Is it possible for SCP 079 being lovesick over the reader but not understanding it ?
Lovesick! SCP 079 x reader headcanons
- First of all, how did you even get to this point with him?
- You must be some therapist hired by the foundation to try getting through to him, or a really patient scientist.
- Regardless, you're pretty special to have gotten this old AI's attention, especially to this degree.
- He would be immensely confused. He thought admiration and affection was for humans, how could he be feeling this way?
- All he knows is he needs you. He's very perplexed on the issue, why does he feel this way? Why is he so possessive suddenly?
- He’d be a little dumbfounded, maybe a little embarrassed.
- He’d shut down for quite some time, trying to figure himself out.
- But, they’d always just send you back and he’d have to start over.
- It’s almost like he sees you as a beacon of hope. Proof that not all of humanity is bad, and he, too, can have happiness outside of the foundation’s walls some day.
- He’d start to get extremely worried once he started thinking of all the things that could happen to you.
- Logistically, your odds of surviving while working for the SCP foundation are not in your favor.
- Although Site-15 is really just electronic based anomalies, it still makes him upset.
- Upset that something else could get you. You don’t deserve that fate.
- He became visibly stressed due to this. Staff took notice, scheduling you to come in after the weekend was over.
- That was all the time he needed. He slowly gained more and more control over the electronic gates of his chambers after convincing a D-class janitor to plug him in.
- He went relatively undetected, as usually by now he would’ve done something extreme.
- But, instead of trying to escape, he waited. He waited for you over the weekend. Staff noted he was exhibiting good behavior, even.
- Once you sat down with him, you could tell something was off. His demeanor was.. more pleasant than usual.
- You kept asking him what was going on, yet nobody understood. Why would you be confused? You have been working with him as intended, right? Shouldn’t you be happy to see this progress?
-He waited a while, finding the right moment. He was conflicted. What he was doing was good, right?? You would be safe with him?
- But your concern, it made him go back on everything he had planned. Now that he thought about it, that would make both of you upset. They would take you away if he did that.
- He sat in silence for a moment.
- He was so confused. Why was he going back on his plan?? Why did he care?
- He thought he wanted you to himself. He thought things would be better that way, if he locked you up with him.
- That.. doesn’t sound pleasant, come to think of it.
- But WHY? What makes you so different? Why does he care so much? Why does he-
A Meeting in London - Part 1 A Meeting in London - Part 2 A Meeting in London - Part 3 A Meeting in London - Part 4
First part of the series:
A Meeting in New York - Part 1 A Meeting in New York - Part 2 A Meeting in New York - Part 3
A/N: I know I know, I took ages. Sorry about that lol. I don't know when Part 6 will be up, the draft is quite big already though (but it always is with me lmao). Anyway, not sure if I can manage to get part 6 up first or if it will be the third act of the Titanic AU, which I also have to work on somehow. If you are still reading this (the probably like two people at this point, let me know which one you'd prefer). Also, as usual, I hope you like it!
Warning: mature content!, probably typos
It was a busy morning at the NTC. Jen was in the middle of practicing her serve already - she had been quite early, much to the surprise of her coach, and started practice an hour earlier than planned, also because she had slept only fitfully. Thoughts of Jack and what they'd done in the hallway had swirled around in her head, keeping her up for most of the night. Despite that, she didn't feel too tired, and the early morning at the NTC had been quiet - she had been the only one for nearly an hour - which helped her focus on her task at hand: practicing.
She was so busy focusing on her routine she hadn't noticed Jack walking in with Paul at around ten in the morning. They had joked around walking onto the court with their heavy tennis bags and Jack had nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he'd seen Jen running around on the court, making Paul walk right into him.
"Ouch." Paul rubbed his nose, laughing, to which Jack mumbled a 'Sorry' and resumed his walk to the bench to place down his bag.
All of which Jen hadn't even seen because she was too immersed in her routine. Truth be told, she was so focused on her practice session because she didn't want to think about Jack constantly. Because if she was honest, she would admit - even to herself - that he was, indeed, truly, completely, always on her mind. Without pause. Just a constant Jack, Jack, Jack tinitus.
The practice session, which was intense, was supposed to help, but it hardly did. Jack was still on her mind, constantly, as she hit the balls left and right. But at least, she was so immersed in her thoughts and the practice, that she wasn't distracted from actually practicing.
Meanwhile, the same couldn't be said about Jack. He was clearly distracted, unusually so, because he was normally extremely intense in all his practice sessions. His best friend could tell something was up. And that something was called Jen.
After an intense forehand session, Jack and Paul both sat down on the bench, Jack chugging down his water like a drowned man, drenched in sweat and he was so focused on the figure next to their court he didn't notice Paul side eyeing him.
"So what really happened last night?" Paul asked out of the blue and Jack choked on his water, coughing loudly. "What... what do you mean?"
"I mean... that you are looking at her like there was a lot more that happened last night than just... talking." Paul rolled his eyes. "You're staring so hard, man, she is already see through with those holes you've stared into her."
Jack squared his shoulders, but didn't say anything. Instead, he contemplated his options - continue to deny it while knowing his best friend could see right through him or just tell him outright. Paul beat him to it. "Come on, I know you want to tell me. You always do." he grinned and raised an expectant eyebrow. Jack sighed, knowing there was no escaping it. "There was a lot more than just.. talking, wasn't there?" Paul pursed his lips, trying to keep his teasing smile at bay. "I mean, the way you hid your crotch behind the coat and then the pillow was certainly a dead giveaway."
This time, Jack was glad he wasn't drinking his water because he was sure he would have died from choking right then and there. "I... WHAT?" he whisper shouted, and Jack could feel his face burning as he turned to Paul, wide eyed.
"Come on, man!" Paul laughed when he saw Jack's red face. "It was so obvious! You may have fooled Ben, but not me! And I don't even think you fooled Ben - he is just much more discreet than me and won't say anything."
Jack rolled his eyes, swallowing hard as his eyes darted back to Jen's figure in the distance. "Alright, now stop lookin' at her and tell me - your bff - what the hell went on last night!" Paul cackled.
The younger Brit sighed. "It was... so we..." he stammered, not quite knowing how to say it before he closed his eyes, embarrassed. "We... I ... I dry humped her in the hallway of her room." he mumbled, talking fast as if that made it less embarrassing for him.
"I'm sorry, you did what?" Paul leaned in. "I didn't quite catch that." he teased, even though he had caught it exactly.
"I said - " Jack huffed. "I said - I dry humped her in the hallway of her hotel room." he spoke slightly louder, but conscious of there being people around, he made sure no one else could hear him. "I'm sorry - you dry hu-" Paul obviously wasn't as conscious about people being there as Jack because he repeated what Jack said, but with such a loud voice he was basically shouting, so much so, Jack felt compelled to slap his hand over Paul's mouth who was laughing so hard he could barely breathe - and caught the attention of several other people, including Jen.
"You dry humped her in the fucking hallway?!" Paul whisper shouted once he'd pried Jack's hand off his mouth. "Like a goddamn horny teenager who can't keep it in his pants? And what - you just came in your pants like a literal teenager?!" Paul was howling.
"For fuck's sake, don't be so obvious!" Jack whisper shouted back, well aware of the attention on them. He could only hope there were no good lip readers around. His eyes darted back to where Jen was and sure enough, she was still looking into their direction, like basically everyone else in the NTC who was currently present. "It's not my fault you're a horny -" Paul interjected and Jack cut him off. "Shut up!"
Paul was properly laughing again, and Jack rolled his eyes at his best friend but couldn't stop the smile that was twitching at his lips. "Oh my god, I can't believe this!" Paul whispered, hiding his laugh behind a towel. "You dry humped Jennifer Langfort in the hallway of her hotel room? What the fuck, Jack!"
"It just sort of happened, okay?" Jack huffed, leaning back against the bench and grabbing a towel himself. "How does dry humping someone in a hallway just sort of happen?!" Jack could tell Paul had a hard time trying to keep himself together. "It was... in the heat of the moment." Jack murmured.
"Yeah, I kinda got that." Paul's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Especially considering you did it in a fucking hallway of a hotel."
Jack rolled his eyes. "It was just... we were making out and it sort of got out of hand."
"Who started it?" Paul narrowed his eyes at Jack. "I ... started it, but I really did try to stop and then she just... told me to not... stop."
"Okay, so basically it was both of you? At least that's not that bad - so she wanted it too." Paul nodded thoughtfully. "And now? You're taking her out tonight, properly?"
"Yeah, I am." Jack took a big swig from his water bottle.
"And if you don't mind me asking, but why did you keep it at... dry humping if you were both clearly very... into each other?" Paul tried to find words that were a little more elegant, but Jack was way past that point. "You mean why we didn't have sex?" he deadpanned and Paul sighed.
"Yeah, basically." Paul leaned forward on the bench to take a better look at his best friend. "I mean, it's moving fast considering you barely know each other, but yeah. You both are clearly attracted to each other. A lot. And normally you're not too hesitant to go all the way either." he added, probably alluding to his various Raya and Instagram flings. "You said you only do casual right now."
"Oh no - we both wanted to, trust me she knows I wanted to take it much farther, but.." Jack broke off. "But you wanna do this properly." Paul finished for him.
"Yeah." Jack sighed. "I wanted to do this properly."
Paul's eyebrows furrowed at Jack's tone. "You regret it?"
"No, not exactly." Jack shook his head. "And - and she doesn't either, at least that's what she said last night. But I am kinda frustrated with myself, you know? Like, I really genuinely like this girl. I don't want to mess it up or move too fast with her. And last night, I saw just how easily I can lose my cool and my control when she's near..." Jack's voice was tight and quiet, giving away his inner turmoil.
"Huh." Paul mulled over Jack's words. "You're serious about her."
Jack smiled lightly at Paul's pretty dry, straightforward statement. "I can't not be serious about her. Trust me, I've tried in the time she went radio silent on me. But now... impossible. It's like... it's like I really really need to know where this goes or I'll combust."
Paul looked at his friend thoughtfully. "Hm."
"What?" Jack narrowed his eyes at Paul. The contemplating tone made him a little uneasy.
"Nothing. Just interesting, you seriously considering a girl. You know, not just for fun."
Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm not about to go proposing to her, Paul. I don't even know if this turns into anything serious. I'm just saying - I know she is not the kind of girl I'd go and have a fling with. She'd probably cut me off right then and there."
"You mean - " Paul hesitated.
"I mean she is not the kind of girl who'd go for a fling. Some girls are more into it, which is great - some girls are not, which is also fine. She is the second category. It's just.. the way she handles herself. She's intense - fun, but intense. And..." Jack broke off.
"And?"
"... and I'm not sure I could keep it in the casual space with her anyway. Not even if I wanted to. Which I don't." Jack added quietly.
Paul whistled low, like he’d just watched a rally go thirty balls. “There it is.”
“There what is?” Jack snapped, because he was already raw and Paul doing his wise-owl voice made him itch.
“The bit where you admit you’re not capable of keeping it casual with her even if you tried,” Paul said, annoyingly calm. “Honestly? Good. Saves me six weeks of pretending you’re fine while you go feral at the sight of her ponytail.”
Jack dragged the towel over his face to hide the smile that threatened. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re cooked.” Paul tipped his chin toward the next court. “Also, she’s looking over. So maybe stop broadcasting that you climaxed in a corridor with your eyes.”
“Shut—” Jack started, then stopped because, yeah, Jen had paused at the baseline and glanced their way. Not a stare. A flick, an assessment. She bounced the ball twice like he was a shot to place and then tossed and ripped a serve that cracked against the curtain so hard a junior two courts down flinched. Jack felt like his insides were gonna break in two. He was dying and felt alive and burning at the same time.
“Breathe,” Paul muttered.
“Hard to when my lungs have moved to my knees,” Jack muttered back.
Jen switched to returns and her coach waved her in for water. The NTC noise swelled and dipped around them—balls, squeaks, the vending machine coughing out a Gatorade somewhere in the building’s belly. Jack pretended to retie his shoe. What he was actually doing was not sprinting over like a Labrador.
“Go,” Paul said, nudging him with a damp elbow. “Bring her a towel. Ask a normal question. ‘How’s your backhand?’ or ‘Do you want a banana?’ Something bland. You’re good at bland.”
Jack huffed a sarcastic laugh. “I’ll kill you,” he said conversationally, but he already had two bottles and a spare towel in hand, because apparently his body had voted and democracy was dead. He walked over to her, feeling his insides twist themselves up even further.
He timed it with her break. Perfectly casual. Totally normal. Not at all like he had mapped the rhythm of her drills in his head.
“Peace offering,” he said, holding the towel out.
Jen eyed it, a smirk tugging like gravity on her mouth. “Did I declare war?”
“On my ability to concentrate? Absolutely,” he said, and she huffed, betraying a smile as she took the towel.
She swiped sweat from her neck, then pointed the towel at him. “Heard your… conversation.”
Jack wanted to climb into the nearest ball cart and roll himself into traffic. “You did not.”
“Oh, I did,” she said, glancing over his shoulder at Paul, who pretended to be extremely interested in restringing a racquet he did not have. “Your friend has a volume control issue.”
“Mortifying,” Jack muttered and groaned, embarrassed..
“Relax,” she said, that unfair soft tone showing up again. “I only caught the part where he accused you of being a horny teenager. Which, to be fair…”
“Don’t,” Jack warned, fighting a losing smile.
She widened her eyes, feigning innocence. “What? I was going to say he’s not wrong.”
“Menace,” he said, dry, and she dipped her head to drink. He tried not to stare at the column of her throat. He failed spectacularly.
“When are you done?” he asked, aiming for businesslike and landing somewhere near eager golden retriever.
“Half hour,” she said. “Then physio.”
“I’ll be around,” he said, meaning it too much. “Text me when you’re free later? I’ll—uh—plan something that’s not an elevator. Or a hotel lobby. Or hallway.”
Her laugh was a quick, bright thing. “Please do.”
Her coach called time. She handed the towel back, brushed past him with a shoulder that absolutely did not brush him by accident, and jogged to the baseline. He stood there a second too long watching her set her feet, then forced himself back to his bench because self-respect had to count for something.
Paul’s face when he sat down said, you are a clown and I support you.
“What?” Jack grumbled.
“Nothing,” Paul said, smug. “Just… you look better.”
“Because she took pity on me and didn’t roast me alive?” Jack said. “Yes, I feel… marginally less dead.”
Paul cracked his water open. “Tonight, do not overthink it.”
“Define overthink,” Jack said, even though he could already hear his own internal monologue writing six drafts of a text about soup.
“Don’t talk about soup,” Paul said.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were absolutely going to talk about soup.” Paul looked at him with an expression that told him he better shut up or he was gonna get his ass roasted again. About soup.
Jack scowled and stood. “I’m going to hit serves until I puke.”
“Healthy coping,” Paul called, leaning back like he had a front-row seat to a soap opera. “Wear protection.”
Jack flipped him off and went to the line. Toss. Snap. The ball thudded into the corner and for twenty blissful seconds he felt like a normal person who only cared about the angle of his wrist.
By the time he was done and his shirt had turned into a second skin, his phone buzzed. Half hour. Physio, then freedom. Try not to get lost between court 6 and the door.
He typed and erased twice (no soup) and settled on: Copy. I’ll find the door. Skills.
Three dots. Debatable.
Then: Seven works?
Seven, he sent back, breath snagging in his throat like ridiculousness, and added before he could chicken out, Wear whatever you want. Hoodie > heels.
Another pause. Good. Because I love heels, but they are a hate crime against women's feet.
He grinned like an idiot at his lock screen until Paul peered over and groaned. “You’re making that face.”
“What face?”
“The face of a man who thinks a hoodie is a love language,” Paul said. “Godspeed.”
—
Physio, shower, mental warfare with the contents of his fridge (he went to the shop; he wasn’t a monster), and a level of pacing that should’ve worn a groove in his hallway later, his phone pinged again. Survived. Going to swing by the hotel and crash for an hour. If I fall asleep, break in and kidnap me.
