

“Thank you.”

He gave one short nod. “Robby call you in?”

“Yeah.”

“Same here,” he said, not that you'd asked. “You know, Hiro's doing well.”

You paled in the night. Lost in your own self-loathing you hadn't even asked about Hiro, or gone to see him. You'd heard he was okay when he dropped a message from the ICU but that was as far as it got. “Oh yeah, I know, I heard.”

“What, from the guys?”

You nodded, lips pursing as you crossed your arms over your chest in the light chill.

“You know they told me you haven't been around much,” said Abbot. “I've noticed it too. We all went to Larry's the other night, your invitation get lost?”

Was it a test? Was it a joke to him?

“No, I just didn't want to drink. Trying to cut down, it's not so healthy,” you said, kicking one foot in front of the other.

“One or two's not bad,” he said. “Couple of us are gonna grab a beer once this is all over. You joining us? Usual spot.”

She's brutal, you know.

You looked to him first. He was already looking at you, eyes creased like he was trying to see through you. It was real and earnest and making his words from weeks ago hurt even more.

“No thanks, Jack.” You almost reached to his shoulder but thought better of it.

Heading back in seemed the safer option.

Jack turned when you did. “Noody's seen you for weeks-”

“- I've been busy-”

“- except those nurses in Presby, they see you all the time apparently-”

“- they've been busy, they've called me in-”

“- I called you three times last week, you didn't answer-”

“- I didn't think you'd want me.” It was about the only honest thing you'd said in weeks. Your trainers squeaked on the ground just before the hospital, the automatic doors ready to welcome you back.

Jack was at your side, close enough you could see the lines of confusion in his face. “Why would you think that?”

You tried to think of a quick excuse but every word died prematurely in your throat. You chocked on them.

“Hey-hey-” Jacks hand fell to your back, soothing it in calming rubs.

You allowed yourself to bask in one circular motion of his hand and your back before you stepped away, backing up from the doors that slid shut again on instant.

“What’s going on?” Asked Jack, following in your steps.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Jack made a disgruntled noise. “C’mon, talk to me.”

He let you think about what to say, stewing in silence where your mind became alive with everything he’d said, with every terrible thing you’d already thought about yourself. You imagined every time you’d cracked a joke that was maybe too perverse. You tried to picture Jacks face but came out blank. Was it loathing? Contempt?

Your voice betrayed you with a shake as you spoke again. “I do like flowers.”

“Huh?”

You wiped at your eyes and turned to him. “I like flowers,” you said, stronger. “Nobody’s ever brought me flowers but I- I like them.”

For anyone else it would’ve took time to click. They’d have stood there, looking at you like you’d gone mad, spewing out words that out of context meant nothing.

But Jack was not just any other clueless guy. He was the guy who always packed left overs and left them in the fridge, he always cooked enough to make sure he’d have left overs. He was the sort that always checked in on pedes patients and made sure they had enough colourful bandages for them.

Jack knew what you were saying immediately. His jaw tensed. “I- I shouldn't have said that.”

“You said a lot of things,” you said, holding yourself tighter. “Sounded like you meant them.”

He gulped. “I didn't mean-”

“-what, for me to hear it?”

“No, I didn't mean for what I said to come out as- as bad,” he said.

“Well it didn't come out as shining praise either.” You turned from him, looking out to the building and lights. Somewhere n the distance a siren wailed.

“Robby- Robby was saying things, teasing, I just waned to shut him up.”

You chuckled with loathing. “No you didn't. It's okay, Jack, you don't have to like me, I just wish you didn't make it seem like you did.”

“Hey!” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He was without a scrub top and his t-shirt clad to his biceps, his muscles flexing as his jaw worked. “I do like you.”

You rolled your eyes. “No you don't.”

“I do-I do-” Jack grabbed the top of your arms, stopping you from walking away. His grip was tight, not enough to bruise but enough to beg you not to leave. “I do like you.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does, it does.” Jack crouched enough in his knees to get a look at your face that you kept trying to turn away from him.

“You know the worst thing is? It's that I know,” you uttered, voice quiet. You didn't trust yourself to shout- even if you really wanted to- in fear your voice cracked, humiliatingly.

Jack's eyes softened, his thumb drawing up and down in comfort. “Know what?”

“I know that I can be a lot. I go out with the guys, I drink, I make jokes when things get bad because what else am I supposed to do? Cry? Let the grief of the job swallow me up?”

“No. No, of course not,” he said, lips pulled down.

You hated that you still wanted to make him smile. “I could keep a job if I wanted to but I like meeting the people-”

“- I know, I know you do-”

“- and now I'm here defending myself to a guy who probably doesn't even want to hear it!” Trying to turn in Jack's hold was feeble, his grip was strong and he moved with you.

“You don't have to defend yourself, you have nothing to defend!”

“You know what the worst part is?”

Jack shook his head, waiting.

“It's the guy you liked and admired the most seeing everything you hate about yourself and hating you for it too.”

Jack flinched as of you'd slapped him. The chill in the air grew colder around you and all the light from the dim glow of the lamps shrunk away, leaving you and Jack in a self-made darkness. You felt his grip weaken and savoured the feel of him a moment longer.

It was only when you couldn't stomach it anymore that you retreated back into work.

Jack had fucked up.

There was no easy way of putting it. There was no clinical way of looking at it, no diagnosis to give other than he had fucked up.

He'd never heard himself speak and hated the sound of his own voice. Never caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with tired eyes and a pale expression and loath to see the sight. When he looked at himself, all he saw was your own face heart-broken. When he heard himself talking he remembered everything he'd said.

He could have blamed it on the pain in his shoulder, the worry over Hiro, the lack of sleep he'd been struggling with for days but he had a therapist for all that. You didn't deserve that burden.

He was un-focused the following week in work. Patient satisfaction was at an all time low with him. He'd opened up to his SWAT buddies over a self-pitying pint and had been shunned.

“What's your problem?” Charlie had said, two beers deep and a haze over his eyes. “She's a fucking saint. She'd lay down her life for any one of us- what the fuck man?”

“She won't return my calls,” Jack told them. “Can you just... just call her?”

They'd refused, with good reason.

He'd tried texting his apology. He'd tried calling you in but he found from a contact at Westbridge you'd been covering nights while their attending was on holiday.

It was a brash decision to call in to PTMC and tell them he'd be late, he was running an errand. Nobody questioned him.

Westbridge was darker than the hospital he was used t, built up on top of each other but they were no less busy than himself. Patients were lined up in corridors and there was hardly a seat left in chairs when he walked through.

“Can I help you?” asked the nurse at reception, eyeing Jack and the bouquet of flowers he held.

He said he was looking for you.

“She's in a trauma right now, can I take a message?”

“Can you tell her Ja-Jack's here.” For a moment he debated lying, saying it was Robby wanting to see you, or maybe you didn't want to see Robby either. Deceit wasn't going to be his friend.

Jack waited and tried not to look around, tried not to let himself get caught in the heavy bustle of another hospital as he waited for you. He ignored the coughing from the waiting room that definitely sounded like it would require a chest CT.

There was a crash of doors and he caught sight of you rushing out, protective goggles over your eyes and bloodied gown clad to you.

“Jack, what is it? Are you okay?” your eyes were frantic, searching him.

Ah. Of course you'd think something had happened. When you hear someone's in the hospital it's very rarely to just say hi. “I realise I should've specified,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his brow. “I just- I wanted to see you. And give you these.”

Sensing this was a conversation she definitely wanted to be around for yet probably wouldn't be allowed to, the nurse at reception left the two of you to it and Jack sat the flowers down on the counter in-between you.

You eyed the shades of red roses, of yellow tulips, the violet of the iris and the pink of the peony.

“I didn't know what you liked so, I kind of got one of everything,” he said, sighing to himself. He should have got two of every flower the florist had on hand. “I didn't get Lilies, the lady at the shop said it's a show of death and sunflowers aren't in season, apparently.”

“They're very nice, thank you,” you said.

“They come with an I'm sorry:” said Jack. “I'm sorry.”

You wet your lips and pursed them, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Jack looked down to his boots. “It's not, I know it's not, nothing I said is okay and I didn't mean it.”

You didn't say anything at that, only taking in a quivering breath.

He ignored the irritation in his prosthetic as he crouched to catch your gaze. Jack wasn't used to having to search for your gaze, usually he always found it already on him. He only realised how much he valued finding you in the middle of the storm when you wouldn't look at him.

“I didn't mean it,” he enunciated every word, begging you to hear them.

Your gaze studied around Westbridge, hoping for a distraction.

“I messed up, it's on me. It's not you.”

“The classic it's not you, it's me?” you dismissed.

Jack winced. It was cliché, damn him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He watched as your fingers brushed over a flower petal, picking it off like plucking a string on a guitar. He felt his heart pound in his chest.

“Can I get back to work now?” you asked, gently.

What was he thinking? Turning up to where you were tying to do some good. Where you were doing good- it was what you did. Did he expect the flowers to fix everything? No. Only he could. But he'd grovel, he'd beg, he'd crawl after you for the rest of his miserable life and do it all while building you a rose garden.

He'd do all of that for one minute of your eyes on his.

“Just promise you'll come back. To the Pitt. Whole place is going to crap without you.” He tried to joke but it was a pathetic thing.

“Okay. Yeah.” Your shoulders lifted in in-difference.

“And don't ignore the guys. They're going out for drinks tomorrow night. I won't be there. They all pretty much think I'm a dick anyway.”

There was a glimpse of a smile.

Jack played on. “I'm a total, total dick, a jerk!”

An elderly lady being escorted by with a nurse and an IV trailing her paused and glanced his way.

“Sorry,” he uttered.

You hid your chuckled behind your mouth but he caught a second of it.

It was enough for now.

Your name was called down the corridor.

“He's in V-tach!” a nurse announced before disappearing again.

“Go,” said Jack, taking himself out of the equation. “Just, please. Don't be a stranger.”

Jack wasn't lying when he said the place was going to crap without you. How they managed on shifts without your charm to work fretting family and friends down, or your terrible singing in between exams he didn't know.

Walking through the ambulance doors for his shift there was already paramedics pushing an empty and slightly blood stained gurney back into their rig. There was a crowd of elderly patients in beds and gowns left at the side and phones were ringing, drilling into his eardrums.

“Where the hell is she?” barked Robby, spotting Jack and no you.

Jack dumped his bag at the counter. “What happened here?”

“Nursing home caught fire, now where is she? We're swamped her, I thought you were going to get her and bring her back?”

Jack grumbled, frowning at the counter. “She's busy at West.”

“West? God-” Robby groaned, looking around the place and cursing. “Listen, I don't care what you have to do to make it up to her, buy her a florist, give her a ring, get down on your knees, I don't fucking care- I need her here.”

“You think I don't?” Jack snapped.

Robby eyed him, hand clenched on the counter. “Tell her the truth-”

“-Robby-”

“-no, you tell her you didn't mean a damn thing you said. That you were scared loving someone that isn't your wife.”

Glass. Jack was made of glass. If Robby could see through him so clearly why couldn't you? Why couldn't you see the truth? That Jack liked you, liked you more than he'd liked anyone. That loving you meant leaving the life he lived with his wife behind, yet carrying a part of her with him always. He didn't want to do that to you. He didn't want to make you live with a ghost or carry his grief. There were days where it was too hard for him to handle.

Robby sighed. “You think she'd want you to be happy?”

A muscle in Jack's neck tensed as he went to nod but was held back by himself.

“Talk to her,” said Robby clamping him on the shoulder quickly before disappearing.

Hiding away wasn't going to solve anything. That's what Robby said to you in a desperate plea to get you back to helping him out with shifts.

Truth was you weren't hiding away... as much.

Drinks with the guys had been hours of them telling you Jack was wrong, after Jack had exposed himself to them, laying the situation on the table. As promised, he wasn't there but every conversation revolved around him so much so it felt like he was at your side. You defended Jack when they argued against him. You told them you knew you were loud at times, maybe you shouldn't joke around as much as you did.

They'd laughed, thinking it was a joke itself.

They told you not to change.

It was hard not to. Every time you heard yourself get loud or get a look from people at the other table your instinct was to shrink. When Diaz tripped on the curb out the bar you laughed instead of helping him and was left with your own guilt when you got home.

Un-learning habits was hard. Learning to live with them was harder.

You started with baby steps. A day shift here, a day shift there, by hand-offs you were always gone. Yet, in the staff lounge there sat a fresh bouquet of flowers every morning. As soon as they started to wilt another fresh bunch was placed over night.

Nothing was said. Nothing ever had to be.

“Shen's out, food poisoning,” said Robby over the phone another day. “You know I wouldn't ask if there was no otherway.”

Which was how you ended up working a night shift. The first in months.

Jack's eyes lit up as you walked in, it was impossible not to notice. The only eyes to rival his sparkle was Lena's when she saw you.

It was the sort of night that held your attention. That roped you in and demanded you listened. Not overly busy but not quiet enough to cause you and Jack to be held captive in the same room. Only seconds passed in hallways when he looked like he was going to say something before being called away, taunt in the neck and gripping his stethoscope for the life of him.

“Am I going to need surgery?” asked the young boy in five who you were examining. A nasty accident in his dad's garage ended up with a laceration to the foot.

“Not surgery but a couple stitches to bring the skin back together, and you're gonna have to stay off your feet for a while,” you said.

The boys eyes grew wide in joy. “So, no school?”

You chuckled as his mom pinched his shoulder playfully. “Well, I can't be the deciding factor on that, I'm afraid.”

You put in the orders for stitches.

“Is it gonna hurt?” asked the boy, shrinking back in his bed.

“We're gonna numb you up so you don't feel anything,” you assured. “Tell you what, I have a secret stash of candy that I only share with my favourite patients, how's that sound, you want something?”

The boy tried not to be too eager in his nodding but it took less than two second for him to grin.

You didn't expect anyone in the lounge when you went in search for candy usually lying around.

Jack was hunched over the table, pulling out the dying flowers and arranging fresh ones. He stopped when you walked in, the door closing gently behind you. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I was just... maintenance,” he mumbled.

You nodded along, a thick awkwardness engulfing the two of you. “Maintenance... yeah... sure...”

You moved around him, keeping a good distance around the space of him like he was a poisonous snake. The cabinet was high up, the tin an old sewing one where you hid your most precious protein bars and sugar packed candy.

“Here, I can-”

His body was sturdy against the back of you as he reached up for the tin. Few select people were allowed to know about its contents and Jack was on of the first ones you trusted. He raised his arm and you watched the freckles along his arm move and ripple. Upon inhale you took a deep breath of lingering cologne, mixed with the hearty sterile hand wash of the ED.

Jack's own head tilted down and your heard him inhale, deeply.

The tin fell into your hand.

Jack stared down. “Oh- er, there.”

“Thanks.”

It was about all the conversation you got with Jack your shift was over. The morning was just breaking through the clouds at six, bringing with it a down pour. You'd already punched out, handed off your patients to McKay and was left standing under the small awning of the ambulance bay, trying to out wait the rain.

It took ten minutes for Jack to follow you out.

“You heading out?” he asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yeah. I'm just waiting for my uber.”

Jack frowned. “What happened to your car?”

“It's in the garage.”

“Well... I can give you a lift,” he suggested.

The rain hammered down harder above you, steady streams falling from the awning to at your feet. As discreet as possible you checked the location on you uber. Just around the corner. In the rain it had taken longer.

“No, it's okay, you don't have to.”

“I'd like to,” said Jack, stepping closer. “I'd like a chance to talk to you. To tell you everything that I meant by my words.”

You'd almost hoped you could carry on as you were: extremely avoidant.

“You don't have to, Jack.”

“I do- I do!” he insisted, hands out in front of him as if desperate to grasp you. He held himself back. “Please let me.”

Stomaching more of his words, whether it be excuses as to what he meant to say or just doubling down and insisting what he said was true. You didn't think you were strong enough for either.

Your phone buzzed in hand as a slick back black car pulled up, window rolling down and calling your name.

“No, wait-wait!” said Jack, holding a hand up to you with all the authority of an attending still on duty.

“Jack, what are you-” You were struck in place, watching him lean through the window, rain dampening his shirt as he un-folded a few bills and handed them to the driver.

“We don't need you know, sorry man,” Jack mumbled.

Your jaw hung open as you stepped out into the rain, bottom of your scrub pants dampening at once. “What?”

The driver tutted. “I still want me five star review!” He drove off quickly, splashing the two of you as he went.

“Oh- serious?” Jack gritted. “Now I wish I hadn't given him such a tip.”

The puddles of rain were seeping into your trainers as you walked off, out of the way of ambulances and cars, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“Wait! Wait!” Jack called after you, boots slapping in the water. He all but jumped in front of you, stumbling lightly at the shift in his bad leg. “Wait.”

“I don't know what else you want to say to me, Jack?”

“Nothing I say can excuse what I said-”

“-so why try?”

“Because it's killing me being like this!” he snapped. The rain was pouring down, falling down his cheeks and nose. “It's killing me to look for your smile and not see it. It's killing me to hear a joke and you not laugh. Everything I said, it-it re-plays in my head and I'm sorry.”

“I know you are, Jack, I just need time!”

“I'll give you time,” he said. “I'll give you anything you need. But just let me say one thing. You owe me nothing, I'm begging you.”

To prove a point Jack crouched, starting to get down on his knees, hands already clenched together. To spare you the embarrassment and him the ache in his leg you tugged him back up.

He stared at you, breathless. He was as drenched as you, the both of your scrubs stuck to you.

“I haven't loved anyone since my wife,” said Jack. “I haven't tried, I didn't want to try. I was... not happy, but content to just carry on with her here-” he curled a fist at his chest. “And then you... and I couldn't not feel anything for you. I tried- I really tried.”

“Okay. You tried. I get it,” you mumbled.

“But I started to love you and I hated myself for it. It felt like I was betraying her by wanting someone else. By wanting you. And I did- I do want you. Every terrible joke you made, Jesus, I couldn't laugh in front of patients and their families. When you go out drinking with us and the guys in our team and you sing karaoke badly-”

“Excuse me?”

Jack winced. “I mean great, great karaoke.”

You chuckled.

“I can't take back the fact you're different from my wife, you are, but I don't think that's a bad thing- it's not. Because I still love you. I love that you're loud, I love that you draw attention to yourself as soon as you walk into a room, my attention is always on you anyway,” he smiled, sadly. It was the kind of smile a lover would give as they watched the love of their life leave them. “I shouldn't have made my grief your problem. I shouldn't have hated myself for feeling love again and I shouldn't have tried to convince myself hating you. I mean, that was just- just impossible.”

You looked down to your trainers, seeing the darkening colour where the water soaked in. “I've loved you for so long now, Jack.”

He waited, catching his breath, for more.

You looked up at him. “I'm sorry. About your wife. I can't imagine how hard it is for you. But I don't want to fall in love with a man who constantly advertises me next to his wife.”

Jack nodded, looking down.

The rain was probably helpful, hiding any tears you'd give away.

“I love you, separate to how I love my wife. And I loved her, I did. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life dead inside. Be on my death bed when I'm eighty looking back at all the times I should've kissed you.”

His words pulled at your heart, your feelings that you'd been burying deep inside clashing together inside of you.

“By the time you're eighty, I'll be like, in my sixties?” you said.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And looking to settle down.”

Jack laughed, and you laughed and for a second that was almost enough. The rain had made the grey in his hair darker, almost making him look younger. “I'm not saying I won't fuck up, I probably will, I have a therapist for a reason.”

“Therapy is good,” you said.

Jack's eyes were lighting up slowly with every teasing comment you made. Something akin to hope flickered between the two of you. “But I will never draw comparison to you and my wife. I'll never make you feel like second choice. I'll never dump my grief onto you. If you just give me one chance, just one chance at making this right.”

As sorry's went... as love confessions went.

“I'm scared what it means to love you, Jack,” you said, slowly, feeling the words around your mouth.

“I know, I know,” Jack reached over, clumsily brushing back your damp hair from your cheeks. In spite of the rain, his skin was still soft and hot on you. “I am too.”

You searched his eyes before whispering. “Can I kiss you?”

He smirked a little. “No.”

Your heart dropped.

Jack's hands tilted your head back before you could tuck yourself away. “Can I kiss you?”

His lips were slick and wet from rain but no less sort after from you. He didn't push or prod for more, he just laid his lips against yours with enough pressure for you to know he was there. For you to always remember he was there.

You could have stayed like that for hours, practically standing on each others toes as your own hands came up to clutch his biceps, fingertips digging into his freckles.

You pulled away only when you needed to catch your breath.

Jack's lips chased yours, body tumbling into you slightly as his eyes took seconds to open like coming out from a dream.

You ran your hands up his shoulders. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes and soaked in the words.

“Will you let me?” you asked.

“Always,” he promised.

thank you to anon for requesting, and thank you to @oldbaddies and @mafercita101 who wanted to be tagged :)

[bluetimeombre]

The love for this fic is crazzzzy!! Thank you all so much guys! And thank you again for the request anon, I've seen your next one and can't wait to work on my angsty Jack.

Also, if you can relate to how reader feels in this know that you are seen and loved!!!

Me with all the love on the silly little fics I write:

[gumy-shark]

playing stupid games but im really bad at them so im not even winning the stupid prizes

[technofeudalism]

i keep fucking around but i'm too stupid so i never really find out anything

[biteurhip]

shawn hatosy is like barbie he has played every occupation ever

[honey-moon-13]

baby boy, honeybee ⋆˚࿔

pairing: Boyfriend!Pope Cody x fem!Reader summary: Pope spends the day at the mall with his girlfriend, buying everything they need to turn the little beach house he bought in secret into a home of their own.  a/n: No one can convince me that Pope wouldn’t be the best husband and father in the world. warnings: (secret) established relationship, clingy!Reader, mentions of a blowjob and swallowing cum, reader touches Pope over his jeans in public once, references to murder and Smurf’s abuse, Baz hate (fuck him), past controlling relationship, anxiety and self-loathing, Pope scares a Sephora employee, these two are so sweet they’ll give you cavities!!! wc: 7962 k

I’d love to know what you thought, so please don’t be shy and leave me a little comment. Hearing from you truly means so much to me .⋆❀°

By the time you left Zara Home, Pope had six bags hanging from his hands and the receipt folded into the pocket of his jeans. You had offered to carry something twice. Both times he had moved the bags before you could reach them, so now you walked with your arm linked through his, pressed comfortably against his side while he checked the list you had written together that morning.