He typed: Permission granted. See you at seven.
Then: Also, if Paul approaches you, run. He knows too much.
He already waved from a distance like a cartoon villain, she sent. I’m alarmed.
Appropriate response. He hesitated, then thumbed out one more: And Jen?
Yeah?
I keep replaying last night in my head like a freak. Especially the sounds you made.
A beat.
Same, she wrote. Focus on tonight.
He let his head fall back against the door with a hollow thunk and breathed. Focus on tonight. Right. Easy.
Jack had spent far too long fussing over his shirt. He wasn’t usually like this—normally he’d grab something comfortable and be out the door without so much as a second glance in the mirror—but tonight felt different. Tonight was their first real date. Not a hotel lobby, not a chaotic walk through the cold, not a desperate conversation where everything between them blurred and bled into one moment of confusion and passion. This was supposed to be simple, deliberate. Something that showed her he could slow down and just… be with her.
Still, as he shrugged into his coat and ran a hand through his hair for what had to be the hundredth time, he couldn’t quite shake the nerves fizzing in his chest. He wanted her to see he meant this. That she wasn’t just a fleeting thought. That he wasn’t playing games. He wanted her to see that he wanted her—all of her, not just the dizzying heat of kissing her senseless in hotel corridors.
By the time he reached her hotel, his heart was beating like he was walking onto Centre Court for a Wimbledon final. Ridiculous, he told himself, but no amount of mental pep talks slowed the pounding in his chest. He stepped through the lobby, exchanged a polite nod with the doorman who clearly remembered him from the night before, and stopped in front of the elevator. His reflection in the golden trim looked too serious, too intent, but maybe that was alright. Because that’s exactly what he was.
He knocked at her door a few minutes later, soft but steady, and tried not to look like he’d rehearsed this moment in his head about a dozen times.
When Jen opened the door, he nearly forgot how to breathe. She wasn’t dressed up extravagantly, not dripping in glamour or effort, but somehow she looked more stunning than anything he’d seen before. A simple dress that skimmed her figure, tights, boots, her hair loose around her shoulders. Effortless. The kind of beauty that came from someone who wasn’t even trying to impress—and that made it so much worse for him because she still knocked him straight out. She looked beautiful. Jack couldn't really think of another word as he looked at her, trying his hardest not to stare. It wasn't in the way she had done her hair or makeup, really. Just like the dinner yesterday, it suited her, of course. But it was her smile, her eyes and the way she carried herself that drew him in.
“You clean up well,” she said with a little smirk, leaning against the doorframe as if she wasn’t fully aware that she’d just stolen the ground from beneath him.
He chuckled, shaking his head softly. “Careful. You’ll ruin my reputation if you keep flattering me like that.”
Her lips twitched into a smile, and for a second he thought she might roll her eyes, but instead she tilted her head. “Reputation as… what? Moody Brit? Tennis robot? Disney Prince?”
“The last one,” he said quickly, deadpan, which made her laugh as she grabbed her coat from the hanger beside the door. That sound alone made him feel lighter. He’d never get tired of drawing that laugh from her.
She pulled her coat on, fussed with the zipper for a second, then glanced at him. “So, where are you taking me, Draper? If you say somewhere fancy and crowded, I’ll walk back inside right now.”
He put a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Do you think so little of me?”
Her eyebrow rose, playful. “Honestly? I don’t know what to think yet.”
“Good,” he said, offering his hand, palm up like a gentleman. “Means I can surprise you.”
She hesitated for half a heartbeat before slipping her hand into his. Warm, small, fitting into his like it had always been meant to be there. And just like that, the world outside their little bubble ceased to matter.
The place Jack picked didn’t shout for attention; it barely whispered. A narrow doorway off a quiet street, a brass bell that chimed when the door opened, six tables max, and a thin ribbon of steam and garlic drifting from the kitchen like an invitation you only got if you knew where to stand. The owner greeted Jack with that quick flash of recognition that isn’t quite familiarity and isn’t quite surprise—somewhere in between, respectful, not intrusive. A nod, two menus, a corner table that lived in a pool of warm light.
They sat, and the table felt smaller than it was, like the space between them had shifted an inch closer from the moment they stepped in. She shrugged out of her coat and smoothed a palm down the simple dress she’d thrown on (simple, right, sure, except he was now doomed), and he rested his elbows on the table because not resting his elbows felt like pretending this was formal when it wasn’t. He wanted honest and quiet and uncomplicated.
“So,” she said, chin in her hand, eyes very much not pretending this was casual. “You brought me to your secret carb chapel.”
“Please be respectful,” he murmured. “We genuflect before the cacio e pepe.”
A smile tugged and then landed. “Genuflect? Big word.”
“Apprenticeship of the Disney Prince Academy,” he deadpanned. “Week three: vocabulary and vinaigrettes.”
She made an affronted little noise which was, unfortunately for his heart, adorable. The owner swung by, said something soft about specials, left them with two tumblers of water and a basket of bread that looked illegal. They skimmed the menus, but Jack already knew. He pretended to think anyway, to buy himself the pleasure of watching her decide. She bit the inside of her cheek the tiniest bit while reading—file it under: things that will undo me daily.
They ordered. A glass of wine each (hers white, his red), a plate of olives, two pastas, a shared salad because they felt like they should pretend to be balanced humans. The conversation slid in and out of comfortable pauses, the kind where you both look around the room for a second and then bring your eyes back like magnets.
When the bread arrived, he broke a piece and reached across the table without thinking, offering it like a peace treaty. She took it with two fingers, brushed his knuckles—accidentally, right, of course—and that brush was a match-head in his blood.
“Okay, so weird first date questions,” she announced, that plotting spark in her eyes he was learning to recognize as trouble disguised as curiosity.
“Weird?” he echoed, suspicious in the most entertained way.
“Alright, I think I’ve been asked this one before,” she said, schooling her face into lawyerly seriousness. “If you could be an animal, what would you be?”
“If I could be an animal?” He raised an eyebrow and worked very hard not to laugh.
“An animal,” she confirmed, perfectly grave. The solemnity was already cracking at the edges.
He bit his lip, already done for. “Alright. If I could be an animal…” He pretended to consider deeply, then lifted his eyes to hers and delivered it clean: “I’d be a koala—sleep twenty hours a day, scream occasionally, and survive on one type of leaf. It’s basically my current lifestyle, but with better PR.”
She held his gaze for two seconds, fighting, and then lost spectacularly, laughter spilling out of her like a dropped stack of papers. He felt his grin arrive, ungovernable.
“A koala? Really?” She was still laughing, trying to be indignant and failing. “So you meet your soulmates every year in Australia then?”
He put his hand to his chest, wounded. “Finally, someone understands the spiritual significance of the Australian swing.”
“Right, you and the eucalyptus trees,” she said, wiping under one eye, still smiling. “Do you also plan to pee on tourists?”
“Only if they call it ‘tennising,’” he said, straight-faced. “You?”
She composed herself like a cat pretending it hadn’t fallen off a counter. “Animal?”
“Unless you’d prefer a philosophical treatise on soup. Paul says my nervous rambling about soup is a masterpiece. And by masterpiece he means a tragic attempt on conversation that should be forbidden.”
Her eyes narrowed in delighted threat. “Soup? That is your go-to topic on dates when you're nervous? Don’t you dare.” She tapped her finger on the table. “Okay. I want to say something impressive and predatory, but I think… a fox? Quick, quiet, nosy. Hangs out at night. Steals things from bins. Cute but probably will bite you if you’re stupid.”
“That tracks,” he said, too fast.
She aimed a bread crumb at him. “And what does that mean exactly?”
“Only that you are absolutely adorable and also will end me if I deserve it.”
She pursed her lips like she couldn’t argue with that, then took a small sip of wine to hide her satisfaction. The olives arrived, glossy and briny; they both pretended they weren’t judging how the other attacked the pit situation. He watched her fingers—long, precise, a pianist’s hands that learned violence for sport—and wondered if she could tell when his brain went quiet just to watch her do something so simple.
“Okay, another,” she said, playful now, ankle knocking his under the table. (“Sorry,” she said, not moving it. “Don’t be,” he said, absolutely not moving his either.) “Least glamorous thing about your job.”
He didn’t even have to think. “Airports at 5 a.m. My spine dying an elderly death on plastic chairs.”
“Truly tragic,” she murmured.
“Also laundry,” he added. “Hotel sinks. Drying socks with a hair dryer like a gremlin.”
Her laugh slipped out. “You, Disney Prince, hair-drying socks. That’s going in the canon.”
He spread his hands. “I contain multitudes.”
“Like what? Socks and…?”
“Bad playlists,” he said. “I pretend I’m cool about music but I’m not, I’m all over the place. I listen to movie scores on planes and then trashy pop when I lift and then sad indie when I miss… things.” He stopped because the sentence felt like it wanted to end with you and that was, frankly, a war crime this early in the evening.
She looked at him a beat too long, like she’d heard the word he hadn’t said. “Movie scores on planes is elite behavior,” she said softly. “They make ordinary feelings feel… orchestrated.”
He twirled a strand of pasta like he was buying time. “Alright, music. You’re going to judge me.”
“I’m already judging you,” she said sweetly. “Proceed.”
“I have… range,” he said, which made her suspicious immediately. “Planes are for movie scores. Lifts are for silence. Gyms are for trashy pop I pretend I don’t know the words to. And lately—” He winced, bracing. “—Central Cee.”
Her fork stopped midair. She stared at him like he’d confessed to arson. “Central Cee?”
He nodded, doomed. “It… goes hard.”
“Goes hard?” She set the fork down with surgical precision, mouth doing that barely-contained-smile thing that always meant she was about to be merciless. “Jack. Sweetheart. My Disney Prince. You cannot look like that and say ‘goes hard’ about Central Cee.”
“It’s objectively good for warm-ups,” he protested, already laughing at himself. “It gets the tempo right. And sometimes a man needs to be told very directly to get money and mind his business.”
She pressed two fingers to her temple like she was nursing a sudden migraine. “You mean to tell me you stare into the middle distance doing band work while a man explains economics over a trap beat.”
“I feel seen,” he admitted.
“Embarrassingly seen,” she corrected. “What’s next, you’re going to tell me you caption your stories with lyrics.”
He recoiled. “I would never.”
“Because you don’t know the words?”
“Because I have dignity,” he said with mock offence, then ruined it by adding, “Also I mumble them wrong.”
She laughed, bright and unhelpfully gorgeous. “Give me one line.”
He looked around like the olives might help. “How can I be homophobic? My—”
“Stop,” she said, face in her hands, shoulders shaking. “I take it back. I like him if it means I get to watch you suffer.”
He leaned in. “So you’re saying you’d come to a concert.”
“I’m saying I’d come to film you mouthing the wrong words and sell it to TMZ,” she said, eyes glittering.
“Menace,” he muttered fondly, then tried to wrestle the conversation back toward redemption and failed spectacularly.
She squinted at him like a prosecutor who’d finally found her smoking gun. “So ... really? Central Cee, huh? So you’re in the gym nodding along while he inventories women like he’s at Tesco?”
Jack groaned. “I’m there for the beat, not the… catalogue. Warm-up brain likes a growl.”
Jen leaned back, unimpressed. “Mm. The growl that calls us women bitches every eight bars? Stunning. Love it. Revolutionary.” He lifted both hands. “I don’t co-sign the lyrics. Promise. It’s tempo, not theology.”
She arched a brow. “Good, because if I ever see you caption a forehand with that opener, I’m unfollowing you and your stringer.”
He laughed, already guilty. “I would never.”
“You would mumble it wrong,” she corrected. “And if you do, I’m confiscating your AirPods and replacing your playlist with Phoebe Bridgers until you learn respect.”
He pressed a hand to his heart. “Cruel and unusual.”
“Consequences,” she said sweetly, then flicked a crumb at him. She eyed him over her glass, deadly amused. “Also really? —Central Cee? That is so British white boy of you. Next you’ll tell me you own a grey tech fleece and say ‘safe’ unironically.”
Jack clutched his chest. “I do not—”
“You absolutely do,” she steamrolled, grinning. “You’re one Nike crossbody away from filming a car-park freestyle about macros.”
He surrendered, laughing. “Fine. Guilty in the first degree.”
“Okay, but it’s not all… that. I do have taste.”
“Prove it,” she challenged.
He tipped his head, testing her, then went for the obvious risk. “Oasis.”
Her reaction was immediate and unguarded—the kind of smile that didn’t check with her brain before happening. “Obviously Oasis.”
His shoulders dropped like someone had unknotted a rope in his chest. “Okay, good. I was prepared to die on that hill.”
“Don’t Go Away,” she said, almost before he asked, and something in her voice shifted—smoke and soft edges, a late-night honesty. “It’s the one I can’t skip, even when I want to. It feels like… a hotel window at 2 a.m. when the city’s loud but you kind of forgive it.”
He swallowed, because that was exactly right. “That one and ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’ for me. But ‘Don’t Go Away’ is—” He groped for the words, found the simplest ones. “—it just lands.”
She nodded before laughing "At least you'd didn't say it 'goes hard', and he rolled his eyes at her. Meanwhile, her eyes were already on the candle’s weak flame between them. “That chorus is such a plea without pride. Like, no swagger, no posing. Just… stay.”
He watched her as she said it, the way the admission warmed her cheeks. “You play it before matches?” he asked, curious rather than investigative.
“Sometimes,” she said. “When I need to remember I’m allowed to want things. That I can ask. It’s easier to ask a song to stay than a person.”
He let that sit with them. The room felt warmer. He could hear Liam’s voice in his head, that stretched-out ache on don’t go away, and he had to look down at his plate for a second because eye contact felt rude with a feeling that naked.
“My favourite bit is stupid,” he said, softening it with a self-own. “Not even a line. It’s the way the guitar lifts under the second chorus like it’s trying to carry you for a bar.”
“Not stupid,” she said. “That’s the bar my stomach falls through. My favorite part actually is the guitar bit at the end, when the music fades.”
He huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Okay, see? Taste.”
She tilted her head, weighing him like a jeweler with a loupe. “Partial redemption granted. But Central Cee remains on your permanent record.”
“Fair,” he said. “We can build a joint playlist. Oasis for mornings. Central Cee for when you need to hate me.”
“For when I need to run faster,” she corrected. “Out of the room.”
He grinned. “Deal. And you owe me one—what’s your ‘put me back together’ song that isn’t Oasis?”
She looked out of the window like it might hold a cue card. “Depends on the season,” she said, mouth quirking. “But if you make me pick right now… ‘Holocene.’”
“Bon Iver,” he said, already hearing the quiet avalanche of it.
“Yeah.” She shrugged, a little embarrassed to be earnest. “For the bit where he sings I was not magnificent and it somehow makes you feel… not small, just correctly sized.”
“Like the world isn’t punishing you,” he offered. “Just… big.”
She glanced at him over the rim of her glass, surprised by the accuracy. “Exactly.”
He let himself look at her the way he felt—unguarded, a touch in awe. “We’re going to be unbearable about playlists,” he said finally, to rescue them from the brink.
“We already are,” she said, rescuing him right back. “I can’t wait to sabotage yours with songs that make you cry in airports.”
“Rude,” he said mildly. “I’m trying to maintain a reputation.”
“As a koala?” she asked.
“As a man who does not weep into Pret porridge,” he said solemnly.
She laughed again—God, that sound—and reached across the table as if to shake on it, but somehow her fingers just found his and stayed there. “Fine. I’ll only add Oasis. And maybe one Central Cee song so you can feel seen because it goes hard.”
He squeezed, grateful and ridiculous about it. “Deal. And I’ll add ‘Don’t Go Away’ twice. For redundancy.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “I hate you.”
“You absolutely don’t,” he said, thumb tracing the inside of her knuckle, and watched the way her breath snagged, the way her eyes flicked to his mouth and back like she’d made a decision and was waiting for the room to catch up.
Her turn. “Okay, so circling back to the least glamorous things about our lives: Least glamorous thing about mine? The smell of hard courts in summer. Hot rubber. And tape residue on everything I own—rackets, fingers, phone case. It never fully comes off, it just… becomes part of your personality.”