“Sheets, towels, bath mat,” he read, dragging his thumb down the paper while the shopping bags rustled around his wrists. “We got everything.”

You leaned closer to look at the list, although you already knew exactly what was written on it. “We got more than everything. We have four sets of sheets because somebody decided two wasn’t enough.”

“One’ll be in the wash.” Pope tapped the folded edge of the paper against his palm, as though that settled the matter.

“We only have one bed, baby.”

“Yeah, and we’re gonna use it every night.”

He folded the list before he could see what that answer did to your face and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. You tightened your arm around his and kissed his shoulder.

“You liked choosing them,” you said, staying tucked against his side when he began walking again.

Pope shifted the bags higher on his hands. “They’re good sheets.”

“But you checked the stitching on every set.” You ran one finger along the seam of his sleeve, imitating the way he had examined the fabric inside the store.

“Because one of them was coming apart.”

“And then you spent ten minutes touching towels.”

“I wanted the soft ones.”

You slowed, making him stop with you. “For me?”

“For us.”

The answer came easily. There was none of the hesitation that usually appeared when Pope had to talk about something belonging to both of you, no brief tightening of his mouth while he decided whether he was allowed to claim it too. He simply looked at you as though us had been the obvious answer.

Your smile softened. You stepped in front of him and slid your arms around his waist, catching him by surprise. Pope hurriedly gathered the handles into one hand and lifted the bags away from your body before they could knock against you.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, looking down at your face.

“Hugging my boyfriend because he spent ten minutes choosing the softest towels in the store.”

“They had to be soft, sweetheart.” His newly freed hand hovered beside you for a moment before settling against your back.

You leaned away just enough to see him properly, leaving your arms around his waist. “That so?”

His brow furrowed slightly, as if he did not understand why you needed an explanation.

“You use all those oils and creams every night to keep your skin soft,” he said. “Wasn’t gonna buy towels that’d scratch you up.”

Your arms tightened around him. “You thought about that?”

“Yeah.” His hand moved once along your back. “Course I did.”

“You’re soooo sweet.”

“They’re just towels, baby.” Pope glanced past you, discomfort creeping into his face now that you were looking at him as though he had done something extraordinary.

“No.” You rose onto your toes, your arms slipping higher around him. “They’re our towels.”

Pope bent to meet you. His hand pressed more securely against your lower back as his mouth softened beneath yours, holding you close while the bags swayed forgotten beside his leg.

“Yeah,” he said when you pulled away. His eyes remained on yours, his thumb moving slowly over your back. “They are.”

The mall had grown busier while you were inside, pop music spilled from the open stores and people kept cutting across your path without looking. Pope’s shoulders tensed, his hand settling more firmly against you to keep you close. When you slowed in front of another window, however, he stopped beside you and followed your gaze, content to wait while you looked.

“We need to stop at Sephora,” you said, slipping your hand into his and steering him toward the entrance. “I’m out of my lip mask, I need a new blush, and there’s a lip balm I saw on TikTok that I want to try.”

Pope followed without resistance. “The little pink jar?”

“The berry one, yes.” You glanced up at him. “I’ve been scraping the sides for three nights.”

“Get two, then.” He said it immediately.

Your pace slowed. Pope took another step before the pull of your joined hands made him stop and look back at you.

“You like it.”

His eyes moved briefly to your mouth. “Tastes good.”

“Is that why you always kiss me right after I put it on?” You stepped closer, running your thumb across the back of his hand.

“I kiss you every night, baby.” Pope turned toward the store again, but you caught the slight tightening at the corner of his mouth before he could hide it.

You let him guide you forward for another few steps before leaning into his arm. “But you always kiss me twice when I’m wearing that.”

Pope did not answer, but you squeezed his hand as though you already had one. 

He had never told you what happened after those goodnight kisses, on the nights when sleep refused to come no matter how tired he was. He would lie beside you for hours with his body held rigid beneath the sheets, listening to the house settle around him while his mind returned to places he had spent the day trying to avoid. 

Every car slowing outside made him look toward the window. Every change in your breathing had him checking that you were still asleep, still safe, still there.

Some of the lip mask always transferred to his mouth when he kissed you, and hours later, when the rest of the sweetness should have disappeared, Pope could sometimes find a trace of it by running his tongue over his lower lip. 

He did not understand how something made for chapped lips could feel like a balm pressed over whatever bruised part of him people meant when they spoke about the soul. It gave him something gentle to concentrate on when his memories would not leave him alone. 

Like as long as he could still taste you, some small part of you seemed to remain awake with him, and the darkness became a little easier to endure.

“I’ll be quick,” you promised.

“You don’t have to be.” Pope adjusted the bags before brushing his thumb across your hand. “Take your time. Look at whatever you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your previous boyfriend had never allowed you that freedom. He claimed you only wore makeup to attract other men, forcing you to order everything online and hide the packages because even entering a store like this could start an argument. The excuse had never made sense to Pope. He could not understand seeing you happy and wanting to take it away. He loved watching you get ready and slowly became more comfortable in your own skin. Makeup did not make you more beautiful to him. He simply liked the way you smiled when you felt beautiful.

Your smile softened. You lifted his hand to kiss his knuckles before leading him inside. “Then you can help me find everything.”

Pope followed you inside. “That’s why I’m here, baby.”

Inside, you headed for the Laneige display while Pope stopped beside a Benefit stand. Several testers had been abandoned along the shelf, some without their caps and others returned to the wrong slots. By the time you came back, he had already matched two lip tints to their labels and was turning each tube so the name faced forward.

“Found them.” You held up the two jars of Laneige Berry Lip Sleeping Mask before placing them in the basket. “One for the bathroom and one for my nightstand.”

Pope glanced down to make sure they were both there. “Good.”

His attention had already returned to the Benefit stand beside him. Several testers were lying on their sides, some missing their caps and others pushed into the wrong slots. Pope had matched three of them to their labels while you were gone and was turning each tube until its name faced forward.

You kissed his cheek, smiling when he barely paused in what he was doing. “How much of this have you reorganized?”

“A couple of them… They have numbers, see?” Pope showed you the small label on the tester in his hand, then pointed to the empty space bearing the same one. His brow drew together as though the system should have been impossible to misunderstand. “People just don’t put them back right.”

You picked up a lip tint that had been abandoned on its side and held it over the first empty slot you saw. “Does this one go here?”

“No.” Pope’s eyes moved along the row. “Two over.”

You shifted it one space. “Here?”

He reached across you and moved the tube one place farther to the right. “There.”

You watched him turn it until the label matched the others. Pope did things like this almost without realizing: straightening bottles while he waited in line, returning something to the exact place he had found it, wiping down a counter even when the mess was not his. You knew the impulse did not always feel gentle to him. You had seen how something left crooked could hold his attention until he corrected it, how disorder seemed to settle beneath his skin and make it impossible for him to relax.

That was not the part you loved, you loved what Pope did with it. 

Even here, in a store full of strangers who would never know he had helped, he replaced caps and returned testers to their proper slots because somebody had arranged the display and somebody would have to fix it after closing. Pope noticed that labor. He respected clean spaces, organized shelves and the people responsible for maintaining them. He would never make another person’s job harder simply because he could walk away before they saw him do it.

People often mistook his silence for indifference but you had learned that Pope cared about far more than he knew how to say.

You rested your head briefly against his shoulder while he fastened the cap on another tester. “What would this store do without you?”

“Throw everything wherever they want, apparently.” He returned the tube to its numbered space and reached for the next one lying out of place.

He fastened one last cap before taking the basket from you. When you moved toward the next aisle, Pope gathered the shopping bags and followed with his free hand resting against your back.

You stopped in front of the Summer Fridays display.

“These are the balms everyone keeps talking about on TikTok.” You picked up one of the tubes and turned it around to show Pope the label.

He studied the display before looking at the tester in your hand. “What’s different about them?”

“Mostly the scents, apparently.” You returned the tube to its slot and reached for another. “They’re not supposed to be quite as good as my olehenriksen ones.”

Pope’s brow furrowed. He glanced from the rows of Summer Fridays balms to your face, already imagining you opening one at home only to discover that it did not live up to all the videos you had watched.

“If they’re not as good, you sure you wanna risk getting one?”

The concern in his voice made you smile. 

Pope hated watching you look forward to something only to be disappointed by it. It did not matter whether it was a plan being cancelled or a bakery running out of the cake you wanted. He would remember the change in your expression long after you had forgotten about it, quietly resenting whatever had caused it as if it had let him down too.

“I think I’ll survive the risk,” you assured him, smoothing one hand over his chest when his frown remained. “Everyone says these smell much better. And considering how often you kiss me, I thought you might appreciate that.”

Pope’s attention followed your fingers before settling on your mouth. “The other ones make your lips shiny.”

“Juicy,” you corrected.

His eyes remained on your lower lip. “Same thing.”

“It is absolutely not the same thing.” You stepped closer, smiling when his gaze followed the movement of your mouth. “But you agree they make my lips look juicy?”

“Yeah.” Pope shifted the basket to his other hand, his voice lower than it had been a moment ago.

“How juicy?”

His eyes moved slowly across your lips before lifting to yours. “You know.”

“I’d still like to hear you say it, baby.” Your finger caught briefly on one of the buttons of his shirt, waiting.

Pope held your gaze for another second, then reached past you for one of the testers. He turned it over in his hand with more concentration than the label required, ending the conversation before the heat rising into his face became any more obvious.

“Which one are you getting?”

“I thought we could choose one each.” You leaned your hip against the display and watched his fingers work the cap loose. “I’ll choose the one I like, and you can choose one you want me to wear only when I’m with you.”

His fingers went still around the tester. When he looked at you again, the caution had disappeared from his face.

“Only with me?”

“Yes.” You stepped closer and lowered your voice, although nobody nearby was paying attention. “One balm for whenever I feel like wearing it and another that belongs to you. Something I put on because I know you’ll be the one tasting it.”

Pope’s eyes returned immediately to the balms. This time he studied them with real interest, taking in every shade and label as though the display had changed while he was looking away.

“So I get to pick whichever one I want?”

“Whichever one you want.”

He looked back at you, making sure. “And you’ll only wear it with me?”

“That’s the idea.”

Pope set the basket down beside the shopping bags, freeing both hands for the decision. 

“What if I choose one you wouldn’t pick for yourself?”

“I’ll like knowing you chose it.” Nudging him toward the beginning of the display. “Besides, you know me. You’ll pick the right one.”

Pope glanced along the entire row again. The corner of his mouth lifted before he could suppress it.

You had already chosen Pink Guava before entering the store. It was the shade that had appeared in the TikTok saved on your phone, and the sheer pink stain it left across the back of your hand only confirmed that it would be coming home with you.

“This one’s mine.” You dropped an unopened tube into the basket and held out your hand for Pope to inspect. “What do you think?”

“Looks good.” He looked at the color, then at your mouth as though trying to imagine it there. “You already knew which one you wanted.”

“I did.” You stepped aside and gestured toward the rest of the display. “Now you get to choose yours.”

He read every shade name before opening its tester, taking the responsibility far more seriously than you had expected. Vanilla barely held his attention. Pink Sugar made his nose wrinkle, and he returned Iced Coffee after one careful breath.

Then he opened Cherry.

The scent was sweeter and stronger than the others. When you held out your hand, Pope drew the tester across your skin, leaving a sheer red stain beside the Pink Guava swatch. His thumb remained beneath your wrist after he finished.

He stared at the color, his mind went to your mouth first.

Pope pictured the Cherry balm leaving a faint red print on his cheek, another beneath his ear and several more down his chest as you worked your way lower. You would take your time because you knew what tenderness did to him—how quiet he became when you touched him as though there were nowhere else you would rather be.

Then you would kneel between his spread thighs.

Your glossy lips would press to the head of his cock, leaving a soft red mark against the flushed skin. You would look up before kissing him again, lower this time, your tongue following the slow drag of your mouth while one hand wrapped around the base.

Pope could already feel the restraint it would take not to push into you. He would let you set the pace, watching the neat prints blur as you worked your way back to the tip and took him between your lips.

His fingers would slip into your hair. He never knew how to let you touch him without reaching for you in return. He would cradle the back of your head, thumb moving beside your ear as your cheeks hollowed around him. When he reached deeper, a small sound would catch in your throat and your eyes would begin to water, but they would remain fixed on his.

Even in the filthiest version of the fantasy, having his cock in your mouth would be another way of loving him. There would be no disgust in your expression and no hesitation when saliva gathered at the corners of your lips. Only your warm hand stroking what you could not take, your tongue beneath the head and those soft eyes watching every piece of control leave him.

He would come with your name caught somewhere behind his teeth, his hand tightening in your hair as his cum spilled across your tongue. You would keep him in your mouth until the final pulse passed, then draw back and look up at him.

Pope would forget how to breathe when you opened your mouth.

You would show him the mess he had left there, white against your tongue and the fading Cherry tint around your swollen lips. Then, without looking away, you would close your mouth and swallow. His eyes would follow the movement of your throat, transfixed by the knowledge that something of him had disappeared inside you because you had wanted it there.

By the time you smiled, the color would have faded from your mouth.

Pope would pull you up before you could wipe your chin. He would hold your face between both hands and kiss you deeply, tasting Cherry and himself on your tongue. You would make that quiet, pleased sound he loved and settle into his lap with your arms around his shoulders, understanding that he needed the closeness as much as the release.

The thought made him hard inside his jeans.

He had spent most of his life believing there was dirt beneath his skin. He could wash the blood from his hands, burn the clothes he wore during jobs and stand beneath the shower until the water ran cold, but the feeling remained. Smurf had used his body to frighten and hurt people for so long that Pope sometimes struggled to remember it could be good for anything else.

Then you touched him and somehow, Pope had never felt cleaner.

You kissed every scar without asking where it came from. You held his face while he moved inside you and looked at him as though the pleasure he gave you mattered.Your hands made his body feel like it belonged to him again. It could give you pleasure. It could hold you without hurting you. It could make you reach for him instead of recoil.

Pope sometimes wondered whether this was the relief people felt after confession. 

They entered carrying everything ugly they had done, spoke it aloud and left feeling lighter because someone had heard the truth without turning them away. Sex with you felt like that. You saw how desperate he could become, how badly he needed you and how little control he sometimes had left by the end. Then you pulled him against your chest and kissed him as if he had confessed nothing shameful at all.

“You really like that one, baby.”

Your voice dragged Pope back into the middle of Sephora. He realized he was still holding the Cherry tester, his fingers clenched around the tube.

“It’s good,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than he intended.

You studied him. The color had spread beyond his ears now, warming his cheeks and continuing down the side of his neck. When you stepped closer, Pope avoided your eyes and pretended to examine the red mark on your hand.

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s warm in here.”

You moved behind him and slipped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Were you thinking about where Cherry might leave marks?”

Pope swallowed. “Maybe.”

“On your cheek?” You pressed a kiss there. “Your neck?”

Your lips brushed the skin beneath his ear. Pope’s grip tightened around the tester.

“Or somewhere lower?”

One of your hands moved down his stomach. When your palm reached the front of his jeans, you found him already hard. Pope caught your wrist, but he did not pull you away. His fingers closed around you while your hand remained pressed over him.

“Baby,” he breathed.

You rubbed your palm over the shape of his cock once, feeling it harden further beneath the denim. “Were you imagining my red lips around you?”

Pope’s face turned completely red. His eyes moved toward the nearest aisle, checking whether anyone had noticed, before returning to your reflection in the display mirror.

“You know I was.”

The admission removed the last of the teasing from your expression. You kissed the back of his shoulder and left your hand beneath his.

“Then maybe Cherry should be yours.”

Pope looked down at the tube, seriously considering it, before glancing at the remaining testers.

“I still have three left.”

Your smile returned. You moved your hand back to his stomach and gave him enough room to continue. “All right. Keep going.”

Pope carefully returned Cherry to its proper slot before reaching for the next one.

Toasted Marshmallow had almost no color, only a few fine gold flecks suspended in the balm. Pope expected another scent sweet enough to make him return it immediately. Instead, he went still as soon as he opened it.

The warmth of it brought him back to the beach house after dark. He imagined opening the front door and finding the oven cooling, the scent of whatever you had baked still clinging to the kitchen. There would be something covered on the counter for him and a note beside the plate telling him which container to put in the refrigerator.

Sometimes you would be waiting on the couch with your legs tucked beneath you, looking up from your book as soon as you heard his key in the lock. On later nights, Pope would find you asleep beneath a blanket and the television playing quietly in an empty room. You always left a lamp on for him. 

Pope smelled the tester again.

Cherry had left him hard, still too aware of the front of his jeans and the hand you had pressed there. Toasted Marshmallow made him want the rest of the night. He wanted the bath you had planned, the new towels waiting in their bags and your body leaning against his chest while the water cooled around you. He wanted to put the balm on your mouth himself and taste something that reminded him of coming home.

Pope closed the tester carefully. He picked up an unopened Toasted Marshmallow and placed it beside Pink Guava in the basket, although his fingers remained curled around the tube.

“This one.”

You moved around him to see what he had chosen. “Toasted Marshmallow?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to Cherry?” The question was gentle, accompanied by a knowing smile.

Pope’s face warmed again. He kept his attention on the tube and rubbed his thumb over the printed name. “I like this one more.”

You opened the tester and smelled it yourself. The scent was warm and familiar, closer to something that belonged in your kitchen than a makeup display.

“Because it smells like cake?”

“Sometimes.” Pope shifted his weight. “Or pie.”

You looked from the balm to him, understanding beginning to soften your expression. “It smells like the house when I’ve been baking.”

Pope nodded.

“You mean that smells like home, baby?”

His eyes lifted to yours. “Yeah.”

You moved closer and laid your hand over his. “Then Toasted Marshmallow is yours.”

Pope looked down at your joined hands. “You meant what you said?”

“About what?”

“Only wearing it with me.”

There was something almost uncomfortable in the way he asked, as if he needed the reassurance but disliked how plainly his voice revealed it.

“Yes, baby. I meant it.”

Pope nodded, his gaze dropped to your mouth before moving back to the balm.

“You’ll wear it when we’re at the house?”

“Whenever you want me to.”

His brow furrowed. “No, I mean—” He stopped and shifted his weight again, the shopping bags rustling beside his leg. “Tonight.”

You waited, giving him time to finish.

“When we take a bath.” Pope rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. The color had spread from his ears into his cheeks again, although nothing he was asking for should have embarrassed him this much. “Could you wear it then?”

“For you?”

“Yeah.” His eyes returned to your lips. “For me.”

The quiet need in his voice made your chest tighten. Pope could walk into a room full of armed men and make them listen but asking you for something tender was different. He looked as though wanting it this badly had left him exposed.

You slipped your arms around his waist. “Yes. I’ll wear it for you in the bath.”

Pope’s hand settled against your back, but the uncertainty remained in his face.

“And…” He glanced toward the other shoppers before lowering his voice. “Can I put it on you?”

Your smile softened. “You want to?”

He nodded.

“Then you can.”

“With my finger?”

The question came out so earnest that you had to press your lips together to keep from smiling too widely. Pope noticed anyway, and his brow tightened.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You stroked your hand over his chest. “You can put it on with your finger. Then you can kiss as much of it off as you want.”

Pope swallowed. His eyes dropped to your mouth again, lingering there.

“You promise?”

“I promise, my love.”

“Okay,” he murmured, some of the tension finally left his shoulders.

You rose onto your toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Are you happy with your choice?”

Pope drew you closer. 

“Yeah.” He glanced once more at the balm in the basket. “I’m happy, sweetheart.”

The Rhode display stood near the front of the store. You crouched to check behind the remaining Pocket Blushes before pulling out your phone.

“The website still says they have Sleepy Girl.”

Pope looked over your shoulder. “Ask somebody, baby.”

An employee was unpacking boxes from a cart nearby. Her name badge read ALLISON. She rubbed her temple before reaching for another package.

“Excuse me,” you said. “Could you check whether you have any more of the Rhode Pocket Blush in Sleepy Girl? The website says there are a few left.”

Allison glanced at the empty slot and shifted the box she was carrying against her hip. “If it isn’t out, we don’t have it.”

“It still shows as in stock. Could there be some in the back?”

“Our inventory is wrong all the time.”

“I understand. It’s just that sometimes new products haven’t been put out yet—”

“We don’t have it,” she cut in, looking toward the clock above the register. “Choose another shade.”

Your fingers tightened around the basket. “But the others turn orange on my skin.”

“They’re all blush. It won’t make that much difference once they’re blended.”

The bags touched the floor behind you.

Pope came to stand at your side. “She asked you to check.”

Allison turned toward him. “I heard her.”

“Then check.”

Allison shifted the box higher against her hip and released a tired breath through her nose. “I’ve already explained that if it isn’t on the shelf, we don’t have it.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“I work here. I know what we have.” She reached for another product on the cart, attempting to return to her task.

Pope placed his hand over the box before she could pick it up. Allison’s gaze dropped to his fingers and then travelled slowly back to his face.

“The website says you have it,” he said.

“Our inventory is probably wrong. I still have all of this to put away.”

“Then it shouldn’t take long.” Pope removed his hand from the box, but instead of stepping back, he moved closer. “We’ll wait.”

Allison’s shoulders pulled tight. “Sir, there won’t be any.”

Pope held her gaze. “Go look. Then come back and tell her that.”

Allison opened her mouth again. Pope moved half a step closer, leaving little room between her and the cart. He kept his hands at his sides, but his voice dropped enough to make her grip tighten around the box.

“Go check.”

Allison’s eyes flicked over his face before she set the box down. “Fine.”

She disappeared through the stockroom door.

Only after it closed did you put the basket aside and take Pope’s hand. His fingers remained stiff around yours.

“Andrew, come here.”

You drew him away from the cart and back toward the Rhode display. Pope followed, glancing once over his shoulder at the stockroom.