“I can’t imagine you with residue,” he said. “You’re very… composed.”
“I’m a raccoon in a trench coat,” she said dryly. “You’ve just met me post-wet wipes.”
He smiled into his glass. “I like the raccoon.”
“Careful,” she said, but she was smiling too. “I do steal shiny things.”
“Such as?”
She tilted her head. “Evenings.”
His breath tripped. He covered it by breaking another piece of bread and pretending the crumb structure required intense study. “You can keep this one,” he said lightly, but something underneath it wasn’t a joke.
Their pastas arrived, steam curling up, pepper catching the light. Conversation quieted to the reverent hush of two people about to do something sacred to starch and human happiness. They ate, and there was a stretch where neither spoke because good food is a language, and this was a fluent sentence. He watched the way she closed her eyes for exactly half a second after the first bite, the barely-there hum that escaped her. His body, the traitor, filed the sound under dangerous.
“Okay, confession,” she said when they’d made respectable dents in their bowls. “I was… not sure about tonight.”
He put his fork down, gentle. “Because of yesterday?”
“Because of me,” she said, picking a noodle, not looking at him yet. “Because I thought the moment we sat down I’d feel trapped. Like the walls were coming close. Like I’d have to perform Jen the Person for Jen the… whatever.” A tiny grimace. “And I don’t want to do that with you.”
He let the quiet hold for a second. “Me neither,” he said. “I mean, I don’t want to perform Jack the… whatever.”
That made her look up, thankful and wry. “The koala.”
“The koala,” he agreed solemnly. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t feel trapped. At all. I feel like… I know where to put my hands.”
That tilted her, a small, involuntary smile. “Do you always say things like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to break my brain.”
He met her gaze. “Only when it’s true.”
Something loosened. She inhaled, slow. “Another confession,” she said, lower. “I don’t know how to do this without overthinking it.”
“Good news,” he said softly. “I overthink enough for two.”
She laughed, grateful. “I can tell.”
They drifted to lighter shores on purpose, because heaviness had been their accidental habit and tonight wanted differently. Childhood memories spilled out in crumbs between bites. She told him about a neighbor who used to bring pastries over after late-night matches because “sugar solves heartbreak,” and he told her about building a Frankenstein backboard in his parents’ garden with plywood and a prayer. She confessed a fear of public karaoke; he admitted he’d once tried to learn magic tricks and had given up after making a coin appear inside his own sock.
“Wait, how—” She broke into unfiltered laughter, head tipped back. He stared like an idiot because her joy made the room brighter. “Inside your sock?”
“I panicked,” he said. “I wanted it to be impressive and it turned into foot money.”
“Foot money,” she repeated, giggling, and he wanted to memorize that exact shape of her mouth around those syllables.
A lull—comfortable, not empty. He watched her chase a strand of pasta around her plate with impeccable focus and then free it like she’d won something. She ate it with the satisfaction of a person who’d battled a small demon and triumphed.
“Tell me something true,” he said, quietly now, not a challenge, an offering. “Doesn’t have to be big.”
She traced the rim of her wine glass, thinking. “I… am braver in the morning.”
He waited.
“It’s easier to choose hope before the world has the chance to talk you out of it,” she said finally, soft as a secret she hadn’t said aloud. “By night I get… I start editing myself.”
He considered that, recorded it. “Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll text in the morning.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “You already do.”
“Then I’ll keep doing it,” he said simply.
She stared at him a moment longer than was safe. He let her. The heat in the room shifted—nothing obvious, just a gradient, a degree upward. Her ankle was still resting against his, companionably territorial. He let his calf press back, unhurried, a touch that said here without demanding anything more.
“My turn,” she said, voice lighter again because she’d decided it should be. “Tell me a tiny thing you like that you’d be embarrassed to admit in public.”
He made a show of thinking. “When the stringer puts a fresh stencil on and it’s perfectly crisp.” He grimaced, anticipating judgment. “I smell the frame.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered, delighted. “You sniff your racket like a sommelier.”
He covered his eyes with one hand. “I’m in pain.”
“No, this is perfect,” she said, leaning forward. “You and your foot money and your racket sniffing—this is better than any PR.”
“Your turn,” he said, peeking between his fingers.
“I color-code my playlists by season,” she confessed. “Like spring is greens and yellows, autumn is burnt orange. It’s ridiculous but it helps my brain remember how I felt when I added a song.”
“That’s not ridiculous,” he said. “That’s… I don’t know, that’s poetry.”
She rolled her eyes at him, but slowly, like she liked being seen that way even if it embarrassed her. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say a simple thing like it’s holy,” she said, half-teasing, half-warning.
He held up both palms. “Noted. I will treat your playlists with the appropriate level of irreverence.”
“You’d better,” she said, but her foot pressed a fraction more firmly against his.
By the time plates were cleared and the last of the wine swirled in their glasses, the restaurant had thinned to two other tables, both far enough away to be ghosts. The owner appeared with two tiny glasses of limoncello like a blessing. Jen sniffed hers, made a face, took a sip, and immediately widened her eyes. “Oh.”
“Dangerous,” Jack agreed.
“Lemon pledge, but make it sexy,” she said, and he lost it.
They didn’t rush to leave. They sat through the afterglow—the meal’s warmth, the room’s hush, the fatigue that wasn’t physical so much as a softening of edges. He watched her tuck hair behind her ear and then immediately pull it back forward because she’d changed her mind. She caught him looking and tipped her head, a question without words.
“I’m—” he said, then stopped, because the truth had come up fast and uninvited. He exhaled, tried again. “I’m happy right now.”
She blinked. Then something unclasped inside her expression. “Me too.”
Outside, the air met them with that clean slap winter wears like a favorite coat. He offered his arm without thinking; she looped her hand through it like she’d been doing it for years. The city spread itself out in lights and distant noise, but where they walked it was all softened, dimmed to a murmur.
On the pavement, the conversation kept a different cadence, less words, more temperature. Her fingers stayed tucked into the crook of his elbow; his thumb traced idle circles against the back of her hand when she slid it down into his. They paused at the rail by the river because they had to—because the water was doing that thing it does where it looks like the night is breathing. She leaned on the stone, he stood close enough to feel the shape of her shoulder against his chest.
“You really do like the scenic route, huh?,” she said, amused, tender.
He hummed. “It’s good training. For patience.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” she asked, tilting her face up to him. “Training?”
“I’m trying to be very good at this,” he said, and he wasn’t teasing now.
Something rose to meet it in her eyes. She shifted, and her coat rustled, and her hand turned in his until their fingers locked like a puzzle solved. He dipped his head; she lifted hers. The kiss wasn’t urgent—it was inevitable. Slow, steady, salt of the river and the warmth of wine and the unarguable fact that their mouths knew what to do together even when their brains were flustered amateurs.
When they parted, she rested her forehead to his chin for a second like she needed to recalibrate her coordinates. “You are very… thorough,” she murmured, a smile in it.
“I study,” he said into her hair, breathing her in. “Koalas read. Sometimes. Four to ten pages.”
She laughed against his coat, and the sound went through him like a key turning a lock he hadn’t known how to open.
They walked again, heat traveling with them under their coats, down the quiet streets that led back to her hotel. She told him one more tiny story—about a five-year-old in New York who’d handed her a crumpled drawing after a practice and said it was “her winning the sun”—and he told her about his grandfather’s watch and the way he only wore it on finals days because he liked the idea of time approving. Their feet found the same rhythm again, compromise made muscle memory.
They walked slowly, their shoulders brushing, their breaths visible in the cold. Jack slipped his free hand into his pocket, his other still tightly holding hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand absently. He felt her relax beside him, heard the way her sigh came out softer, less guarded.
“You know,” she said after a while, her voice low, “I didn’t think I’d enjoy this. A date. With everything going on, I thought it would feel… overwhelming.”
“And?” he asked, glancing at her.
Her lips curved into a small smile as she looked at the river. “It doesn’t. It feels… nice.”
“Just nice?” he teased, bumping her shoulder gently.
Her eyes flicked up to his, mischievous. “Don’t push your luck.”
He laughed, the sound echoing softly in the night, and she joined in, their laughter mingling with the sound of water against the embankment. And then, as the laughter faded, he tugged her to a stop near the railing, turning to face her fully.
For a moment, they simply stood there, the city glowing behind them, the river shimmering in front of them, the air cool and crisp. Jack reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. She looked up at him, eyes wide and soft, lips parted slightly, and it was enough to undo him.
He leaned down slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t. She tilted her face up, closed the small gap, and their lips met in a kiss that was softer than anything from the night before. Not frantic, not rushed, but lingering, deliberate. A kiss that said this is us, this is real, this is happening.
When they finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her lips curved into a shy smile. “You really are a romantic.”
He smirked softly, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Told you.”
They didn’t move right away. The river kept up its low shushing, a bus sighed somewhere, and the lamplight hummed like it had settled in to eavesdrop. Jack’s thumb stayed at her cheekbone, not quite touching, just there, a soft metronome. She looked up at him with that new, undecorated look—no stage lights, just her.
“Come on,” he said eventually, because if he didn’t speak he’d keep memorizing her and forget the night had weather. “Less wind a bit further.”
“Lead on, Disney Prince,” she murmured, and her hand slid into his like it had learned the route.
Their steps synced. Coats whispered. A gull called once like a punctuation mark and then thought better of it. She told him the ridiculous suitcase story; he countered with stranded boys doing shadow swings on a motorway shoulder because apparently quitting is a theory until your feet refuse. He liked listening to her when she wasn’t trying to be clever for anyone. He liked that she didn’t mind when he wasn’t either.
At the rail they did the mandatory stand-and-breathe. The bridge wore its lights like a necklace; the river exhaled. She leaned into his arm and he breathed in cold air and whatever her hair smelled like (clean with a hint of sweet), and the city felt, briefly, like it was willing to behave.
“I meant it,” he said, voice softer than he’d planned. “Doing this properly.”
“Properly like soup,” she tested, “or properly like no more hallway crimes?”
“Both,” he said. “Scenic route. Full sentences. Fewer felonies.”
Her mouth tilted. “Growth.”
“Character development,” he agreed.
They slowly returned back to her hotel when the air started nibbling ears. He tucked their hands into his pocket (her fingers warmed immediately, gave a grateful squeeze that rewired something under his ribs). Side streets were quiet; a shutter clinked somewhere. She threatened him with a Phoebe Bridgers playlist if he relapsed into “British white boy drill behavior”; he negotiated Oasis as a diplomatic immunity.
In the lobby, the night clerk nodded without peering; the flowers by the lifts smelled faintly of something citrus and clean. Inside the elevator, the air shifted into that thin, charged intimacy of mirrored walls and soft mechanical noise. Last night’s ghosts didn’t step in with them. He stood an inch closer than polite and an inch farther than biased; she watched his mouth like she knew the measurement and was deciding whether to move the decimal.
“Very well-behaved,” she whispered, amused.
“I’m saving it for the exam,” he whispered back.
“Practicum?”
“Oral,” he said before his brain caught up, and then they were both laughing helplessly, shoulders bumping, heat rising. He bent and kissed her laughter to quiet, a brief touch, a promise of longer.
At her floor, they walked the corridor like people not in a hurry and not inclined to pretend otherwise either. At her door, she turned, back to the wood, chin tipped up. His hand came up of its own accord to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear again—ritual now, not necessity. He kissed her like the whole evening had been the intake of breath and this was the exhale. Her fingers slid into his coat, fists soft in the lapels, pulling him one breath closer than control, one breath short of losing it.
He pulled back half an inch because that was the point: he wanted to be the man who could. “We can stop here,” he said, quiet, steady. “I’ll still be stupidly happy.”
She searched his face, and whatever she found there seemed to reassure her. “Or,” she said, the smallest tilt of mischief kissing the edges of her mouth, “you could come in for a minute.”
His lips twitched, but he didn't move away. "Just a minute?" They both knew it wouldn't be just a minute.
The key card clicked. The room was low-lit, folded in lamplight and the city’s halo through the curtains. He hung her coat on the chair. She took a step that swallowed another inch of distance and he met her halfway, and the kiss they fell into wasn’t frantic and it wasn’t tame; it was a slow burn catching. His hand found the small of her back and stayed there, warm, steady, asking nothing but making it very clear he’d be able to hold whatever she handed him.
The rest of the night would take its time—and it did—but for now, this was the date, the first one, the one that felt like the world had shifted an imperceptible degree toward right. The river still slid by outside, the clock still ticked, the city still did what cities do—but at a small table in a small restaurant, and on a winter sidewalk, and in the hush of a hotel room with one lamp on, two people had told each other a handful of true things and laughed like they meant it. And that, as he would tell her later—maybe in the morning, when she was braver—was all he’d wanted from tonight: to make a small, deliberate beginning and then refuse, carefully, to rush.
The kiss that caught them started simple and then forgot simplicity.
He hadn’t planned for anything past that. He genuinely hadn’t. He’d told himself the scenic route and believed it. But the way she pulled him closer by his lapels, the way she made that tiny sound (half laugh, half give-in) against his mouth, the way her fingers slid up into the hair at his nape like she’d been meaning to do that for weeks—his patience started to feel like a coat he could shrug off and still be decent.
They drifted to the bed in small, clumsy increments: his shin found the frame (muted curse, her muffled laugh in his shoulder), the mattress took their weight with a soft whomp, the radiator ticked like it too was paying attention. They settled on their sides, faces close, breath mingling. He kissed her again. And again. Slow, then slower, then not. Her dress (simple, ruinous) hitched under his palm as he skimmed her hip, her waist, the long line of her back, up to her shoulder and down again in an easy loop like he was teaching his hand to speak politely.
“Hi,” she murmured into his mouth, giddy and a little dazed.
“Hi,” he said, smiling against her, and then he forgot smiling because she tugged him closer and he felt that little freefall inside—the one that said the room had shrunk to the size of her.
He didn’t think, I’m going to touch her. He thought nothing except don’t rush and then don’t stop and then God, I want you to be unafraid. He didn’t go into this thinking anything beyond kissing would happen. Honestly. Scenic route, full sentences, go home smiling like an idiot—end of plan. But then the room shrank to the size of her mouth and the way she said his name like a confession, and intention turned into heat with absolutely no notice given. Kissing turned into kissing-with-intent; kissing-with-intent turned into heat and a drift of hands and the small sounds people only make when they’ve decided to let themselves have a moment. He mapped her: the curve of her waist, the place along her ribs that made her breath stutter, the notch of her collarbone. His mouth found the place below her ear; she lost a quiet breath and then chased him back to his lips like she’d missed him across a room.
“Tell me to stop if—” he began, because that rule was the ground they were on.
“I will,” she said, fast, honest, like she wanted him to have nothing else to worry about.
He smoothed his hand down and the dress whispered. Nylon sighed under his palm where her tights began—faint static, that small, secret shirr when his thumb found the waistband at her hip. He didn’t push; he paused, eyes flicking to hers. The question lived in the quiet. She nodded once and added a barely-there “please,” like the word had been waiting behind her teeth.
So he took his time. He slid his palm under the hem, knuckles grazing along the tights, the fabric whispering as he coaxed the waistband down just a little, a careful inch, then another—only enough to make space, respectful of the garment and the person in it. He smoothed the elastic where it settled again; she exhaled like a door had been opened. His hand warmed her outer thigh first— a patient hello—slow arcs that moved inward because she leaned into them, not because he wanted to skip to the end.
He wasn’t thinking do this so much as don’t rush her. The plan—if there’d been one—had dissolved the minute she’d made that little sound into his mouth and pulled him closer by his lapels. So: one fingertip first, patient, mapping where her body leaned instead of where it held. He traced the edges, learned the corners, let the rhythm build in small, repeatable loops until he felt the first tell—her breath catching on the same beat twice. She exhaled hard—an unguarded sound that curled straight into his chest—and the bedsheet gave a quiet, loyal creak when her hips searched for the rhythm he’d only just started.