“I love when you stand up for me,” you said, running your thumb over his knuckles. “You know I do.”

“She was talking to you like you were stupid, baby.”

“I know. She was rude.” You moved closer and rested your other hand against his chest. “But I think she was already having a terrible day before we walked over.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“It doesn’t.” You explained. “I just don’t think it was about me. Her coffee’s gone cold, she keeps looking at the clock and she has half the store left to unpack. I think I asked the wrong person at the wrong moment.”

Pope’s jaw remained tight. “She still shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“No, she shouldn’t have.” You kissed the underside of his chin. “And you didn’t have to let her.”

His hand settled against your back, though his attention stayed on the stockroom door.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not, baby.” You stroked your palm slowly over his chest. “I’m glad you came over. I only think you scared her more than you meant to.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“I know that.” You kissed him softly. “But she doesn’t know you.”

Pope looked down at your face, some of the tension finally leaving his fingers.

“When she comes back, maybe apologize for the way you spoke to her,” you murmured. “That’s all.”

He rubbed his thumb against your waist. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll apologize.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Allison returned carrying three Sleepy Girl blushes. She avoided Pope’s eyes as she placed them in the empty slot.

“They were still in one of the shipment boxes,” she said. “They hadn’t been stocked yet.”

“Thank you for checking.” You picked up one of the small boxes.

Pope looked at Allison. His jaw shifted once before he spoke.

“I’m sorry about before.”

She glanced at him, visibly surprised. “It’s fine.”

“No.” Pope looked briefly toward you, then back at her. “It wasn’t.”

Allison rubbed her palm against her trousers. “I’m sorry too. It’s been a long day, and I took it out on you.”

You gave her a small smile. “It’s okay.”

Pope nodded toward the blushes. “Thanks for looking.”

Allison returned the nod, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

You held up the box for Pope. “This is the one.”

He placed it beside Pink Guava and Toasted Marshmallow in the basket. “You want another?”

“One is enough.”

Pope checked your face before gathering the bags again.

“Anything else?” Allison asked.

“No, thank you.”

At the register, Pope arranged the two Laneige masks, Pink Guava, Toasted Marshmallow and the Sleepy Girl blush on the counter. When you opened your purse, he caught your wrist and guided your hand away from it.

“I can pay for my makeup, baby.”

“I’ve got it.” He kept hold of you while passing his card to the cashier.

“You already bought everything for the house.”

“These are for the house too.”

You picked up Pink Guava. “This is going in my purse.”

Pope took the tube from you, returned it to the counter and tucked you against his side. “Your purse comes home.”

The cashier lowered her head to hide a smile. You stared at Pope while he entered his PIN.

“That isn’t how house purchases work.”

“You need all of it, sweetheart.”

“And apparently that means you need to pay for it.”

Pope returned his wallet to his pocket and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Yeah.”

There was no point arguing once he had decided. You slipped your arm through his and rested your head against his shoulder while the cashier packed everything.

“You sure you don’t need anything else?” Pope asked, looking down at the products before the cashier placed them inside the bag.

You laughed softly. “Yes, baby.”

You slipped beneath Pope’s arm as you left Sephora, talking about unpacking the last kitchen boxes and washing the new sheets before putting them on the bed.

“Kitchen first,” you said. “Otherwise we’ll leave everything in bags for a week.”

“Bed first.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to sleep in it tonight.”

You looked up at him, smiling. “We could do both.”

Pope drew you closer and kept walking. He had spent the entire afternoon waiting for something to go wrong. Every vibration of his phone made him expect Smurf’s name on the screen, followed by questions about where he was and why he had been gone so long. Only Deran knew about the two of you and the house by the beach, and Pope had told him because someone needed to know where to find you if he failed to come home after a job. Deran had promised to keep his mouth shut, but the secret still made Pope feel exposed because nothing in his life had ever remained his once Smurf discovered it.

His arm tightened around you without warning.

Your sentence trailed off. You turned within his hold and laid your palm flat against his stomach, feeling the tension beneath his shirt.

“Baby, are you okay?” You searched his face when he did not answer immediately. “Is it getting too loud? We can leave if you need to.”

Pope noticed the worry gathering between your brows and loosened his arm.

“No. Sorry.” He covered your hand with his, keeping it against him. “Keep talking, sweetheart.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” His thumb moved over your knuckles. “I don’t want to leave. Tell me what you were saying.”

You studied him for another moment before kissing his chest through his shirt. Pope pressed his mouth to the top of your head, and only then did you settle against his side again.

“I bought bath salts,” you continued, slipping your arm around his waist. “So we can unpack the kitchen, make the bed and then have a bath like you wanted.”

Pope’s hand began moving slowly over your back as he listened.

“But you’re not allowed to pour in the entire bottle of bubble bath this time.”

“It wasn’t the entire bottle.”

You tilted your face up to him. “Baby, it was nearly full when I gave it to you.”

“There was some left.”

“Enough for one very small bath, honey.” You held your thumb and forefinger barely an inch apart.

Pope watched the gesture, the corner of his mouth beginning to lift. “Still wasn’t the whole bottle.”

Then a small shop beside the exit caught his attention. A rotating stand of Jellycat bag charms stood near the door, little animals, fruit and flowers hanging from metal clips while their thin cord legs swung beneath them.

Pope stopped.

You felt his hand tighten around yours. “What is it?”

He nodded toward the display. “We need keychains for the new keys.”

Your face lit up. “We absolutely do.”

Pope let you lead him inside and set the shopping bags beside his feet while you crouched in front of the stand. You had barely turned it once before a green shamrock caught your attention.

“Wait.” You lifted it from its hook and touched one of its dangling feet. “They all have legs.”

Pope glanced at the other charms. “Yeah.”

“How have I never noticed that?”

You turned the stand again, laughing when a sun, a ladybug in tiny black shoes and several pieces of fruit swung into view. Then you found a lemon and picked it up, making its little legs walk across your palm.

“Look at him. He has somewhere important to be.” You held it beside your cheek and smiled at Pope. “Should this one be mine?”

Pope watched you, completely mesmerized.

For years, he had believed that was the life he deserved.

Smurf might have been the one who decided who had to die, but Pope had been the one to kill them. Being useful to her did not make him innocent.

Eventually, he had begun to think there was nothing inside him worth saving: no soul, no heart... 

Because a man with either would have stopped long before Pope ever did and he had put too much ugliness into the world to complain when none of the good parts reached him.

Baz had made that clear years ago.

They had been in Smurf’s garage after a job, Baz drinking and still carrying the confidence that made everyone else gather around him. Pope no longer remembered what started the argument. He remembered Baz laughing over the mouth of his beer bottle and asking what Pope thought was going to happen to him.

You think some woman’s gonna marry you? Have a kid with you? You?

Baz laughed again when Pope said nothing.

Nobody wants to wake up next to you, Pope.

Pope had hit him. Baz had hit back, and Smurf had blamed Pope for the broken cabinet without asking about the blood running into his mouth. None of it stayed with him as clearly as the certainty in Baz’s voice. Perhaps Pope had hit him because he already believed him.

Nobody would choose him.

Nobody would build a life with him.

His future had seemed like one long, cold day beneath a sky that never cleared, every morning leading back to another night inside Smurf’s house. Pope had stopped expecting anything else because hope only gave people something else to take from him.

Now you were kneeling in front of a display of ridiculous plush keychains, laughing because a lemon had legs. Pope looked at you and, for one brief moment, the store disappeared.

He imagined somewhere far from Oceanside. Another mall in a town where nobody knew the Cody name. You stood beside him, older but still laughing at everything. A little girl reached for a plush toy while Pope held her beneath the arms so she could see the top row.

She had his dark hair, gathered into two uneven pigtails he had tried to make himself. His freckles covered her nose. Everything else belonged to you: your eyes, your soft cheeks, your lips already turning into the same smile you wore whenever you knew Pope would give you whatever you asked for.

He could see himself buying the toy even after you reminded him she already had too many, he could see the little girl hugging it to her chest while Pope carried her back to the car and perhaps one day the small bedroom in the beach house would hold a crib until they found somewhere farther away.

The thought should have frightened someone like him, right?

Instead, Pope wanted it so badly that his chest hurt.

“Baby?”

You were standing now, the lemon still in your hand. Pope blinked and found you watching him.

“You went somewhere.”

“I’m here.”

You put the lemon back and came closer, rubbing your hand over his chest. “You were looking at me like you wanted to say something.”

Pope reached behind the sun and removed the sunflower hanging partly beneath it. He held one charm in each hand.

“I thought we could get these.”

Your eyes dropped to them. “The sun and the sunflower?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re perfect.” You took them from him and smoothed the sunflower’s soft yellow petals, smiling down at the two charms, making their little cord legs move against your palm before looking back at him. “Why these two, honey?”

His thumb caught beneath one of the sunflower’s petals. He had known what they meant when he took them from the display. Explaining it with you standing in front of him was different. He rubbed the soft fabric between his fingers, keeping his eyes lowered.

“Sunflowers turn toward the sun… They keep looking for it.” He shifted his weight and glanced toward the entrance, then back at the charm. “Doesn’t matter where it moves. They turn so they can still see it. They don't like the dark.”

You watched his fingers worrying at the petal. “And you want to be the sunflower?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Pope swallowed. He had already told you enough to make the answer obvious, but you waited for him to say it. Your free hand slipped into his and squeezed, giving him something to hold on to while he tried.

“Because I always know where you are,” he said. “Even when I’m not looking at you, I know.”

“And where am I, baby?”

“Here.”

His fingers tightened around yours before guiding your hand to his chest. His heart beat hard beneath your palm, each uneven thud pressing through the thin fabric of his shirt.

You had felt it countless times before. Beneath your cheek while you slept, racing against your ear when a nightmare tore him awake, gradually slowing whenever you climbed into his lap and held him until he remembered where he was. But this felt different. Pope was keeping your hand there deliberately, offering you the frantic rhythm as though it could explain whatever his mouth could not.

For one suspended moment, he felt more yours than he ever had.

He had chosen you. He had taken the parts of himself he kept hidden from everyone else, the frightened ones, the damaged ones, the ones he believed made him impossible to love, and placed them beneath your palm without knowing whether you would hold them gently.

“And if I can’t find you,” he continued, his thumb pressing into the back of your hand, “I look.”

You traced one slow stroke over his shirt. “So you’re the sunflower.”

Pope nodded. His attention dropped to the two charms, and he worried the edge of one soft yellow petal between his fingers.

“And I’m the sun?”

“Yeah.”

You waited.

His jaw shifted. He looked toward the entrance, then at the floor, visibly regretting how far he had allowed the conversation to go. Still, he did not let go of you.

“Because it was dark before you,” he said at last.

Your breathing faltered.

“In my head, I mean.” Pope frowned, frustrated with himself already. “It’s always been loud in there. Telling me this things.”

“What things?”

He rubbed his thumb against your knuckles. “That I’m bad. That I ruin everything. That none of this is gonna last because I don’t get to have good things like this.”

Your chest tightened, but you stayed quiet.

“They’re still there,” he added quickly, as though he needed to make sure you understood that you had not repaired him. “You didn’t make them go away— but they’re not always as mean anymore.”

His words were so quiet that the noise of the store nearly swallowed them.

Pope’s brow pulled tighter as he struggled to explain. “Sometimes there’s something else too. Something that says maybe I can come home. Maybe you’ll still be there when I do. That I’m…” He paused, swallowing again. “That I’m not only what they say I am.”

Your thumb stilled above his heart.

“It sounds like you sometimes,” he admitted. “Not really your voice— I know you’re not in my head.” His cheeks warmed as he rushed to clarify it, but his fingers held firmly to yours. “It just says the kind of things you say to me.”

The pressure behind your ribs became almost painful.

Pope had lived for years with Smurf’s voice buried inside him, joined by Baz’s laughter and every terrible thing he had ever come to believe about himself. You had never imagined that somewhere among them, your love had begun answering back. Not loudly enough to silence them but enough to make the darkness a little less certain of itself.

“You made everything lighter,” Pope murmured. “My life. All the stuff in here.”

He lifted your joined hands slightly against his chest.

“So I keep turning toward you.” His eyes dropped to the sunflower again. “Because you’re my sun.”

The words settled somewhere so deep inside you that you could not respond.

His pulse continued beneath your palm, hard and alive and entirely unguarded. You thought of all the years he had spent convinced that nobody would choose him, only for this man to stand before you now and confess that your love had become the kindest voice inside his head.

Your vision blurred.

Pope noticed immediately. The sunflower slipped from his fingers, swinging by its tag as both hands rose to your face.

“Hey. What happened?”

He searched your expression, alarm sharpening every feature when the first tear escaped.

“Was it what I said?” His breathing quickened when you could not answer fast enough. “It was too much— I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No, baby.”

“We can pick different ones.” He reached for the little sun in your hand. “Forget it.”

You caught his wrists before he could take it from you. “Andrew, look at me.”

“I made you cry.”

“I’m happy.”

Pope froze, his palms still cupping your cheeks. “You don’t look happy.”

“I’m overwhelmed.” You turned your face into one of his hands and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. “Because nobody has ever given me anything as beautiful as what you just gave me.”

“I only said you were the sun.”

“You told me that loving you has made the inside of your head a little kinder.”

His mouth tightened. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“It doesn’t.” You leaned into his touch, a wet laugh catching in your throat. “It means more to me than I know how to explain.”

Some of the panic eased from his face, though uncertainty remained in the careful way he held you.

“You meant it, didn’t you?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t take it back.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.” You kissed the base of his thumb. “But I need you to say it again.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because this time, you’ll know the tears don’t mean you hurt me.”

Pope hesitated. His thumb swept beneath your eye, catching the wetness there before it reached your cheek.

“You’re my sun.”

Your face crumpled all over again.

He was not the collection of terrible things he had survived and the worse things he still blamed himself for.

He was Andrew.

Your Andrew.

His eyes widened. “Sweetheart—”

You laughed and threw your arms around his neck before he could panic a second time.

“Still happy, baby. I promise.”

Pope held you tightly, one hand cupping the back of your head while your laughter softened against his neck. When you finally leaned away, his gaze moved between your eyes and paused on your wet cheeks.

You kissed the worried crease between his eyebrows before looking down at the sunflower dangling from his fingers. One of its petals had folded beneath his grip, so you carefully smoothed it back into place.

“My sweet, grumpy sunflower.”

Pope frowned. “No.”

“No what?”

“You’re not calling me that.”

“But it’s perfect.” You lifted the sunflower beside his face, smiling when his frown deepened. “You’re sweet, you’re grumpy, and you just admitted that you spend your life turning toward me.”

Pope reached for the little sun in your other hand, but you hid it behind your back.

He held out his hand, palm open. “Give it back.”

You closed your fingers around the little sun and tucked it safely behind your back. “You gave it to me.”

He stepped closer and slipped an arm around your waist, trying to reach past you while you twisted away with a laugh. “I’m reconsidering.”

“That isn’t how presents work.” You turned, rose onto your toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Besides, I’m going to call you my sweet, grumpy sunflower every day for the rest of our lives.”

Pope stopped reaching for the charm.

“The rest of our lives?” he asked.

Your teasing softened. “Yes, baby. That’s the plan.”

His hand settled at your waist and drew you a little closer. “Okay.”

Your smile widened. “You’re accepting the nickname already?”

“No.”

“Then what was the okay for?”

Pope looked at the sun hidden behind your back and then at the sunflower resting against his chest.

“For the rest of our lives.”

You caught his face between your hands and kissed him before either of you could become emotional again.

Pope went still beneath your palms. Then both arms closed around you. One hand spread across your lower back while the other cradled your neck, drawing you firmly against him.

He kissed you slowly. His mouth was warm and slightly unsteady beneath yours, softening each time your thumbs stroked his cheeks. The faint salt of your tears lingered on your lips, and Pope kissed it away before returning for another kiss, then another, as though the first had not been enough.

Your fingers slipped into the short hair at his temples. An uneven breath left him against your mouth, and his hand tightened at your back while the kiss deepened. His thumb moved slowly beneath your ear. He took his time with every gentle press of his lips, holding you closer whenever your fingers moved through his hair.

When you finally began to draw away, his hand tightened softly at your nape and brought you back for one last lingering kiss.

Pope kept his forehead against yours after your mouths parted. His eyes remained closed, his breathing uneven while your fingers continued moving through his hair.

You brushed your nose against his.

“I love you, my grumpy sunflower.”

“Love you too.” His thumb moved over your cheek as the corner of his mouth finally lifted. “But you’re not calling me that in front of Deran.”

You smiled. “No promises.”

taglist: @mcthsman, @pattwtf, @madisonauroraxx

[rednnedy]

BIRTHDAY WISH ✹ Leon Kennedy

SUMMARY: You should've never divorced Leon, and you both know it. Now, 3 years later, you've been having sort of like an affair for 6 months. No one knows about you two, but the birthday party Chris convinces him to host may be the final step you two need to become an us again ‼️ NSFW. Semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), slight dry humping, unprotected sex, creampie, breeing kink, prasing. Fluffy aftercare and a bit angsty ✹ PAIRINGS: RE9 Leon Kennedy x Ex Wife Redfield Reader ✹ Find me on AO3 ✹ Find me on Wattpad ✹ My RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST 💬 Officially July 31st in my timezone which means (headcanon) Leon's birthday and my birthday too! So officially my first fic posted being 24 :) Long time no see over here, but I really hope you like this one!

No matter how hard you’re trying to make sure no one notices that, once again, there’s something going on between you two… you and Leon are really messing everything up.

It’s his 49th birthday, and even you know your ex-husband had planned not to celebrate it, your brother insisted that he had to do something different because not every day you’re close to 50.

So, not even bothering to argue with him, here you are, in a hotel ballroom that Chris decided to rent, with way more guests than you know Leon’d like to have.

You bite your lower lip when you see him talking to Sherry while keeping one eye on you. You know this isn’t the best place, or the best day, for people to find out that you two are giving your relationship a second chance… or that what it looks like. You’re grateful that your daughter’s traveling with her college friends, because otherwise…

Your attention shifts away from your ex-husband when you hear a man’s voice speaking beside you. You don’t know his name, but you know he’s one of Leon’s coworkers at the DSO. You’d run into him a couple of times at different events the organization hosted for its employees, and even you didn’t remember his name, you did indeed remember his attempts to hit on you even though you were still married.

Now, nearly three years after your divorce, he seems to still have that intention, just like you do.

You go along with everything he says, even though you’re barely paying attention. Your eyes can’t help but stare at Leon, who now seems distracted by his cell phone. You know he’s faking a call when you see him hold it to his ear, but his lips don’t move.

You know exactly what you have to do when you see him disappear.

Seven minutes. That’s how long you’d agreed to spend on one of your trysts, in the restrooms, without raising any suspicion.

“Sorry, I think I have to go to the bathroom… A little emergency,” you say to the man, who’s still standing next to you, and still talking to you.

“Would you like to go to my room when you get back?” he blurts out quickly. “I booked a room for tonight before heading home. You know…”

“I’ve booked one for tonight, too, but thanks for the offer,” you say. You realize he’s about to interrupt you, so you decide to speak again without even thinking about the consequences of your words: “I have company tonight, so… I’m sorry.”

You don’t give him time to continue, nor do you turn around to see his reaction. You simply head quickly toward the restrooms farthest from the room, keeping your head down to avoid being caught… doing whatever you’re doing.

Doing exactly what you’ve been doing with your ex-husband for the past six months.

You can’t stop thinking about your siblings and what they’d think of this. You know Claire wouldn’t mind if you got back together with Leon. Actuallyt, just like the two of you, she didn’t even know why you’d signed the divorce papers. But Chris…

Typical overprotective older brother behaviour with his little sisters.

You step into the bathroom cautiously, looking around to make sure there’s no one else there but you, and hopefully Leon.

“Leon?” you whisper, waiting for a reply. “Oh God, tell me you’re here.” Damn it, it’s not like we’re twenty again that we have to be hiding like this—

You don’t hear the click of the door opening. All you notice’s a hand resting on your waist, pulling you toward the only bathroom stall. Then, lips press against your neck that begin to suck with no care.

“Damn…” your ex-husband murmurs against your temple, leaving a trail of kisses from your jawline to the edge of your cleavage. Unfortunately for you, you can’t stop him. You can only beg for more with every moan that escapes your lips. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you tonight, but you look gorgeous.”

You’re used to his compliments even divorced, but you can’t help feeling a kind of flutter in your stomach with a sense of nostalgia and regret in your chest.

“Do you mind if I take it off?” Leon asks, pulling you out of your thoughts as he steals a kiss from you. “I know I shouldn’t because we have to do this quick, but—”

“What if we save that for later?” you suggest, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him close to you again. This time you take your time bitting his neck, his ear… “That’s why we booked a room tonight, isn’t it?”

He smiles shyly and then looks at you, asking for your permission to continue, just as he always did whenever you had sex. You don’t hesitate to nod, and immediately tilt your head back, feeling Leon’s lips explore your neck once again as his hands slide up under your dress and glide down your thighs until they reach your underwear.

You try to stifle a moan when you feel two of his fingers touching your pussy above the fabric of your underwear.

“Didn’t expect you to be this wet right from the start…” he murmurs.

“What do you want me to say? You look absolutely gorgeous in that suit. Also… it’s your birthday, and thinking that we might get caught… I guess the whole idea of having a secret affair with my ex-husband turns me on,” you joke, even deep down you both know you’re telling the truth.

Leon doesn’t answer. Instead, he breaks contact with your pussy, making you moan in response, begging for him to touch you again.

“Leon…”

“Do you want me to keep going?” you ask. “Maybe I got a little carried away, but if you don’t want to do this here—”

“Please, Leon…” you interrupt him, praying he won’t think you’re too desperate.

He presses his lips against yours. There was nothing else to say, and you both knew it. You gently bite his lower lip as you deepen the kiss while he slides his index finger inside you, fucking you as his thumb takes care of your clit.

With a quick movement, you lift one of your legs and rest it on his waist. He slips in another finger without warning you, keeping going with his movements as you feel your walls tightening more.