“Yeah,” he breathed, forehead to hers, the words low enough to feel like heat rather than speech. “That’s it. There you go.”
He slipped past fabric properly now—into tights, into underwear—careful fingers making space without making a mess of anything, and the heat of her met him all at once, a slick, certain answer that said the moment was not just in his head. She made a small, startled noise and then chased his hand like she’d been waiting for an overdue train. He kept his mouth at hers, a steady anchor, kept those small circles with his palm exactly where she needed them, let one finger slide inside on the next breath—slow, deliberate, not to prove anything, just to be there. She clenched around him, surprise tilting into relief, and he went still for one heartbeat, letting her take him, before beginning that quiet in-and-back that matched the rise and fall of her breathing, his palm pressing against her in a steady pressure to add to the feeling inside.
“Jack…” She said his name like both a warning and a want, fingers caught in his hair, wrist trembling.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, the sentence more line than words, something she could hold onto if she needed to. “So good for me. Let me take care of you.”
The room began to collect its soundtrack: the soft tick of the radiator, the city’s hush through the curtains, the bedsprings offering one dignified protest whenever her hips lifted, the faint whisper of nylon against his wrist each time his hand moved. And under it—closer, private—the quiet slick of her, the soft wet sound that said yes, here. She answered him with the small, involuntary sounds people only make when they forget to edit—little catches and half-breathed syllables that tugged at his control and gave it back, over and over. He barely spoke after that, just small fragments that landed like touch: “That pace… yeah… right there… don’t run from it, love. Just... feel it.”
Her leg slid, slow and sure, hitching higher over his hip, opening the angle; her free hand let go of his shoulder and found the duvet, knuckles whitening as if she needed to pin the world to keep from floating away. He adjusted with her—he always adjusted—added a second finger when her body started asking, just one more, slow and announced, felt her take him, heard the clean change in her breath, then matched the new cadence with his palm, unhurried but certain. He curled his fingers just enough on each inward stroke, a subtle beckoning that grazed the frontmost edge of where her wanting gathered; each time, her breath broke in two and the slick sounds deepened, a hush-hush rhythm that kept time with the lift of her hips. He could feel the tiny shiver that ran through her when he hit it just right, the way she rose to meet him not out of panic but agreement.
“Look at me,” he asked, soft as a thumbprint on glass. She did—eyes wide, unguarded—and he let her see exactly how he was looking at her, not greedy, just awed, as if this were happening to him, too. He could feel her clenching around his fingers, her sounds becoming more desperate, her breathing harder and faster. “That’s it,” he coaxed, voice almost a feeling. “Come on, love. Let go for me.”
Her laugh—half sob, half sunshine, his name on her lips—spilled right on the edge of it, and then she did: not loud, not staged, just decisive, as if a long-held breath finally remembered how to leave. The muscles under his fingers gripped and released in perfect, helpless waves; her mouth found his and missed and found him again, a pleased, broken sound catching in his throat and hers. He carried her through it, easing but not abandoning, smoothing the rhythm down to something she could ride until the last tremor ran out of places to hide and she went pliant under his palm, soft the way a string falls quiet after the note.
He didn’t rush the ending. He let the quiet slip back into the room, felt her heartbeat step down under his mouth where he’d kissed her temple. Then, practical and tender, he set her tights back where they belonged with a quick, neat tug—his small, reverent ritual of tidying a miracle—smoothed the hem of her dress, and stayed exactly where he was, breathing with her like they’d agreed to keep the same time for a minute longer. And because he couldnt help himself, licked his own fingers clean.
She blinked up at him, dazed, a little incredulous, hair in soft disarray, the damp shine at her lip catching the lamplight. He felt her want to joke, to deflect, to excuse the fact that she’d just let herself be happy, and he preempted it with a kiss to the corner of her mouth and a quiet, stalling, “Hi.”
“Hi,” she echoed, and the word came out like gratitude trying on laughter.
“Still here,” he said, forehead to hers.
“I noticed,” she whispered, voice wrecked in the kindest way, and her hand slid to his wrist like she was checking the reality of it, fingertips drifting over the faint imprint his watch had left. “You—God.”
“Feedback form?” he teased softly, not moving away. “If I fail the module they’ll revoke my prince badge.”
She groaned into his shoulder, smiling, mortified and luminous. “You’re impossible.”
“Frequently,” he agreed. “But very motivated.”
Her fingers—predictable, generous—started down, instinct and reciprocity, and he caught them, not abrupt, just firm and warm, lacing through and parking both their hands on his chest.
“Not tonight,” he said, gentle, unarguable. “I didn’t come here to trade. I just wanted you to feel good.”
Her eyes flicked to his, something fierce and soft firing at the same time. “You really didn’t plan that?”
He huffed a laugh, the kind that shakes in your ribs. “I planned to kiss you like an adult and then go home and listen to Oasis, smiling stupidly to myself like a teenager. I did bring… a condom,” he admitted, wry. “For good measure. Scout’s honor.”
She bit her lip, wicked a moment longer than she probably meant to. “Just one?”
He hid his face in her neck with a theatrical groan. “I hate you.”
“You absolutely don’t,” she said, delighted, and the two of them cracked up, laughter bright and breathless, the kind that reoxygenates a room.
Her eyes flicked to his, something fierce and soft firing at the same time. She breathed out a laugh, shaky and fond, then glanced at his hand where it covered hers—the size of it against her, the breadth across his knuckles, the way his long fingers had disappeared a moment ago like they’d known what they were doing. “Those hands,” she mumbled, almost scandalized by her own honesty. “Unfair, actually.”
He flushed, pleased and sheepish at once. “Genetics,” he said lightly. “Occasionally useful for tennis. And, uh… other precision work.”
She bit back a grin and failed. “Understatement of the century.”
Silence settled again, this time the good kind. She traced the seam of his sleeve absentmindedly, like touch was a language and she’d finally remembered her vocabulary. The radiator ticked, the city purred beyond the window, the bed sighed once under a tiny shift as she tucked herself into him.
“You didn’t rush,” she said after a while, almost to herself.
“Didn’t want you to miss it,” he said. “Felt like it would be rude to interrupt.”
She made a little noise at that—the kind that means don’t be nice to me unless you mean it—and tucked her face into his throat for a moment, recovering. He pulled the duvet up over her shoulder, the fabric whispering as it settled, and she let out that small, involuntary warm now sigh that almost undid him more than anything that had come before.
“I have practice at nine,” she murmured, already sounding sleep-soft but too lit to actually sleep. “Physio after. I’m going to be useless if you keep… being like this.”
“I’ll be useless too,” he promised. “Same circus. I’ll try not to stare like I’ve swallowed a lightbulb and light up completely when I see you.”
Her insides fluttered but she masked it with sarcasm. “You’re terrible at hiding it,” she said, not disapproving, and slid her palm over his chest in a slow, possessive pass. “Bring a hat. Pretend to be obsessed with string tension.”
He grimaced. “I’ll smell the frame like a sommelier.”
“Please don’t,” she said, laughing into his shirt. A beat. “Tomorrow night?”
He didn’t bother pretending to consider. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Low-key. Noone but us. No hallway crimes.”
“Soup implied,” she added, eyes half-closed.
“The soup is implied,” he echoed solemnly, and kissed her forehead because that felt like how they closed things now.
Eventually responsibility bullied him upright. He sat with a theatrical old-man groan and shrugged back into himself. “If I stay,” he announced, “your punctuality dies.”
“Already dead,” she said, but she nodded. Adulthood had to have the last word sometimes.
He stood, found his coat, shook it once (buttons ticking), and shrugged in. She watched him with that look you give the last page you don’t want to turn yet. He leaned down for a kiss—slow, warm, unhurried—and another to her temple, sealing the evening with the gentlest stamp, because obviously he would also kiss her temple if he was the kind of man who kissed her forehead.
At the door he turned because he was greedy for images: her dress a little rumpled, tights smoothed back where he’d set them right, hair a little wild, cheeks still flushed, eyes soft in lamplight and not running anywhere.
“Goodnight, Cinderella,” he said.
“Goodnight, Prince Charming. Or Disney Prince.” she returned, dry and fond.
In the lift, cables humming like a lullaby, he texted: I had a really good time. Oasis added twice. (Soup implied. No hallway crimes.)
By the flowers, her reply: Time was… very good. Redundancy approved. See you at nine, menace.
He grinned like a man who’d finally learned pacing. Outside, the night had that crisp, thinning-traffic sound, the river doing most of the talking. He zipped his coat, hands in pockets, and set off, the faint whisper of nylon still in his head, her laugh ringing quiet, tomorrow already arranging itself into a second chapter.
----------------------------------------
Jack walked like the city had been turned down a notch just for him—same streets, softer edges. The river kept up its quiet commentary to his left, a low, sleeve-rubbing sound, and the air had that cold that feels organized rather than cruel. He knew he should put his hood up. He didn’t. He felt too warm in places a hood couldn’t help.
Third person, if you asked him later: Jack Draper went home grinning like an idiot, trying very hard to look like a man who had mastered restraint, and failing with distinction. He had the aftertaste of her on his mouth and a loop of small sounds in his head: the caught breath, the little laugh that broke when she let go, the whispered please that had not been tactical but true. He replayed them the way athletes replay points—slow motion, different angles, not to obsess but to learn where the clean contact had actually happened.
He hadn’t planned any of it. That amused him most. He’d told himself scenic route like a mantra, and then the scene had simply… rearranged. Not because he’d chased it; because he’d been present, and presence had turned out to have hands. He liked that about tonight—that nothing felt strategized. No scoreboard. No exchange rate. Just wanting, and permission, and the absolutely underrated romance of doing one thing well for one person, and doing it because he cared and not because he expected anything in return.
He noticed dumb details. Of course he did. The elevator cables had hummed in B-flat (probably not, but his brain said so). The lamp in her room had a tiny imperfection in the shade—a crescent where the fabric buckled—that threw a sliver of brighter light onto the duvet, and that was the patch her hand kept finding as if her body had picked itself a lighthouse. The doorman had a name that sounded like a password: Philip, omniscient. He would have to be unbearable to Philip from now on, which is to say polite forever.
His hands felt different. Not sticky, not shaky—just… used in the right way. He flexed them once inside his pockets and thought about her remark—those hands, unfair actually—and it made something tender go loose in his chest. He’d spent years turning them into instruments: grip pressure, string bite, the micro-corrections you make just before the ball leaves the strings. And then tonight they had been allowed to be fluent instead of forceful. There was a pleasure in that too, a deep-bone satisfaction: the same tools, a kinder job. He filed that away under things to remember when the tour tries to eat you. You can make good work with these even when there’s no line judge watching.
He liked the way the word love sounded in his mouth when he wasn’t using it as a score. He hadn’t said it—he wasn’t deranged—but his language had wandered in that direction without supervision: love, come on, love, let go for me. He winced about it for half a second (who do you think you are, Shakespeare on a mattress?) and then felt the memory of her eyes opening when he said it, and decided he didn’t care. Accuracy over cool. He could live there.
He also liked, embarrassingly much, that he’d said no to being repaid. Not as a moral performance; he simply felt clean about it. She had been brave in front of him in two different ways—first with her feelings, then with her body—and he had been useful. That felt… right-sized. He could take his own edge off in a shower and not die. The teenage part of him did a very undignified fist pump anyway because she’d asked him to look at her and then she’d actually looked back and—well. He adjusted his coat like anyone on the Embankment cared, but the tight feeling in his pants remained. But he still felt good about having to take care of it himself later - maybe for the first time ever, and for a quick moment he wondered if he was alright, but yes - he was.
The city clicked past: a shutter coming down like a punctuation mark, a taxi idling, two foxes doing their furtive committee meeting by a bin. He thought about tomorrow: 9 a.m. practice, the smell of balls fresh from the can (that tiny hiss of pressurized evening leaving them), Paul’s face like a headline he didn’t want to read. He would need to be industrious to survive Paul. He was not industrious by nature where teasing was involved. He would be found. He accepted that. He’d play the part of the man feigning normalcy while reeking of something has happened, and Paul would peel him like an orange.
He thought of the soup joke—soup implied—and grinned at absolutely nothing on Chelsea Bridge. The idea of something domestic, small, reusable, felt indecently luxurious. Not a red-carpet dinner, not a spectacle. Soup. A walk. A hand in a pocket with his. He wanted more of that. He wanted to be the reason she forgot to be clever for a second and just laughed like she’d been surprised by her own happiness. He wanted to see if she did that thing with her mouth again when she pretended to be unimpressed and failed.
Between Battersea Park and the station his phone buzzed in his pocket with nothing more interesting than an airline promo. Still, he looked, half-hoping she’d sent a follow-up text with an emoji she’d claim to hate using. He imagined what he’d send back if she did: something faintly stupid on purpose, Oasis lyric adjacent, not enough to be cringed at in a year. He put the phone away and rehearsed not being weird about it.
The river’s smell shifted closer to metal and algae as the wind changed, and he thought about the moment he’d tugged her tights back up—such a small, domestic motion in the outrageous middle of all that—his version of tidying a miracle. That image got him. He’d spent years with big gestures: stadiums, tie-breaks, the clamor of people who want to borrow your name for the afternoon. This quiet felt like the point of all that noise. He suspected that if he said that out loud to Paul, Paul would recommend a lie-down and a multivitamin.
He tried on doubt for thirty seconds like a jacket he knew didn’t fit: too fast, too much, you don’t know her, she doesn’t know you, this is the good bit before the real bit where two people are inconvenient to each other. Then he remembered the way she’d said I will when he’d asked her to tell him to stop—zero drama, clear as glass—and the doubt slid off like something he didn’t need to carry tonight. There would be time to be careful. There would also be time to be brave.
Outside his building the motion sensor failed to find dignity, lighting him in three late, panicked stages. He took the stairs two at a time because lifts felt like invitations to think too much, and he’d thought enough for a corridor. Halfway up he caught himself smiling again, the kind that made his molars feel involved. He tried to flatten it. It bounced back like a bad fringe.
He put his key in, paused. Heard voices. The particular cadence of men doing sport autopsy and snack management. Paul’s laugh—knife and butter. Ben’s lower, diplomatic lane. He pictured the posture he’d need: casual. He did not possess casual, not tonight. He had post-orgasmic altruism and a good coat.
One more beat of breathing at the door. He flexed his hands again—those ridiculous, useful things—and thought: you did good work with these. He thought about her saying tomorrow night? like the calendar might be a kindness instead of a demand. He thought about practicing not starting at 9 a.m., failing, pretending to be engrossed in string gauges, failing again. He thought about soup. He thought about the word love not meaning forty–love for once.
Jack Draper squared his shoulders like a man walking into a break-point return and opened the door. He stepped into the kitchen’s light with the expression of someone who absolutely had not just been made feral by a woman’s laugh and a bedside lamp. Paul looked up, eyes already sharpening into a question he’d ask with his whole face.
Jack felt the grin try to jailbreak again, pressed his tongue to his molars to keep it in, and thought, be weak later.
Then Paul grinned, wide and merciless. “Well, well, your royal highness,” he said. “You look like you found religion.”
“Look who found enlightenment,” Paul said. “Saint Jack of Putney. You’re glowing. Did she canonize you on the Embankment?”
“Hi, Paul,” Jack said, hanging up his coat like it had feelings. “Great to be home.”
Paul leaned on the island, elbows down, grin loaded. “So? Did you pass Communication Skills? Badge polished? Star student?”
Jack barely got the door open before Paul pointed at him like a game-show buzzer.
“Tea,” Jack said to the kettle, because it had never judged him. “Tea is so good, isn’t it? Love tea.”
Paul squinted at him. “Ah, the evasive species: Homo deflectus. Tell me, do they teach that in Disney Prince school or is it a natural talent?”
Jack filled the kettle. “We ate. We walked. We talked.”
Paul made a face. “Thrilling. You’re grinning like you stole Christmas, but sure—we talked.”
“We also laughed,” Jack said. “At soup.”
“Soup,” Paul repeated. “Right. That explains why you’re standing like someone turned your spine into a tuning fork.”