Your breathing is ragged. You can’t stop moaning, begging him to keep going, not to stop, to make you come… You also know he wants something else: you glance down at his pants, where there’s a very noticeable bulge.

You’re the one who pulls away even when you were on the verge of your orgasm. But it was his birthday. Without even thinking, you reach for his belt to quickly undo it, but his hands gently grab your wrists, pulling them away from the waistband of his pants.

“Leon…” you complain. “It’s your day. Don’t do this.”

“It’s just that…” he looks down, touching his erection to try calming himself down. “I don’t want us to have sex here. Look, I know it’s my birthday, that I have a party out there that I should be enjoying. I also know we’re divorced and that maybe we’re taking a bit of a risk with this, but…”

He forces himself to shut up, but you can tell from his eyes that he wants to say more. 

“Do you regret this?” you ask him out of the blue, your voice trembling at the possible answer he might give you. “Do you want to call it quits?”

“Yeah.”

You feel a part of you break inside, and you let out a bittersweet laugh.

You knew it. You knew that starting over with Leon was a bad idea, specially considering that—

Once again, his hands grip your waist and pull you toward him. 

His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s both aggressive and, at the same time, eager. You shouldn’t be doing this after his confession, but you can’t stop your fingers from running through his hair and tugging at it, desiring so much more from him even you know that, perhaps, he couldn’t give it to you.

“I want us to finish all this because I want us to start all over again,” he says the moment you pull apart, his voice agitated. “I want a second chance where we don’t have to hide from anyone else. Damn it, Miss Redfield, if you only knew everything I want to do with you all over again…”

“You sure?” you rest your forehead against his. He nods, stealing a kiss from you. “Leon, you really don’t have to say anything just to make me feel good—”

“Isn’t it my birthday? Chris told me that at 12,” he glances at his watch, “in about ten minutes, I have to go blow out the candles, but you know what the only thing I want is? You.”

You’ve spent enough years sharing your life with Leon first, as friends, then, as a couple, and finally as a married couple with a daughter in her twenties to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention. 

You know he’d hated the whole idea of Chris’s huge birthday party, but at the same time, he’d given himself the chance to try something new without disappointing his ex-brother-in-law. 

Or brother-in-law.

“Do you want me to…?” you begin calmly, trying not to cross his boundaries or make him think you want anything more than sex with him. You clear your throat and think about rephrasing it better. “Would you like us to slip away, pretend something’s going on… and head to the bedroom?”

“I’ll go first, and then you’ll go.”

Before leaving, Leon gives you a quick kiss on the lips and whispers that he loves you.

I love you.

You lean against the wall for a few seconds, trying to relax while you process everything that’s happened. More than Leon fingering you… the fact that he asked you for a second chance.

He confessed he loves you…

You take your phone out of your purse and check the hour, making sure enough time has passed. Before leaving, you look at yourself in the mirror in the stall: your hair’s a mess, your lips are slightly swollen, and your cheeks are flushed. You’re grateful that your dress still looks the same as when you walked in, except for a few wrinkles.

As you’re heading back to the ballroom to go to the area leading to the bedrooms, again with your head down and walking quickly, you bump into someone who immediately grabs your shoulders firmly, but not too roughly.

You curse under your breath when you realize who it is just from their laugh.

Chris.

“You okay?” he asks, worried. He takes your chin and tilts your face from side to side, looking at the blush on your cheeks. Then he places the back of his hand on your forehead as if to check for a fever. “You’re…” he looks you up and down, “kinda looking weird.”

“I’ve got a headache,” you say quickly, and he seems to get it. When you take a step forward to leave, he grabs your forearm. “Seriously, I just want to go to my room and—”

“Leon’s room, you mean.”

You feel your face go pale. You avoid looking at your older brother as you consider denying it, making up an excuse credible enough to avoid the subject, especially today.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is all you say.

“Yeah, right…” he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to get back into some kind of relationship with my ex-husband? What am I, a teen?”

“I think you were pretty foolish to divorce him for reasons that neither you nor anyone else understood, but what could we say?” he replies sincerely. “So, on that note… I’m glad to see you two leaving the same place seven minutes apart,” he takes your chin in his hand again and smiles widely when he sees the hickies on your neck. “Seriously… it’s obvious you’re having a good time together and that you’re both comfortable with this. Hope so.”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Chris,” you say quickly. “Leon’s… he’s waiting for me…” you whisper, embarrassed, once again avoiding his gaze.

“Oh, I know. Did you really think I was going to make him blow out the candles in front of everyone when he’s always done it just with you and your daughter? Even during the years of your divorce.”

That catches you off guard.

“So…”

“I know you and Leon have been doing this for a while,” he confesses. “Just like Claire, Sherry, and your daughter know… Did you know the party was her idea? So that, in some way, I don’t know how she explained it to me, and I can’t explain it to you either, you could… get back together? Or whatever it is you’re doing…”

“She knew?” you ask, referring to your daughter.

“Not exactly… but she suspected it since… never mind,” he says, giving up and sighing. “She told me a couple of months ago that she was tired of seeing you two pretend all the time when it was clear you don’t act like a divorced couple. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you don’t have to hate each other or anything, but…”

You nod, knowing exactly what he means.

“I didn’t want her to think that…”

“Listen,” your brother interrupts you. 

Without hesitation, you look at him, even though you feel quite embarrassed, just like when you were a teenager.

“I don’t know what you two said or did in there, and I don’t care, but… it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Leon as happy as he looks today,” you feel a lump forming in your throat. “And… it’s been even longer since I’ve seen you this happy as well.”

“Chris…”

“Stop overthinking it. Stop coming up with stupid excuses for your older brother and go spend the night with your husband.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct him.

“We’ll see if tonight leads to another wedding,” you can’t help but laugh. “Come on, go on before he starts driving himself crazy wondering if you stood him up or not.”

You give him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, and immediately afterward you start running all over the venue, not giving a fuck if you’re suspicious or not.

You weave your way through the guests, apologizing when you bump into someone, and bite the inside of your cheek as you feel your heels hurting more. You keep running without forcing yourself to stop, even when you’re on the verge of falling several times.

You climb the stairs leading to the rooms with your heart pounding. Your heartbeat rises when you stop in front of room 333 and realise it’s the suite where you spent your wedding night.

You take a deep breath, trying not to get swept away by the mixed of emotions you’re feeling, and knock gently on the door.

It opens in a matter of seconds.

Leon’s shirt’s slightly unbuttoned, his hair a bit tousled, and he has an expression of nervousness mixed with happiness that, maybe, only you can recognize after all these years.

When his eyes meet yours, you notice how he gradually relaxes; how the straight line of his lips curves until they part just enough to reveal his lips.

“I ran into Chris,” you say out of the blue. “He knows. He knows we’re—”

Your ex-husband closes the distance between you by wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing your lips to his in a brief kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you pull apart.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stroking your cheek with his hand.

“Me? Better than ever,” you chuckle, giving him a peck on the lips.

“I’ve missed you…” now, it’s his turn to steal a kiss from you. “I’ve missed you so, so much,” and another one, “and I don’t want this to happen to us again…”

Leon picks you up in his arms and shuts the door with his foot, slamming it shut. He carries you straight to the bed without a second thought, gently laying you down and positioning himself on top of you, starting all over again to kiss every single part of you.

“Leon, it’s your birthday…” you insist, once again, between soft moans. You sit up a little and try to reach your hands toward his pants. “I’ve already told you: I want to make you feel good…”

“Come on, let me be the one to start.”

Your stomach flutters as he grabs your neck and brings your lips together for the hundredth time that day. Clumsily, he sits up: now Leon’s on the bottom and you’re on top of him, while you awkwardly slip off your heels and he slides the straps of your dress down until your tits are exposed. He takes his time with them, massaging them and brushing against your nipples, making you escape a few moans from your lips.

You reach a hand to the zipper of his pants without stopping your grinding against him, struggling to pull his pants down. Leon sits up slightly until he finally manages to take them off; then, his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, revealing his huge erection.

You don’t hesitate to run your hands over the fabric, watching it grow even larger at your touch.

“I need you to take that dress off…” your ex-husband says in a broken voice.

“Go ahead. What did you say your birthday wish was?”

Gently, he grabs your ass and lifts  you up a little. You take the opportunity to lift your dress up a bit, sitting back down on him and increasing the speed of the friction against his cock, which’s now fully erect. 

Leon, after a few clumsy tries, finally takes the bottom of your dress and pulls it up. You raise your arms without even thinking, feeling the slight brush of your hands, noticing how your skin’s getting more tingly and how you’re getting wetter.

“You know what else I’d like?” he says, returning to nibble at your neck. Quickly and with the utmost care, he grabs you by the waist, lifting you up with him and laying you down on the bed with your legs hanging off the edge. His kisses now focus on your stomach. “A baby. I know we already have that amazing young woman at home, and that we’re a bit old, but… Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“You’re crazy,” you say, rolling your eyes in pleasure as you feel his tongue flat against your pussy. “Leon, for God’s sake…”

“Don’t you want a baby?” he insists, sliding two of his fingers inside you in one swift motion.

“I think we’ve got enough on our hands with our daughter…” you tug at his hair, urging him to keep eating you out. “We’ve got enough to worry about figuring out what we’re going to tell her now that—”

“She’ll take it well,” he tells you, looking at you as he keeps thrusting his fingers inside you. “But you’re right. Now… I just want to spend a great time with my wife and think of nothing else.”

He pulls on your thighs and increases the friction even more with his tongue, his fingers moving even faster. You notice your vision becoming a bit blurry as he begins to gently suck on your clit with his mouth and a bit with his teeth. 

You feel the orgasm building in your stomach, and you know that Leon, once again, knows it.

He knows you as well as you know him.

“Do you want…?”

He breaks the contact between his mouth and your pussy, but doesn’t stop fingering you, even though he slows down as he sits up.

“I need you to fuck me right now, love.”

You run your hands around Leon’s neck and pull him toward you as he clumsily grabs his cock and lines it up with your entrance, entering you without previous warning and making you let out a moan of surprise.

“Leon…” you cling tightly to his neck as he thrusts into you mercilessly. “Leon, faster, please…”

You wrap your legs around his waist and feel him even more, specially when he listens to you and picks up the pace of his movements. You feel completely lost when one of his fingers finds its way to your clit to stimulate you more.

You don’t know how long you’ve been like this. You let yourself go, completely losing track of time, feeling incredibly comfortable for the first time in a long time.

“I’m going to come,” Leon whispers in your ear, which turns you on even more. “Where do you want me to—?”

“Inside,” you say without hesitation.

And that’s exactly what he does. 

After fucking you for a while longer, Leon finally cums inside you, keeping going until a few minutes later, and with the help of his fingers stimulating your clit, you come too.

You both end up sprawled on the bed, a total mess, but it’s the least you care about.

For a few minutes, neither of you says a word. You’re resting on Leon’s chest, while he covers both of you with the bedsheets, wrapping his arm around your neck and still planting kisses all over your face.

“Are you okay?”

“You always ask me the same thing,” you reply, looking up at him.

“And I’m going to keep doing it.”