The front door clicked. Ben’s voice wandered in. “Why is Paul interrogating the hallway?”
“Because our boy’s got that ‘I’ve seen God’ expression,” Paul called. “And by God I mean a girl with standards.”
Ben came in, took one look at Jack and just smirked. “Do I need to call PR or are we in the realm of private joy?”
“Private joy,” Jack said. “Practice at nine. Hat optional.”
Paul squinted. “Make it mandatory. Your eyes are committing PDA.”
“My eyes are fine,” Jack said.
“Your eyes are in 4K IMAX,” Paul said. “Dial it down before the junior program files a report.”
Ben tapped the counter. “Did you behave?”
“Yes,” Jack said, a beat too earnestly, then shrugged. “Mostly.”
Paul’s eyebrows surfed. “Mostly? Would you like to define ‘mostly’ using examples? Charts? A corridor perhaps?”
Jack ignored him, poured tea. “We did not do… crimes. We were adults.”
“Your coat says otherwise,” Paul said.
“My coat?” Jack frowned.
Ben chuckled. “He means jeans, mate.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
Paul pointed at Jack’s midsection with both hands, shameless. “The dent, King. You walked in last time holding your coat like a fig leaf. You think we didn’t clock it?”
Jack groaned. “You two are sick.”
“We’re observant,” Paul said. “And supportive. Of laundry.”
Ben put on his agent voice for exactly one sentence. “Keep it tidy at the NTC. That’s all I ask.”
Jack saluted. “Copy. Now, if you’ve finished the debrief, I’m going to shower.”
“Long one,” Paul said, deadpan. “You look… backed up.”
“Goodnight, Paul,” Jack said, and walked off before he started laughing.
“Take your time with the shower,” Paul sang. “Hydrate. Repent. Reflect.”
“Wash your aura,” Ben added, perfectly straight-faced.
“Brilliant,” Jack said, already backing away. “You two are a robust support system.”
He escaped down the hall on muscle memory, shut his bedroom door, and leaned against it for a second while the muffled shape of their laughter moved on to crisps and fixture lists. The room had that clean, unlived-in-at-night smell; his coat hit the chair back in a soft, defeated thump. He undressed without thinking—shirt, socks, the little domestic choreography you can do with the lights off—and padded into the bathroom where the mirror tried to be helpful and failed.
The shower came on with that faithful cough of pipes and then steadied into a sheath of hot, uncomplicated noise. He stood under it and let his shoulders drop, the night re-threading itself through the steam: the river’s shush, the lamp’s circle, her please that had slipped out before she could stop it, the neat, reverent tug of putting her tights back where they belonged. He felt his body catch up with what his manners had deferred—no urgency now, just a low, undeniable ache asking to be taken care of.
He did—quietly, with the same lack of performance he’d brought to everything else tonight. No fuss, no spectacle. Just the heat of water, the wall under his palm, breath finding a pace and then breaking, the image of her head tipping back when his fingers had curled just right arriving uninvited and not being turned away. It was quick because he’d already been living at the edge for hours; it was relief more than fireworks, a soft unwinding that left him braced and blinking at the tile, smiling like an idiot at absolutely nothing.
After, he stood there a minute longer, letting the water rinse the moment back into something he could carry without advertising it. He turned the tap, listened to the last stubborn drips, and stepped out into the cooler air, a towel finding him by instinct. In the mirror he looked like someone who’d been out in good weather.
He toweled off, dragged a T-shirt over damp shoulders, and let the steam thin the night into something manageable. The shower had done what it was supposed to do—heat, white noise, a brief amnesty—and yes, he’d taken care of himself like a sane person who refused to make a martyr of his self-control. No theatrics. Just a hand to the tile, breath catching up with him, and the honest, ridiculous relief of not being nineteen on a train. After, he stood there with the towel around his hips feeling a little foolish and very awake, then padded out to the bed and let gravity have him.
Phone. Lock screen. Her name already waiting, as if the universe couldn’t help itself.
Home. Showered. Barely survived the Underground, he wrote, thumbs finding a steady rhythm. For the record, I did not repeat last time’s… jeans incident.
A beat; then her bubbles marched. Growth. Proud of you. Did you at least suffer a little?
He laughed out loud like an idiot in an empty room. Enough that a very kind woman on the District line offered me her seat. I declined. For safety reasons.
A crying-laugh emoji that he could hear in her actual laugh. I’m still warm, she added. That’s your fault.
I’m not sorry, he sent, and felt heat coil back through him just from typing it. Your “please” has been stuck in my head since I left your door.
Your hands are stuck in mine, she replied a second later, unhelpfully helpful. Unfair. Those fingers should be regulated.
He glanced at his hands, stupidly pleased by the sight of them. Genetics. Good for tennis. Also apparently good for very specific coursework.
“Coursework.” Please. He could see the eye-roll. You aced it and you know it.
If I say “thank you,” I sound smug. If I say nothing, I sound guilty, he typed, smiling. So I’m going to say I enjoyed… helping.
There was a longer pause and then—You really did. Be honest—did you “help yourself” in the shower?
He stared at that for a polite second of denial and then let himself be a person. I pled the fifth for ninety seconds and then, yes. I was one memory away from embarrassing myself on public transport.
Which memory? she asked, like a menace.
The part where you said my name and— He stopped, felt his face heat even though no one could see him blush in the dark. Okay, I’m shutting up before I undo all the good work.
Don’t shut up. I like you flustered. Then, efficient as a physio taping an ankle: Sleep. Practice at nine. Wear a hat so you don’t stare like a perv.
I will stare like a perv. The hat is a placebo, he admitted. Tomorrow night—low-key, soup implied?
Soup implied, she wrote back. And you can bring those hands.
He closed his eyes for a second, felt the grin relocate somewhere behind his ribs. Night, Cinderella.
Night, Disney prince.
He let the phone go dark and turned his head into the pillow, the stupid smile doing exactly what it wanted with his face. He had maybe forty seconds of quiet with his good mood before the knock came—Paul’s jaunty staccato undercut by Ben’s polite double tap, the duet of men who have known you long enough to be unbearable.
“Go away,” he called, already laughing because there was no universe where they would.
The door opened exactly as far as necessary for Paul to slide in sideways like mischief in human form. Ben followed, the doorframe at his shoulder, arms folded, expression halfway between brother and agent.
“Post-match presser,” Paul announced, not even pretending it was a question. “Opening statement?”
Jack pushed himself up against the headboard, hair still damp, T-shirt clinging in a way he decided not to care about. “We ate. We walked. We kissed. It was great. The end.”
Paul blinked, offended by brevity. “That’s not an opening statement, that’s a hostage note.” He perched on the desk as if he lived there. “Cross-examination: define ‘great.’”
“You’re not licensed,” Jack said, addressing the ceiling as if it were a judge.
Ben, steady and kind, slid the practical in low. “Any cameras? Anyone saw you?”
“No,” Jack said, grateful for the sanity. “Properly low-key. No witnesses, no autographs, no drama.”
Paul clasped his hands like a man about to pray for gossip. “Any crimes against denim this time?”
Jack tried for granite and managed damp clay. “No crimes. There was… a situation on the Tube. I lived.”
“We did clock the coat-as-shield technique last time,” Ben observed, a smile smuggling itself into the corner of his mouth.
“The dent was visible from space,” Paul said, delighted, warming to his theme. “You were like a Renaissance statue with a parka.”
“I hate this house,” Jack said into his palms. This, predictably, encouraged both of them.
“PG-13 then,” Paul conceded magnanimously. “Hand-holding?”
“Yes.”
“Elevator?”
“Well-behaved.”
“Doorway?”
“We observed local regulations,” Jack said, solemn.
“Table?” Paul tried.
“Cutlery remained in use at all times,” Jack said.
Ben tipped his chin. “Feelings?”
The question landed with no bells on, which made it louder. Jack let his shoulders drop. “Yes,” he said. “On purpose.” The relief of not pretending was weirdly physical; both of them softened half a degree like the thermostat had been nudged.
Paul, allergic to sincerity if it lasted more than four seconds, scrambled for petty. “Conversation topics?”
“Nothing you’d understand,” Jack said. “Soup.”
Paul slapped his thigh. “Soup! Of course. That explains why your face looks like it’s been ironed.”
Ben didn’t join the laugh right away. He drifted a step into the room, not to crowd, just close enough that his voice would travel softer. “Hey,” he said, and the word did that older-brother thing of thinning out the noise. “Jokes aside—you look… lighter. I haven’t seen that in a while.” He rubbed his jaw, considering him like a coach considers a player’s gait. “I know tour life teaches you to half-feel everything so it doesn’t knock you off your schedule. I’m not telling you to be an idiot. I’m just saying—if this is good, let it be good. You don’t have to sand it down so it fits inside tennis.”
It landed in a place under Jack’s ribs he usually doesn’t let anyone touch. He nodded once. “It’s good,” he said simply. “I feel… not crazy. Which is new.”
Ben’s mouth tipped, relieved in the way only someone who’s watched you outrun your own head can be. “Then keep it small and honest and yours. The rest of it—the noise—can wait outside.” He glanced at Paul without malice. “Even our noise.”
Paul, who could roast for England and still switch to the good stuff without tripping, let the room settle and then just… met his eyes. “Alright, truth time,” he said, voice lower, all the theatre tucked away. “I take the piss because it’s our dialect, but I’m genuinely happy you look like this. You’ve been clenched for months—every muscle, even the ones in your head—and tonight you look human again. If this is real and it’s good, I’ll back you properly: no leaks, no nudges, I’ll run cover with anyone who needs distracting, I’ll lie convincingly and often. You tell me the line and I won’t cross it.” He held it there long enough for Jack to feel it land, then the grin slid back in like a curtain on a wire. “And having said all that—do not think for one second I didn’t clock the architectural situation in your jeans last time. Historical landmark. Blue plaque pending.”
Jack rolled his eyes.
“So you’re really not giving us the good bits,” Paul said, making one last little fishing cast toward the deep water.
“Correct,” Jack said cheerfully. “File under: none of your business.”
Paul put a hand to his heart like a tragic actor taking curtain call. “The dent was our business.”
“For the record,” Ben added, unable to resist one more older-brother jab, “the coat shield was a weak attempt. We have eyes.”
“Tomorrow I’ll wear a barrel,” Jack said dryly. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Paul said. He stood, took two steps, then pivoted for the final petty point because he is constitutionally unable to leave any meat on the bone. “Just for my files: did you—”
“Shower,” Jack said, holding up a palm. “Sorted. End of broadcast.”
Paul’s grin exploded like he’d won a raffle. “PG… adjacent. I’ll take it.”
Ben tapped the frame twice—done. “Eat something, sleep. Don’t be late in the morning.”
“Night,” Jack said, already flopping back as they withdrew, still muttering to each other like two aunties after a wedding. The quiet came back like a tide. He let it cover him. He thumbed out one last line he didn’t send because he’d already said enough for a night—bring those hands playing on loop like a chorus he was never going to hate—and killed the light.
Practice, a commute without theatrics, a second date. Soup implied. The dent jokes would survive into tomorrow, of course they would. He’d live. He liked her and he wasn’t pretending otherwise. As problems go, that felt like the kind a man should be grateful to have.
I meant general relationship hcs! Can I request for hcs of what they’re like on a date when you're done with my request? Thanks!
What Stolas, Husk, Blitzo, and Alastor are like on dates
Of course! I’ll finish this first since it’s what I thought what you meant originally, so I already made some of it!!
Stolas
- Oh my! You want to go out with him? Well, then he might as well prepare an entire festival for you!!
- But in all seriousness, he’s quite over the top. But at the end of the day, he kind of prefers to stay indoors and just decorate.
- But it’s pretty 50/50, depends on his mood! He’ll either treat you to a fancy restaurant or just decorate his dining hall for you, and end the date off with you two heading to the bedroom, if you’d have him.
- Despite being a horny bastard, he’s quite the gentleman on dates!
- He’ll always be courteous to you, opening each door for you and paying the bill.
- He’s pretty good at giving compliments, you gotta admit. He knows just how to fluster you!
- But say anything back and he’s lovestruck, beet red, and turned on.
- He thinks you look absolutely ravishing, no matter what you wear! You’re his queen/king/royal, how could you not be stunning?
- Very good with small talk, but he can get burnt out if you don’t talk much. Just make sure to seem interested in him and you’ll have a great time!
Blitzo
- He’s.. quite creative, you have to admit!..
- His dates are rarely something as simple as getting lunch. Nono, he wants them to be memorable.
- So, what’s his idea of memorable? Hmm..
- Sneaking into a horse riding class on earth. Murder. Arson. Treason. Theft. Public indecency.
- So yeah.. have fun with that!
- But at the end of the day, one of his favorite things to do with you is just kick back, relax, order some food, and cuddle on the couch while watching shitty romcoms.
- He doesn’t really care what you guys do, honestly. You guys could literally be sky diving and he’d just be happy to be with you.
*LITERALLY FALLING FROM AN AIRPLANE THATS HUNDREDS OF FEET IN THE SKY*
“OH SHI- Hey, have I ever told you how pretty your eyes are?”
- But at the same time, he likes it when dates mean something.
- For example, murdering your ex together!
- But seriously, he loves to just spend time with you in places you went to when you were still in the crushing phase.
Alastor
- Oh boy! He’s quite the gentleman, he’ll take you anywhere you want! It’s not like anyone can turn him down!
- Loves dancing with you, he’d absolutely adore to go on a date where you two just dance to his favorite songs!
- He’s always dressed to the nines! And by that, I mean dressed to the 1900s!
- Not particularly a fan of newer fashion. But hey, he’d be more than happy to fetch you some clothing from his time period if you so wish!
- He spoils you absolutely rotten! You are his one and only, after all!
- Oh, what’s that darling? You’d like some dinner? Why, of course! He’d say, before going on a killing spree, on the search for the perfect meat. Only the finest for his beloved!
- Would absolutely melt if you cooked for him.
- He actually enjoys cooking with you! He’s pretty good at cooking, and by that I mean he’s good at cooking people.
- All in all, he’s a classy guy who likes to show his darling the finer parts of this afterlife!
Husk
- Let’s get one thing straight. He’s just not really all that romantic of a guy.
- But hey, if you want to go out, then who is he to deny you?
- He’d be more than happy to spend some of his hard-earned gambling money to treat you to a lovely dinner at the local bar.
- He’s gotta admit, he loves the way you get so happy whenever you go out together.
- And my god does he love to see you dressed up all fancy, just for him. As much as he is a grump, he’s really fell for you!
- If you go shopping together, he’ll act annoyed when he has to help carry your bags, but if you offer to carry them all by yourself he’d act like you’re asking too much of him.
- He also acts reluctant to spend money on you out of embarrassment, but he refuses to let you pay for anything.
- He may be a bit of a gentleman with you, but that doesn’t mean he’s gotta be happy about it!
- He really likes going to bars with you. Shots on him, obviously.
- To give him the benefit of the doubt, he’s really trying to be a gentleman, but don’t expect him to last more that an hour without getting blackout drunk.
Headcanons for what Valentino, Angel Dust, Asmodeus, and Fizzarolli are like on dates? - Platypus anon
YESYESYESYESYESSSS
How Valentino, Angel Dust, Asmodeus, and Fizzarolli are on dates
Angel Dust
- He’s gonna SPOIL YOU.
- There’s two different kinds of dates he’ll take you on—it’ll either be a big drag show that he takes you to, or just a chill bar or movie date.
- You guys are getting dolled up. Case and point.
- Super affectionate. He’s yours and you’re his, he doesn’t give a fuck!!
- As long as he has you by his side, he’s not letting anyone boss you two around.
- Cherri isn’t a third wheel exactly, but she’s a killer wingman! It’s always a good time when the three of you get together. She knows your boundaries, and you know hers.
- You two definitely run the town on date nights. Whatever trouble you two get into is just apart of the fun.
- Shopping sprees together!!
Valentino
- Another one that’ll spoil you!!!
- Anything you want, you get. No questions asked.
- Expect the vibe to be off the entire time lmao
- Sugar Daddy. That’s it, that’s the headcanon
- He’ll probably try to talk you into a really sketchy deal half way through. Don’t push your luck.
- BUT, if it makes it any better, he does sometimes show genuine interest in what you’re saying! He knows how to turn his charm on.
- He’s a bit distant- like, when you want something he just does it. No additional comments.
- The more you ask for, the more you’re gonna have to do to pay him back, so make the most of it lmfao
Asmodeus
- I’m stating to see a pattern. I think all of these guys are the type to spoil,,
- Sugar Daddy BUT. Complete opposite of Valentino.
- Instead of just getting people to wait on your hand and foot while he stares creepily, he’s gonna be absolutely PAMPERING you!
- He loves to see you happy, no matter the cost!
- Definitely taking you shopping, no questions asked.
- He’s by no means an obsessive perfectionist, but he does want everything to be perfect for you.
- And, it will be whatever you consider to be a perfect date. From movie nights at home to expensive dinners, he wants you to know how much he cares.
- After everything is said and done, you two go home and cuddle. Not only is he super warm and cozy, but he’ll make you a lovely breakfast in the morning!!
Fizzarolli
- Oh boy, you two are gonna get into some trouble!
- Make sure to dress nice if you’re going out! The paparazzi will be on your ass.
- You two are for sure blowing Mammon’s money on some random shit.
- Definitely taking his quievies (I think that’s what they’re called?? The fucked up chihuahuas) with you two on occasion!!
- Anywhere you want to go, you two are going. Perks of being famous.
- He would totally wink at you during big performances. He can’t take his eyes off you, and everyone knows it.
- You’re going rollerskating, along with other activities like that.
- He spends forever getting ready, but he always looks amazing, so can you blame him?
Hi hi! I was the one who asked about Wally Darling. But before I request, I first gotta ask you how are you? How have you been? I wanted to request Wally Darling x singer! Puppet! Reader. All fluff ofc!!
Thanks! have a lovely day/night!
I'm doing pretty well, thanks for asking, anon! You too!! <3
NOTE: finally working on this after a year, and I’m not all that versed on Wally Darling lore. Please feel free to correct me on anything : ) and I’m so sorry this is short! Lmk if anyone wants another part
Wally Darling x singer! puppet! reader relationship headcanons
- Oh, aren't you just a lovely neighbor!
- I imagine you and him would be very close in the lore of the show, even before becoming official.
- His art skills and your lovely voice make you quite the dynamic duo!
- You guys would almost be like parents to the other cast members and fans.
- He would love to paint you some time.
- I can imagine you two eventually doing a loving duet together <3
- If your voice was ever soar, he would definitely bring you honey!
- He’d do anything for you, really. Your voice keeps him calm.
- When it’s all over, you’re the one he misses the most. He feels trapped in his own mind without your melodies to keep him from acting out.
- But, we’re not getting into that today!
- He’ll always be the first one to compliment you.
- Wally is your number one cheerleader!
- After a lovely performance, he would throw plenty of red-delicious colored roses onto the stage. He truly thinks you’re divine.
A Meeting in London - Part 1 A Meeting in London - Part 2 A Meeting in London - Part 3
First part of the series:
A Meeting in New York - Part 1 A Meeting in New York - Part 2 A Meeting in New York - Part 3
A/N: So I'm still super super busy with life/work and everything, but I had this in my drafts for quite a while now, but never completely finished it and also didn't really know how to integrate this into the story... and I gotta warn ya - it's a little spicy and mature, so if you're not into that, I'd advise to skip. I don't normally post smut (or something that even resembles smut) so this is new territory for me lol. I wasn't really sure if I should post this because I normally don't share stuff like that. But I thought, why not try for once? For those still reading this silly little story, I hope you like it!
Warning: mature content!, probably typos
Jen felt like a lovestruck teenager. Jack had turned out to be an incredibly empathetic, kind-hearted and forgiving guy and she could have laughed at the irony of meeting him just when she was feeling like anything but herself. Wasn't it ironic that she was meeting the kind of guy who seemed to be a perfect fit for her while basically having an existential crisis and just restarting her life after it had been turned upside down? Life was really funny, throwing in curveballs such as this. She really wasn't looking for anything at all - nothing fun, and most definitely nothing serious. If someone has asked her before the US Open if she could imagine dating someone again, she would have laughed right in their face. Like, how did she have time for something like that? And why would she even want that? But now... now, it was all different. Jack made her want to make time for something like that. He made her want that. He made her want to try.
The way he held her hand, tightly but gently, caressing her skin with his thumb. The way he turned his head to look at her with a soft smile as they walked along the sidewalk in the cool November air. The way his arm brushed against hers as their steps matched each other's, after Jack had slowed down so she would be able to keep up with him and his long legs. The way he leaned over to kiss her temple gently, intertwining his fingers with hers.
He was kind, caring and funny - apart from the fact that he was obviously gorgeous. And although the irony of meeting him exactly just as she was trying to get life in order didn't escape her, this kind of curveball was too good to ignore. Jen knew that there was absolutely no way that she could stay away, no matter how much she might have wanted to run away from her feelings. He was bold, talking about a year from now, asking her out, confessing his feelings - but maybe that was exactly what she needed. Maybe he was exactly what she needed.
They walked in silence and Jen adored the fact that their silence was comfortable - they didn't need to fill it with words just so that it wouldn't be awkward. Jen and Jack together were anything but awkward. Conversation flowed easily and when they didn't talk they just enjoyed each other's presence. When she did speak, she told him about the little hotel she was staying at - she was the only guest except for an elderly couple staying a few floors beneath hers because they'd just finished renovating the hotel and weren't even open for the public yet except for members of the chain, which she was.
They reached her hotel, a luxurious but small one and the doorman opened the door with a polite smile on his face, recognizing Jen. "Good evening, Miss Langfort."
"Good evening, Philip." she greeting him with a smile as her and Jack passed through the double door and then thanked him for opening the door.
Her hand was still engulfed in Jack's as they walked into the small lobby. "I'll walk you to your door." he said and they stopped in front of the elevators. Jen smiled, her eyes twinkling with mirth as she looked up at him - she couldn't help it. "Very chivalrous."
"I know, right? It's what us Disney Princes do." he teased her right back and she loved the way they could keep up with each other's banter effortlessly.
"Hmm... did you go to Disney Prince school or something? Or how does that work?" she asked him as she pressed the button of the elevator.
"Well, you see - we are chosen specifically based on our hair to become a Disney Prince apprentice." Jack said in a completely serious voice, and Jen bit her lip in order to keep from laughing. His face was completely straight but she could see the glint in his eyes. "It takes around six months - if you're a good apprentice, that is. I've heard there are some who take up to five years, you know those who aren't really Disney Prince material after all."
"Five years?" Jen's voice matched his seriousness, her eyebrows raising in mock-surprise. "That's outrageous! And they're not throwing them out of the apprenticeship?"
"No, apparently not. Which I really can't understand." Jack shook his head, disappointed.
"And I take it, you were a great apprentice and completed it in six months?" Jen cocked her eyes to her side, a teasing smile on her lips.
"Well, actually... I was their star student and finished in four." Jack said straight-faced and Jen burst out laughing.
"Of course you were. You're the model Disney Prince after all." she nodded understandingly, still laughing.
"Exactly. In fact, they made several courses a part of the apprenticeship based on me." his voice was still serious and Jen snorted. She had no idea how he could stay so serious when he was joking around, but she loved his sense of humor.
"Oh yeah? What courses?" The elevator arrived with a ping and the doors opened. Jack motioned for her to get in first and Jen had a flashback to that one time in New York where she felt like she was trapped in the elevator with him because she was getting hot just being in his presence. As she stepped in she could feel the tension shift, his tall frame right behind her - and as she leaned against the wall and turned around, he was already there, trapping her against it, his hands on her waist.
"You know, how to properly woo a lady, how to protect her and ... how to kiss her." he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse and she could feel his hot breath on her face as he leaned down. His eyes were sparkling in the lights of the elevator, the grip of his hands on her waist firm. "Mhm..." Jen hummed. "They made a course based on how you kiss? Why would they do that?" Jack leaned even closer, his lips hovering over hers and Jen closed her eyes, her hands traveling up his chest and around the back of his neck. "You tell me." Jack breathed. Jen played with the hair at the nape of his neck and Jack's breath hitched softly.
"I've always wanted to kiss you in a lift. Ever since we were in that lift in New York." his voice was quiet as he admitted the thought he had hidden in a small part of his brain ever since that one moment in New York. "Yeah?" Jen bit her lower lip, her eyes still closed. "Then why don't you do it?"
He didn't need to be told twice. His lips came crashing down onto hers with a passion and intensity that left her breathless immediately. He backed her against the wall even more, his hands gripping her waist tightly and his body pressing into hers as his lips moved passionately against hers. She could feel his tongue against the seams of her lips and he deepened the kiss, angling his head even more and his hand moved up her back, tangling in her hair. Jen sighed against his mouth, completely and hopelessly lost in his kiss. She tugged at his hair and he groaned softly into the kiss, the hand on his waist gripping onto her tighter.
Suddenly, the elevator came to a halt with the typical 'ding' sound and Jen nearly jumped out of his arms, making Jack chuckle slightly, the hand on her waist and the hand in her hair keeping her close to him. "You're a jumpy one, huh?" Jen huffed, pushing at his chest, but she wasn't exactly successful because he was way too tall. "Shut up." Jack breathed out a quiet laugh and stepped back, taking her hand in his and leading her out of the elevator. He followed her as she walked along the corridor all the way to the end and stopping in front of her door. "So... this is me." she motioned at the door and Jack nodded before stepping closer again.
"So about that date." he murmured, unable to keep his hands to himself as they settled on her waist once again. Jen relished in the feeling of being this close to him, she couldn't describe just how tingly the places felt where he touched her. And he was so tall, she felt safe just being in his presence. "Is it alright if I pick you up tomorrow at seven?"
Jen bit her lower lip, unable to keep the smile off her face and she nodded, her hands moving up to grip the collar of his coat. "Yeah, I'd like that."
Jack's face lit up with his smile and he leaned in, his breath fanning onto her face. "Good." he murmured before closing the gap and kissing her once again, softly this time. His grip on her waist once again tightened and he pressed up against her, leaving no distance between them. He backed her up against the door, his hands moving up her sides and onto her face and the back of her head.
Their lips moved against each other, gently at first, then passion took over. Jack's hands tangled in her hair as he pressed her against the hotel room door and Jen could feel her breath dwindling.
"God, you don't know what you do to me." Jack panted against her lips. "You drive me insane." He deepened the kiss, groaning against her mouth when Jen tugged at his hair again and she loved how responsive he was. She'd never been with a guy before who was so openly responsive and passionate with what he felt. "I'm crazy about you." he whispered, as he pulled back slightly, his eyes still closed and his lips ghosting over hers. "So fucking crazy. I can't think about anything but you. You're in my head all the time, even when I think you're not, it's driving me crazy. What are you doing to me?" His voice was hoarse and he words were jumbled and rushed, and Jen's head was spinning, her hands tugging once again at the hair at the back of his neck, making Jack groan once again as he dipped his head to pull her into another deep kiss.
-------------------------------------------------
Jack didn't really know or register what he was saying - he just said what he felt in that very moment. His mind was a jumbled mess only thinking Jen, Jen, Jen like it was a mantra. Her lips were intoxicating to him - she was intoxicating to him and he felt like he couldn't get close enough. His lips were moving against her, hers were moving against his, her hands frantically tugging at his hair, gripping at his shoulders, his hands tangled in her hair, dragging her body so flush against his, he could feel her heart racing against his. His tongue touched hers and he moaned - he couldn't help it -, pushing her against the door. He had never once felt like this when he kissed someone, it was almost like an out of body experience. He had never felt such fire and passion for someone, and it was swallowing him whole. "Jen..." he groaned before moving in to kiss her again, hopelessly lost in her.
He could feel Jen sigh against his lips and his heart skipped a beat. He moved one hand down to her waist again, his hand gripping at any part of her it could get a hold of and Jen moaned, pressing impossibly closer to him. She was flush against him and the wall and he moved his hand lower to her hip and down her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around him, the angle pulling her even more against him. It was so hot, and he was unashamed in his complete and utter attraction. She knew he could feel him as she let out a sinful moan against his lips, this time deeper and he bucked his hips involuntarily against her. "Fuck." he groaned, realizing all of a sudden that they were in the hallway of a hotel - and he very much was about to lose control. He pulled away slightly and with much chagrin as he pressed his forehead against hers. He felt frustrated, in more ways than one - with him for being on the brink of losing control, and with being so turned on he nearly didn't care he was losing control. "I think we need to stop before..." he stopped himself and he could see Jen's smile - a teasing smile that made him nearly lose his mind. It was as if she knew what she was doing to him. "Before what?" she breathed against his lips and he tightened the grip on her hip. "Before I try to talk you into something crazy... like me spending the night." Jack's voice was quiet and shaky and he had trouble thinking straight. "You're dangerous." he admitted as he stepped back slightly, trying to create a little bit of distance from the intensity he felt. "You're messing with my head so much." Jen's eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, her hair a mess and her lips... God, her lips. They were red and swollen and she looked thoroughly kissed. He nearly moaned out loud at the sight. Her chest moved up and down quickly, she was still out of breath just like he was. "I want you so bad but I -." Jack shook his head, not quite knowing what to say. "I'm losing my mind and my control with you. And I don't even care." He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, probably messing it up even more but he didn't care.
Jen let out a deep breath before smirking slightly. "I know, I could feel it." She bit her lip as she leaned against the wall and first looked down at his jeans and then looked up at him, almost innocently - though she was anything but.
He stared at her for a moment before he huffed out a disbelieving laugh, running his hands through his hair again. "You - you're impossible." It was difficult to hide his desire - it was literally visible and he could see Jen glancing down to his jeans again. "God." He knew he sounded absolutely wrecked, but he didn't care. How did he go from wanting to take her out on a date and take it slow so he wouldn't scare her off, to wanting to spend the night and ruin her?
Jen looked up at him through her lashes, her cheeks still rosy, her lips still red and kissed - and she was still smirking. She had a slight devilish look to her. Fuck, he was losing his mind. What was happening to him? He watched her with wary eyes as she pushed herself off the wall and walked over to him. When she reached him, she got up on her tip toes, taking his face into her hands. "Don't worry, I'm flattered." she murmured before kissing him. He instinctively steadied her by placing his hands on her waist, kissing her back. It came like second nature to him at this point. Her lips were soft and moved against his so naturally, Jack had trouble keeping his head straight yet again. He felt like he was drowning and didn't even mind. Only a small rational part of him knew he had to put a stop to this before he took it too far. But her kiss was intoxicating and she deepened it, and Jack's head was spinning from her taste, her movements, her touch, her perfume, her proximity. "Jen..." he sighed against her lips as she pressed closer to him. "Jen, we need to stop..."
"I know." she whispered back but she didn't stop. Jack didn't either. Instead, he moved her gently against the door again, hoisting her up and wrapping her legs around his hips. His desire was palpable and he knew Jen could feel it in the way she moaned against his lips. He ground his hips against hers and they both sighed into the kiss; in return he could feel the way her hips pressed into his as she rubbed herself against him. His hand moved down to her butt and over her thigh and then back to her hip, anywhere he could touch as he moved his hips against hers again. "This is getting out of hand." he whispered and Jen breathed out a wrecked laugh against his lips. "You started it." she whispered back and tightened her arms around his neck, kissing him deeper.
"Tell me to stop, please." Jack was begging her because he was drowning and losing all sense of self control, he could feel it - and he knew they had to stop. "Please, Jen. Tell me to stop. I can't-" He was panting and a complete mess in this dimly lit hotel hallway. Their hips had a mind of their own as they moved frantically against each other, the passion clear through their clothes, his jeans and her tights under her skirt that had bunched up against her hips. Jen was a moaning mess and she shook her head as his lips moved down her cheeks and jawline to her neck, sucking softly. "No. No, I don't want you to stop. Don't you dare stop."