He brushes a strand of hair away from your face and then moves his hand to the small of your back, tracing slow figures slowly.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he confesses in a low voice. “Not this,” he hastens to add, referring to sex, “but… us. All these years I’ve tried to convince myself that if we got divorced, it was for a reason. That if I really loved you, and even we were on good terms… I had to let you go.”

You swallow nervously, though you can’t stop looking at him and feeling regret for having wasted time. For not having fought harder for your relationship when there was nothing but the feeling that you were pulling apart. For feeling that you were missing out on each other’s lives by getting carried away by your own ones.

“The only thing I’ve managed to do all these years, despite following that mantra, is to wake up every morning looking for you on what should be your side of the bed.

“I haven’t… gotten over us either. Call me crazy, but… somehow… I felt like I was making the wrong decision when we got divorced, but, as you said… if I loved you, I had to let you go,” the words come out carefully of your lips, even though inside you’re falling apart. “I always kept making coffee for three, and I always had to lie to my daughter and tell her I was taking it to work,” you say, laughing, with tears already streaming down your face.

Leon closes his eyes for a moment and sighs.

It was ridiculous, and you both knew it.

“Chris told me we have to stop acting like this,” you say, shifting a little. Now you’re sitting, your tits exposed with no shame, and your hands reaching for Leon’s. “I don’t want to get married again tomorrow, much less act as if the divorce or our problems never happened, but…”

“But…?”

“I do want that second chance.”

Leon brings your hands to his lips, kissing them, and then kisses you.

“Well, then, let me get to know you all over again. Let me take you on dates, even if they’re a disaster… because I’m a disaster. I want to take you out to dinner without having the excuse of talking about our college-aged daughter’s grades,” you laugh. “Let me make you fall in love with me for a second time.”

“Are you trying to hit on your ex-wife?” you ask playfully, giving him a light nudge with your elbow.

“If you only knew how long I’ve been doing this… but you know I’m terrible at this kind of thing.”

“You’re so corny, you know that?”

“And I know you like it,” you smile even wider, knowing he’s right. “That’s why you married me, isn’t it?”

“That, and many other reasons. But you probably know them.”

He hugs you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel him trying to hold back his sobs. You, however, can’t hold back yours.

“I’ve never stopped loving you, Leon. And I’ll never stop.”

Your ex-husband pulls away from you, and the first thing you notice are how red his eyes re. He gently takes your chin in his hands and wipes away the tears that keep streaming down your face.

“This time… if there’s a problem, we talk about it. If we get angry, we talk about it. If we feel like we’re losing each other again… we talk about how to find each other again.”

“I don’t want to lose you again…” you whisper, shaking your head.

“And you won’t,” he says, cupping your face with both hands and kissing you. “I didn’t even have to blow out the candles for my birthday wish to come true… and I’m not going to be stupid enough to waste this second chance. I lost you once, even not at all… so I’m not going to risk it all again. If I risk something…” he kisses you again, “it’s us.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Feedback, as well as comments and/or reblogs, are very much appreciated! My inbox is also open in case you want to make a request or talk to me! 💖

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[gtgbabie0]

js wondering if you could write about re4r leon being a munch !! like the reader feels a bit insecure because they havent really had anyone do that to them in past relationships but he’s just ready to eat for as long as possible :3

ty in advance ! have a good day / night !

˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary ꒱ ˎˊ˗ about re4r!Leon Kennedy eating you out for the first time 18+ so sorry this took ages, enjoy :3

Leon has been aching to go down on you since you both started getting a little more hot and heavy in the bedroom, but each time you guide him away with a flirty giggle or a breathless sigh of his name, whilst he doesn’t mind the way your hands gravitate to tug on his boxers, he really… really, really just wants to eat your pussy.

The TV drones on in the background, some movie you’re both no longer paying attention to because Leon has you pressed back into the softness of the couch with his tongue in your mouth and his hips flushed against yours.

“You’re so hot.” He pants hotly into the kiss, already half-hard in his sweats as he drags his mouth along the curve of your jaw. “Can I go down on you, baby?” He asks so sweetly, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

He feels you tense up uncomfortably underneath him, and he pushes himself back, enough to give you space.

“Hey, hey…” he trails off, letting you sit up a little as he rubs his hand over your thigh soothingly. “You okay? I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t-”

“-No, it’s not- don’t apologise, I just-” you struggle to put your words together, fighting against the sudden barrage of emotions that fog your brain up and leave you all tongue-tied, but Leon, the ever-patient man, doesn’t rush you.

“Take your time, gorgeous, I’m not going anywhere.”

So you take a deep breath and wet your lips. “No one’s ever gone down on me, m’just nervous, I guess.”

Leon's expression softens, his hand lightly squeezing your knee. “Nervous? What’s making you nervous?”

You feel your face flush. “You being all up in there,” you huff, and he chuckles, smoothing his palm down your shin, “and what if… I dunno… I taste bad?”

You cringe inwardly as soon as the words settle in the silence between you both, teeth biting down on the inside of your cheek.

“You won’t taste bad.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, I’m not doing it for the taste; I’m doing it because I want you to feel good, baby. Making you feel good makes me feel good.” He argues, tilting his head so he can meet your eyes with an annoyingly charming smile, “Besides, m’not expecting it to taste like birthday cake.”

You look at him, all shyly, watching as he drops a kiss to your knee, lingering. “You really wanna do it that much?”

“God, so fucking much, s’all I think about.” He groans playfully, propping his chin onto your kneecap. “But only if you want it too, s’no fun if you’re not into it.”

You shift a little against the cushions, giving him a tiny nod, heart hammering in your chest, “I want to, I do. can we just go slow?”

“Of course, you tell me if you wanna stop and we stop. No problem.” He promises, reaching out to gently tilt your chin towards him, “Yeah?”

“yeah.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and he leans in to steal a quick kiss before sinking to the floor with a big, dopey smile, blue eyes gleaming with excitement. He settles between your legs, gently nudging your thighs open, and your breath catches in your chest, heat pooling in your tummy as he slides his big warm palms up to your hips.

“Scoot that ass forward a little, baby.”

You sink further back into the crease of the couch, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you watch him kiss the fat of your inner thighs before pulling back to shimmy your shorts down with a soft: “lift your hips f’me, baby. There we go.”

His blue eyes then flutter back up to you, hands squeezing your hips. “Ready?”

You nod your head, warmth rushing through your body.

“Words.”

“Yes, yeah, I’m ready. I’m good.”

“Good. Now let me see this pretty pussy.” He grins wolfishly, giving one last push of your legs to spread you open for him, your folds all slick from the earlier makeout session. “Fuck you’re dripping; you want my tongue all over your clit, hm?” He coos, hooking both your legs over his broad shoulders.

“God— yes, please-” you words break off into a whiny moan when he presses his face into your cunt, running his tongue through your plush folds and up to your pudgy clit. Your hands fly down to grasp his hair, hips tilting up into his mouth when he sucks on you, his hands massaging the fat of your thighs.

Leon hums at the taste of you, the sound muffled into your wetness as he runs his hot tongue over your sticky labia and back up your clit sloppily, practically making out with your pussy. “Mfmm, fuck— taste s’good,” he drawls out, already drunk on you and trying to press impossibly closer in between your thighs as you buck up into him, “that's it baby, fuck my face.”

You pant and whine above him, head tipping back against the couch as he slides the tip of his tongue over your fluttering hole, his nose nudging your clit. Your legs tingle, trembling over his big shoulders as he licks and kisses you closer and closer to your release.

“Leon, fuck— fuck m’so close… please.”

He hums in approval, pushing his tongue a little deeper to lick into your cunt with a rough moan. “Yeah? Rub your clit for me, baby. cum in my mouth… c’mon,” he begs, tongue-fucking your tight hole as your hand fumbles between your legs, rubbing circles over your sensitive bud, and it doesn’t take long until you're gushing all over his mouth, your cunt clenching around his tongue.

He pants heavily into your wet heat, pulling back just enough to look up at you— his lips and chin all shiny, covered in your arousal, resting his cheek against your thigh with a lopsided smile. “You taste amazing.” He murmurs, licking his lips with a chuckle as you roll your eyes at him with a soft laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Just like birthday cake.”

“Shut up.” you tell him again, giggling as he peppers soft kisses over the swell of your hips before letting him convince you to do it all over again.

જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist

AN: I’m sorry if it’s bad I don’t know how to feel about it :(

[dittography-direwolf]

Totally normal for a legitimate for-profit company to refuse to reclaim or stop running their products even after they're no longer being paid to do so. I'm sure it's very normal to just keep running your service for free when your contract's been terminated. Spending money to continue running cameras that supposedly no one is looking at is definitely not an indicator they are just run by the federal government to spy on everyone and only a wacko conspiracy theorist would think so.

[cutecipher]

Flock ‘Objects to Our Removing Their Equipment’: Emails Reveal Why a Town Put Bags Over Its Flock Cameras

"For the time being, if you or someone on your crew has availability to secure black plastic bags (or something else) over the cameras, that

Link directly to the article

[misspossexxive]

you and pope are touch starved…

the weight of pope’s body on yours had an almost addictive effect on your nervous system. your legs were wrapped around his hips, never letting him pull away too far, while your hands were tangled in his dark auburn hair, lazily tugging at their ends, causing quiet growls to escape from andrew's throat, which were drowned out by your soft lips tasting his.

his rough fingers squeezed your flesh hidden beneath your cotton dress, pulling it up higher and higher with every movement to expose your smooth skin and touch it without any barrier, needing to feel you.

you let him do it without a shadow of hesitation, running your smaller hands along his broad shoulders and muscular back, slipping your hands under his shirt, running your fingernails over his freckles, pausing on his stomach, scratching his abs, slowly sliding down his lower abdomen, stopping when you touched the cold buckle of his belt.

as soon as he felt your lips pulling away, he grabbed you by the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, harder, sliding his tongue inside, making you moan, your body arching as your full breasts brushed against his chest.

he knew what you wanted to say, what you wanted to ask—he always knew. yet he couldn’t tear himself away from you, being practically high from the feeling you gave him.

his hips brushed against yours, letting you feel his thick, hard cock against your wet, soaked panties. you responded immediately, pressing against him, creating a clumsy yet incredibly erotic friction that sent electrifying tension coursing through your bones.

you wanted to feel him inside you—you needed to feel him inside you so desperately—and andrew needed you, your warmth and softness that only you could give him. but neither of you were able to pull away, holding your bodies so close that there wasn’t even a millimeter of space between you. rubbing against each other with a raw , almost animalistic urgency, making a mess inside your clothes.

© misspossexxive

[xthepittlingx]

Don't even talk to me rn that's his baby 😭

[neon-travesty]

John Wells always having Shawn Hatosy with his tits out in his projects

[justagirlwhosbored]

I've always loved a man in a uniform

[hatosypex]

back appreciation post - Shawn Hatosy

[ifawns]

pope who holds your hips down and eats you out for hours. pulling up for air only to press kisses to your inner thighs, sucking dark marks before diving back in. he’s basically making out with your pussy, moaning into it as his hips buck up into nothing because he’s getting so desperate for you.

[shawnhatosys-biceps]

Shawn Hatosy as Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody in Animal Kingdom

Good morning to those arms