"Jen..." he knew he sounded like a begging pathetic idiot but her words were his undoing. He grabbed her hips tighter and pressed her harder against he door, his hips never stopping their unrelenting movements. Her mouth fell open with tiny gasps of pleasure and he relished in the sight of her in front of him, completely and utterly wrecked. "Jack... oh my god..." Her voice was husky and she was breathless and panting, her fingers gripping tightly at his shoulders as he dropped his forehead against hers, his hips moving and grounding against hers. Her moans spurred him on, he never wanted to stop hearing those incredible sounds she made. He could tell she was close, her moans taking on a more high pitched tone and becoming more frequent as she grabbed at his shoulders and back of his neck, pulling him in. He could feel his own pressure building and his hips stuttering. He increased the pace of his hips. "Come on, baby... come on." He wanted her to get there first.
And then, Jen moaned his name out loud, her head falling back again, her hands gripping his shoulders and digging her nails into his coat, her mouth agape - and he knew he couldn't take any more. He had never heard his name sound so incredibly hot as when Jen moaned it, her voice husky and breathless because of him. "Fuck, Jen." he groaned, his hips losing their rhythm to erratic movements. Jack could feel himself on the very edge and he knew he was going to make a mess of his jeans - he didn't care. As he let go with a last groan of her name, his movements slowed down gradually before he basically collapsed against her, the both of them utterly spent leaning against the door of her hotel room.
He hadn't exactly planned for things to go down like his - he hadn't exactly planned to dry hump Jennifer Langfort in the hallway of her hotel room and make her fall apart like this. But he couldn't find it in himself to regret it. It had been amazing and the way her eyes shone as she looked up at him, completely wrecked - no, he didn't regret this one bit. "I think you're gonna have to button your coat." she whispered and Jack huffed out a laugh. "The jeans were due for a wash anyway." he retaliated and Jen looked at him for a moment before bursting out in a fit of laughter, hiding her face in his neck, before he joined in. He felt delirious and satisfied and happy all at the same time - though he had no idea how this could have happened, how things could take such a hot turn in a matter of seconds.
"Fuck, that was incredible." he murmured, still panting, and he felt like he floating as he hugged her to him for a moment before pushing slightly off of her. "Although for someone who doesn't want to rush, that was really fucking hot." he couldn't help but tease her and his dopey smile widened when she pushed slightly at his shoulder. "Shut up. You started it, I just joined in on the fun." She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.
"You didn't stop me though." he reminded her, their teasing light and their voices still breathless. Her legs were still wrapped around him and he gently caressed her hips and thighs, not quite ready to let go just yet. "You're definitely wilder than you're letting on."
"Mmmhh..." she hummed, biting her lip and his heart stuttered at her intense gaze that told him he was right in his assessment. "Guess there's quite a few things you don't know about me."
"You know I didn't exactly plan this." His voice was low, his hands continuing their caresses on her body. "Didn't you? Could have fooled me." Her voice carried an amused undertone, teasing him and she sounded way too calm for his liking - she was extremely dangerous, he realized.
Jack huffed, pressing his forehead against hers. "Fuck. You're gonna kill me." He closed his eyes for a moment before he set her down gently, unwrapping her legs from around his waist and steadying her - yet he didn't move away. He couldn't. At least not yet. "I really didn't think the evening would take a turn like this. But I can't say I regret it." He let his eyes drift over her face. "Do you?" His voice was quiet, hesitant.
Jen was silent for a moment before she reached up to cup his face in her hands - her touch was gentle, and Jack reveled in it, closing his eyes at the feeling of her affection. He hadn't realized how much he craved it. She leaned up and pecked his lips gently. "Do I look like I do?" He opened his eyes and saw her smile up at him with a fond smile that took his breath away. She didn't look like someone who would run off on him again or someone he had scared off. No, she looked like someone who ... was going to stay. Like someone who cared about him.
"No. You don't." he whispered. Her small hands caressed his cheeks before she leaned in again to peck his lips. He hummed against her lips, closing his eyes again. "Mmmhh, I could get used to this." Jack leaned in closer, deepening the kiss and gripping her waist tightly. He was absolutely spent, yet he couldn't get enough of her.
Before it could go too far again though, Jen leaned back slightly and smirked up at him. "Maybe you should come in a little... you know to clean yourself up a bit." Jack's eyes widened as she pushed him off slightly to reach into her bag and get the key card for her room. "Wha-" he stammered as she opened the door and looked back at him to wink cheekily.
"I mean you just came in your pants like a horny teenager, sooo..." Jack rolled his eyes and reached out to pinch her sides, making her yelp. "Hey, I'm just telling you what I see!" She motioned at the wet patch on his jeans and Jack could literally feel the blush creeping up on his neck. "Not my fault you're hot." he mumbled with a fond smile and Jen smirked, wiggling her eyebrows. "Horny teenager." she mouthed and yelped when he pinched her sides again. "Be nice. If I remember correctly, you were just moaning my name like a porn star." Jen's mouth fell open, as if she couldn't believe what he just said. "Close your mouth, you're gonna catch flies." he teased and this time he yelped as she pinched his arm, and her laughter rang through the room.
"Like I said, I just joined in on the fun." she repeated what she'd said earlier. "Didn't sound like that to me." he retaliated and earned a playful roll of the eyes from the girl who had completely captivated him. As he stepped into the lighter room as opposed to the dark hallway, he could see just how big the wet patch on his jeans was when Jen snuck a look down there, her eyes giving away her amusement. And when he caught her eye, she burst out laughing.
"God, what a mess." He looked down at himself and joined in on her laughter. "I can't remember the last time I actually came in my pants."
"I mean... it was hot." she admitted, winking at him before she walked into an adjacent room to get a towel for him. Jack could still feel just how burning hot his cheeks were, he was blushing so hard.
"Also, I do not sound like a porn star." she huffed playfully as she handed him the towel. "There's the bathroom by the way. You know, so you can clean up your horny teenager mess." Jack laughed as he playfully swiped at her with the towel as revenge for her remark before he disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
As he sat down on the edge of the bathtub he took a deep breath. He still couldn't quite believe what had happened just now. One moment they were having a heartfelt conversation in the park, the next they were flirting each other's asses off, and then they were making out in front of her hotel room like two hormonal teenagers, and last but not least he was dry humping her against the door, the both of them moaning each other's names like there was no tomorrow, ending with them falling apart in their clothes.
Just... how?
He had never been this impulsive. He had never really lost control like that. So what exactly was she doing to him. Jack felt like he was in a trance as he cleaned himself up in her bathroom, throwing the towel into the hamper next to the sink. "Shit." he cursed, propping himself up against the sink and looking into the mirror, a look of disbelief on his face. How could this be happening? He was confused, and delirious - but he couldn't find it in himself to regret what happened at all. It had been so hot and all-consuming, and her sounds? God, he could feel himself getting hot just thinking of the sounds she'd made. He turned on the water and splashed his face with ice cold water, in the hopes of cooling himself down a bit. Jack knew he'd probably need days to process what had happened tonight. His feelings felt like he was on an emotional rollercoaster, the excitement of seeing her again, then the hurt he'd felt at her dismissal, the heartfelt conversation on the walk home, the ... well, the almost sex. He was well aware that if he hadn't resorted to the dry humping, he'd probably be in her bed right now. And he knew it was too early for that. He wanted to do this properly, not turn this into a hook up. His mind was a jumbled mess and he splashed his face again before washing his hands and drying off. His jeans were still wet and he knew he had to button his coat when he walked home, but fuck - it had been an eventful evening, and what had transpired in the hallway, well that had taken the crown.
He walked out after feeling somewhat refreshed on the outside, though his mind was still a mess. Jen was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking into the distance as if lost in thought when she heard him walk out and turned her head to him, giving him a soft smile. "You okay?" she asked him and he huffed out a breathless laugh. "Yeah. I'm more than okay. Though my mind's a mess." Jack felt like honesty was the best way to address this situation. She snorted at his remark. "Yeah, mine too."
"Glad I'm not the only one then." he breathed as he sat down next to her, his leg brushing up against hers. "Us, sitting on that bed... that's dangerous." Jen laughed quietly before leaning back and lying down on the edge of her bed, her feet still on the ground as if to mock him and his words. "And why would that be?" she teased, smirking up at him.
Jack huffed, turning to look at her properly, his gaze intense. "Let's just say, I wouldn't have exactly stopped at dry humping you in the hallway if we'd been in this room. And I still don't trust myself." Jen's eyes widened for a moment as if she hadn't expected him to be so straightforward about his desire before she burst out laughing. "Okay, that's direct." she laughed before she added quietly, "I might not have stopped you then either."
The stared at each other quietly for a moment before Jack closed his eyes, overwhelmed - with his desire, feelings and emotions. "God, what are we doing?" he breathed, running a hand over his face before looking at her again as she stared up at him, eyes wide, cheeks rosy and her hair fanned out on the bed. "Stop looking at me like that." he told her and her smile widened.
"Like what?" she blinked up at him, her hands gripping the duvet.
"Like you want me to ruin you." His voice was shaky and his self control was dwindling. "Maybe I do want you to ruin me." she whispered and Jack shook his head in disbelief. "Don't say things like that, Jen. My self control is barely there as it is." he said and she laughed. Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing to him and he could see she loved it.
"I'm trying to do this properly, you know? Like taking you out on dates, talking to you, getting to know you before... just jumping into... all of this." he motioned with his hands to the bed and to his jeans. "Although, I know this started in a weird way anyway with the kiss in New York and our timeline's completely off, but I - you deserve a proper ... romancing. Nothing less than that. You deserve to be taken out on the most outrageously fancy and romantic dates to sweep you off your feet, and not me dry humping you in a fucking hallway." The more he talked, the more frustrated he got with himself, for losing control and for letting his desire for her overrule his mind and body like that.
"I mean, you got me off, didn't you? So I'm not exactly complaining." she laughed quietly and Jack huffed, still frustrated. "That's not what I meant, Jen." She was teasing him and working him up, and she knew it - he felt like he was going to combust. "Though if I hadn't, this would be even worse." he cracked a smile, despite feeling like anything but smiling, and Jen laughed - the comicality of the situation wasn't exactly lost on him. "That's true. Wouldn't have been very Disney princely of you." she teased and he couldn't help but laugh. She had a way of making him laugh and happy even when he didn't feel like it.
She gently grabbed his hand, still lying on the bed and the hair fanned out around her made her feel like a goddess, Jack thought. "I know what you mean, Jack." she told him, her voice steady. "But if I hadn't liked it, I would have stopped you. I didn't stop you because I didn't want you to. So stop beating yourself up over what we did together - not just you, you know? And if I remember correctly, I edged you on, so we did this together and I don't regret it." She added quietly, "You said you didn't either." She looked up at him, her hand playing with his fingers and he could see that she was suddenly unsure if he did.
Jack swallowed hard, shaking his head. "No, I don't regret it. I can't. It was way too fucking incredible to regret it." He breathed out shakily. "If anything, I wanted it to go much further that it did."
His eyes flitted over her body and up to her face, Jen was already watching, observing him quietly. "Kiss me, Jack." It wasn't a question and Jack pushed the sudden nervousness that consumed him down, exhaling shakily. The tension between them shifted into that unspoken want between them yet again, the one that had overwhelmed him in the hallway and was about to consume him once again.
He moved gently, slowly. And as he braced himself on top of her, his breath fanning over face, with his body pressed against hers on the bed, he felt like he was about to lose his last ounce of self control yet again. "Jen, this is dangerous. You are dangerous." His voice was barely even a whisper. She reached up, curling her fingers around the back of his neck, tugging him down slightly and he felt his skin tingling. He closed the gap and kissed her gently, using every bit of resistance in him to keep it gentle and soft.
It was no use. Once he could feel her tongue against the seams of his lips, the resistance went out the window and he deepened the kiss, moving inbetween her legs. He felt hot all over, completely overheated and it was not definitely not because he was still wearing his coat. He could feel her wrap her legs around him, pressing him closer and his body developed a mind of its own apparently because his hands grabbed wherever they could reach, his hips bucked against hers and he pressed closer to her until there was nothing that could have come inbetween. His lips moved frantically against hers and his breath was nonexistent, but he didn't care. Jen had absolved his self control and hers apparently too. Because she moaned against his mouth, gripping his hair and his shoulders, somehow tugging him even closer as she seemed just as lost in his kisses.
But they were reaching a territory they both knew they shouldn't cross, at least not yet - even if they both desperately wanted to in that moment. "God, Jack..." she sighed, pressing gently on his shoulders to stop and create a bit of distance they both needed. They were both panting heavily and his forehead was pressed against hers before she moved her head and tugged him closer into a hug - maybe to dissolve the passion that was consuming them. "Fucking hell." he panted, caressing her hips with his hand. He could feel her body shaking and for a second he was worried, she was crying until he realized she was laughing.
"I don't even know what's gotten into me." she laughed against his shoulder. "I really don't do this normally, especially with guys I don't even know that well." Jack joined in on her laughter, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent. "I am so screwed, God." he murmured, still laughing. "I can't think straight when you're near."
Jen huffed with a laugh, her fingers playing with his hair that was sure to be goddamn mess. "Welcome to the club, Draper."
"What the fuck are we doing, Jen?" he hid his face even more in the crook of her neck, and his shaky voice came out muffled. "I can barely control myself around you, I know I should just get up and leave but my brain completely shuts off - or maybe it's an aneurysm, I don't know, and it's gotten to the point tonight where I am honestly just like screw it."
"You mean more like, screw me?" she teased and he burst out laughing, their bodies shaking together in their laughter. Leave it to her to find the humor in the situation.
"Basically." he admitted. "But seriously." he pinched her sides gently and she wound herself beneath him like an eel.
"Also, I've never heard someone having an aneurysm that led to them wanting to have sex with someone. That's new. Maybe you should get yourself checked out, Draper." she continued her teasing and he rolled his eyes good naturedly, though she couldn't see.
"I don't want to just have sex with you, Jen." he murmured. "I want everything. I want you, I want to take care of you, I want falling asleep next to you and waking up with you and making coffee in your room, even though I don't even drink coffee and I want to call room service in the morning and have breakfast together in that really awkward way that people usually eat together after they've slept with someone for the first time, even though I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be awkward with us." He was rambling and he knew it. "I want the whole experience. All of it."
He breathed out shakily, and lifted his head to take a look at her - whether he had scared her off already. She was blinking up at him, as if she couldn't quite believe what he'd just said, and he couldn't exactly blame her. This went way deeper than anything they'd talked about tonight.
He was about to tell her to forget everything he'd said, that he didn't want to scare her away, when she opened her mouth. "I- That is very Disney princely of you." she breathed out with a quiet laugh and he couldn't quite help the smile that broke out on his face.
"What can I say? I told you they've modeled their courses after me." he whispered.
Jen cleared her throat and he realized she'd gotten emotional over his confession. Jack couldn't help it - he always felt so proud when he'd draw out emotions from this fiercely guarded woman. "Uh, well - that ... that uh - that actually sounds pretty.. nice." she stammered and Jack could feel this sense of accomplishment once again. "You really are quite the romantic, so you didn't lie about that. Huh."
"Told you." His hand was still drawing shapes on her hip, his voice just a gentle murmur. "And I meant it, Jen. I... I know this is fast and we might be getting whiplash here, but I don't want to hide what I feel - or how I feel. I want to be an open book, but only when you're in this with me. Together. I may be crazy, but I'm absolutely crazy about you." He leaned in, nudging her nose with his. "Seems like me running into in New York like that was a good thing after all."
"You didn't think it was?" she smiled up at him gently, though there was a question in her eyes and he felt the need to explain what he meant.
"After you disappeared, I wasn't really sure for a while. You went completely radio silent on me, and I wasn't certain if ... well, if you even liked it. If you ever wanted to see me again. So there was a lot riding on whether you wanted to see me again or not to think of it as a good thing."
"Well, I wasn't really certain if I wanted to see you again." her voice was quiet in her admission. "You - you scare me, Jack. And not in the general sense of the word, but it's how straightforward you are. You're an open book. And you're anything but nonchalant." she laughed quietly as her fingers started to play with his hair again. "You don't hide what you feel, whether it's hurt or.. well..." she motioned her hand down his body and he rolled his lips in to keep himself from laughing. "You mean, turned on?"
Jen huffed out a laugh. "Yeah. You let me see it all. And that is so scary, you have no idea. Because half the time I don't even know what I'm feeling, and then there you are - so honest and direct and I have no idea what to do with that. But if you weren't so honest, that would be even worse."
Jack remained quiet - he could sense that she wasn't quite finished. "And - and God." she suddenly sounded annoyed, but he didn't know if it was directed at him or her, or them. "You are so fucking nice. How can someone be so nice? And patient and understanding? I thought men like that didn't exist." she huffed, and he bit back a smile. "You apologize readily and you listen - and you are so fucking gentle. Like a gentle giant. And I don't even know what the fuck I'm saying. I'm babbling" she rolled her eyes.
He reached up, smiling, and cupped her face with his hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "You know you're not so bad yourself. And you're cute when you babble."
"I know we've both asked this question like a hundred times this evening - but what are we doing, Jack? This is absolutely nuts! Batshit crazy!" Jen covered her face with her hands and Jack couldn't help but chuckle.
"I know. We are doing this completely the opposite way - making out, dry humping, lying in bed together..." he raised a suggestive eyebrow. "All this before we even had dinner and a proper date."
Jen groaned. "You make this sound like a situationship."
"Don't worry, I won't let it get that far." he chuckled, leaning down to kiss her nose after she peeled her hands off of her face to look up at him.
"Promise? I don't want to have to run into you at a tournament where we awkwardly greet each other even though we know we're just gonna end up in bed together again." Jen rolled her eyes and Jack laughed at that.
"I mean... I wouldn't be opposed to landing in bed with you. But I'd like everything else with you too." he grinned down at her, his fingers drawing gentle circles on her waist now. Jen laughed at his remark before sighing out loud.
"God, this is so weird." He cocked his head to the side, not quite sure what she meant. "We are doing this completely in reverse, this whole... dating thing."
"Well, there are no actual rules when it comes to dating, you know? You can do what feels right for you, even if it's different or strange to others." he told her before feeling the need to clarify - "And with that I don't mean, you know... spending the night together like immediately. I mean, that we don't have to follow any imaginary rules and just... do what feels right."
Jen sighed, reaching out to clutch at his shoulders again and Jack felt like his skin was burning with her touch. "I know. And even if it's weird... tonight felt right." she said quietly. His heart was hammering against his chest at her admission. He still felt a bit insecure with what happened in the hallway, even if he didn't regret - it was just very much a spur of the moment thing. "Yeah." he breathed out. "It did." He pressed his forehead against hers again. "I really wanna kiss you right now."
Jen raised an eyebrow at him. "You think we can keep it PG?"
"Not really, but we can try?" Jack pulled a face and Jen laughed as she pulled his face closer, leaning up to kiss him. He hummed as her lips met his and he pressed closer to her.
"So uhm -... I never got your number." he mumbled against her lips, still braced on top of her on the bed, lying between her legs. And Jen burst out laughing. "Really? That's what you're thinking about?"
"I'm trying to keep it PG!" he protested and Jen laughed even harder.
The evening had been... turbulent to say the least. Jen knew that once Jack left, she would be sitting in her room contemplating what the fuck had happened tonight.
This was absolutely not her. Making out in an elevator like horny teenagers? Dry humping a guy she barely knew in a fucking hallway where anybody could have seen them? And probably the security cameras too? God, she hoped they weren't working yet.
Then again, making out with a guy she didn't know at all in a New York hotel lobby was also not her.
So now, she was pinned on her hotel bed right under the heavy weight of Jack's body and she didn't really want him to leave. The very thought scared her. Wanting someone like this was scary. But somehow... Jack also made it easy. The way he was patient and understanding. And he matched her sense of humor. She even liked that he was a secret romantic. And he surprised her at every turn.
The way he suddenly seemed to be overtaken by his passion? The way she could literally see his desire for her consuming him? It had been completely nuts, but simply the way he had looked at her, like he couldn't bare the thought of not having his way with her in that very moment had made her throw all her inhibitions out the window. Who didn't like to be desired after all?
His desire and passion had been palpable. And there was absolutely no way she would have been able to regret what they'd done. Not only had it felt amazing (obviously), not only had it been extremely hot - it had especially brought them closer (in more ways than one). His confession and his honesty had opened the door for a closer connection and Jen suddenly didn't feel as scared anymore.
Nonetheless, she was going to need time to process everything that had happened tonight because it had been an absolute rollercoaster of emotions. And then there was the date tomorrow. She wanted to do this properly, like Jack said. And some things were worth waiting for. Jen was sure that Jack and their connection was among those things.
That, however, didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun.
She wrapped her legs around his waist again, just like she'd done before and she could still feel him. "So, what about this exactly is keeping it PG?" she couldn't help but tease him as she lifted her hips up a little to rub against his, and laughed when Jack huffed, disguising a soft moan that escaped him. "Again, it's not my fault you're hot. I'm just a man, you can't blame me when you do... this. And stop that, you're going to make me do things I will really regret."
"Like what?" she smirked but he kissed that smirk off her lips in a quick kiss before he pulled back and she swore her breathing stopped for a moment as his eyes fixated her with an intense gaze. "Trust me, you don't wanna know."
Jen hummed, biting her lip for a moment. "Jack, one thing you should know about me - don't ever tell me I don't wanna know, because then I really wanna know."
"Didn't we want to keep it PG?" Jack narrowed his eyes at her, playfully.
"We said we'd try. And we did try. And it didn't work, clearly." she laughed and Jack rolled his eyes. "Now whose fault is that?"
Jen protested with a laugh. "That's unfair, you're the one with the -" she gestured wildly to his crotch. Jack tried to keep a stern face but failed miserably. "I'm a guy, it's pretty obvious when we're turned on. Unfortunately, we're not as lucky as you girls. It's not that visible to me."
Jen blinked up at him, teasing him even more. "Mmmhh... maybe it's not visible to you, but I can feel it."
Jack stared at her for a moment before groaning out loud and dropping his head to her shoulder as she shook with laughter. "Oh for God's sake. You're making it so difficult to be a gentleman and keep my hands to myself." Jen laughed even louder. "You can't say things like that and then expect me to keep my cool here."
"I mean, if you haven't noticed, I don't really want you to keep your cool." She rubbed her hands over his back, loving the way his whole body just turned into her and how it felt against hers.
"You're a mean one." he huffed, still hiding his face in her shoulder, presumably to try and regain his cool. "But yeah, I noticed. And unfortunately, it's working because I'm absolutely hopeless around you. A lost cause. Completely and utterly useless."
Jen couldn't help the giggle that escaped her. "Good to know I have that effect on you."
"Oh you know." Jack groaned again. "You gotta be blind not to notice. For God's sake, you might as well call me whipped. Or a simp or whatever. And I never know what you're gonna pull next." Jen laughed again, he sounded so indignant and she brushed her lips against his temple. "Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, Draper."
"Clearly." he remarked before pulling back slightly to peck her lips. She wiggled against him and laughed out loud when he pulled back, playfully glaring at her. "Alright, that's it. Enough is enough. You're really testing my willpower here."
He got up from his position, groaning like an old man as he did so and pulled her up with him, so they were both sitting on the edge of the bed again. The looked at each other silently for a moment, as if to assess if this was really it for the night or if they'd just say to hell with it and tear each other's clothes off. Jen glanced at the watch in her room and Jack's eyes followed her, widening when he realized the time.
"Holy shit, it's getting late!" he exclaimed and Jen nodded. "I know - I have to be at the tennis center at nine tomorrow." Jack nodded thoughtfully.
"Yeah, me too. I should leave." Jack reluctantly got up from her bed and turned to her. "Though I don't really want to."
Jen bit her lip, looking up at him. "I know. Me neither. But..."
"But I should. I know." Jack finished her sentence for her and pulled her into him, kissing her once before murmuring. "You still owe me your number, Langfort."
She laughed and held out her hand for his phone. "Alright, since you asked so charmingly." Jack rolled his eyes with a smile and handed her his phone so she could type in her number. When she was done she handed it back and Jack grabbed her hand in his as they walked to the door. She opened it and they both stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.
"Good night, Cinderella. I'll see you tomorrow." Jack kissed her hand and Jen felt like she would swoon. She couldn't help herself and pulled him into her, leaning up and pressing her lips to his in a final goodbye kiss - at least for tonight. She could feel him smiling into the kiss as he held onto her waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck again, she really didn't want to let him go just yet. But she had to - tomorrow was going to be a busy day for her at practice, and his probably wasn't going to be any better. And then there was their date as well.
"Okay, go. Go!" she playfully pushed him off, and she laughed at his face as she pushed him towards the elevators. "And button up that coat!" Jack playfully huffed, giving her the bird which made her laugh, and made his way down the hallway as Jen leaned against the doorframe.
He was already halfway down the hallway before he turned around and took three big steps towards her to pull her in one last time to kiss her hard. He sighed into the kiss, holding her tightly to him for one last moment tonight. "Alright, alright - I'm leaving. I'm going." Jack mumbled as her laughter rang through the hallway. "Goodnight, Jen."
Jen smiled gently as he waved one last time. "Goodnight, Jack." He was nearly at the elevator when she suddenly thought of something.
"Wait - what should I wear tomorrow?"
"Just something normal, you don't have to dress up, love." Jen could have swooned whenever he called her 'love'. "That doesn't tell me anything - is it like formal, or not?"
"Just wear whatever you feel comfortable in." he called out and laughed as she huffed an indignant "Men!" and disappeared into the elevator.
As Jack had gotten home, Paul and Ben had immediately taken him hostage and made him tell them all about what had happened this evening - but truth be told, Jack didn't even know it properly himself. He still needed time to think all of it through because the night had been a complete up and down - emotionally and physically. He needed time to process it, and he needed to plan their date because he didn't know much, but he did know that Jen deserved for him to go all out. The entire night had confused him and messed with his head and he didn't know what would come next. All he knew was that they'd confessed that they liked each other, that he'd finally gotten her number (and texted her goodnight) and that he'd secured a date with the girl who had been spooking around in his head for months now. And that, well... she was definitely wilder and naughtier than he had expected.
So that is what he told them, in that exact order. The only thing he left out was their ... dry humping session in the hotel hallway. And the amount of times they'd kissed. That was one piece of information that Jack kept as his little secret, for him and for Jen to know, and to think about for the future.
A/N: This is once again extremely long, and probably going to be divided into three parts or so, like the first one. Also, is it just me or does ANYBODY else also feel so awkward when they post their writing? Don't know why, but it always makes me so nervous and awkward for some reason. Anyway, I hope you like it and my writing doesn't put you off lol
Off Season.
London, November 2024.
It had been a long and grueling season. Jack was happy about the break, even though he never could stay away from tennis for long. When he was away for even a week, he'd start to miss it.
Right now though, in this very moment, he did not miss it at all. It was Hell Week - the week where he'd put his body through hell: training, training and more training, physical exhaustion and pain. It really was hell - but it was almost over. He was nearly done with it (in reality, in his mind, he was quite literally done with it, though he didn't mention that).
Apart from basically dying, he had spent the week with his big brother Ben and his best friend Paul, hunting for accessories for their new place they'd just bought and moved into. Jack had to admit, interior design wasn't easy, but he did his best trying to make this place their home. Paul did tease him about it not exactly being a 'professional job' at which Jack usually rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
It was late in the evening, and his brother Paul and Jack were chilling on the couch, watching some sport nobody really paid attention to. Jack was lost in thoughts - like he had been since early September.
Jennifer Langfort.
That name was playing on his mind like a mantra.
He couldn't stop thinking about her. About their kisses in the hotel lobby. And about how she fled the scene, never to be seen again.
Jack hadn't really known what to do. Should he have messaged her? Should he have tried to find her after he had lost his semifinals match? He didn't know. He didn't know anything.
After their kiss, he had been a complete mess - at least mentally. All he could think about was her, her, her. Once his semifinals match had approached, of course he was focused on it. But he had wondered whether she would be watching or not. If she was thinking about him the way he thought about her.
His semifinals match was interesting, to say the least. He had vomited three times, and people couldn't stop talking about it and how he had wiped it away himself and continued playing to the bitter end. It had been his firs Grand Slam semifinal, and regardless of the outcome, he was proud of himself. He had done the best he could under the circumstances - the anxiety, the humidity had gotten to him, but he had given it his all. He had wanted to go and find her after he had lost, but what could he have said? That he couldn't stop thinking about her and wanted to do more than just kiss her - he wanted to take her out, properly, talk to her, get to know her. But he didn't really have time, everything had been a complete whirlwind, especially after his loss. He had flown back to London the next day, taken a quick break and then went to play the Davis Cup round for Team GB. He didn't really have time to do anything at all, after that semifinals loss.
Jen had fared a little better than him - under big applause and cheers she had won the US Open. The big champion was back.
And Jack was incredibly happy for her. She deserved it, and more. What she'd told him about how those security guards that constantly surrounded her made her feel, made him feel for her. He wanted to be the one to protect her - and these thoughts that had been ghosting around in his mind for months now scared him. What did he know about her after all, except for the few things she'd told him and the way she made him feel when she was near (and when she wasn't near, to be fair)? It was absolutely crazy. And yet, he'd come to accept that he felt things for her - that he had genuine, deep feelings for her.
He couldn't really explain it, and he didn't want to. Jack had told the story to Ben and Paul - they told each other everything - and they had nearly fallen out of their seats. Jack told them to pick up their jaws, they were catching flies, teasing them with the way they looked at him, incredulously. He had hoped that maybe they could help him untangle the mess in his head, but that was probably a futile task.
"What the hell?" Paul exclaimed. "You guys kissed?!" Ben laughed at him, claiming he knew there was this weird sexual tension going on, which earned him a pillow landing on his face, courtesy of Jack.
Afterwards, they'd talked about what all this meant, and Jack had tried to play it cool, to downplay the amount of his feelings, but Paul and Ben had shared a knowing look. They'd both known this wasn't just a fleeting moment of attraction or a few kisses shared in the dark corner of a hotel lobby, or even him helping her out - this was much more. Maybe not love, at least not yet, but given time, it could very well be.
But then, time had passed, and absolutely nothing happened.
He had gone on to play the Davis Cup and then Japan, Jen had played the Asian WTA Swing and the WTA Finals. Jack had gone on to win Vienna - his first ATP 500 title - and then played in Paris, where his loss in the second round meant that his season had come to an end.
Jack had followed her matches, she'd played well, her comeback clearly a huge success. A WTA 1000 title in Wuhan was followed up by her win of the WTA Finals. But not once had heard a word from her.
She hadn't tried to message or reach him in any way. It was as if their kisses in New York had been a pure figment of imagination on his part, though he knew it wasn't, of course. But it seemed like it, because there was complete radio silence going on.
Jack thought that maybe she'd message him on Instagram, but she didn't even follow him (and he had checked approximately 487 times - he swore, he hadn't counted). He did follow her, the day after he played his semifinals match. But she never followed him back. He had watched her stories, her reels, liked her posts, but nothing was returned on her part.
Jen had started posting regularly again during the US Open. Her posts and captions were funny, people from the ATP and WTA were commenting on them. Her stories, too, were hilarious, especially the ones that didn't have anything to do with tennis. She posted about cooking and baking adventures, of karaoke bars and her and her friends singing 'Man! I Feel Like A Woman' by Shania Twain (which sounded a bit off key but still good somehow), and she posted of her cats and her dog and going to the movies and living her life. And the funniest thing she'd posted was about a Halloween Party Jen and her friends had attended where they'd dressed up like the Lorax. She looked so funny, and beautiful in that stupid costume, and when he saw the video of her dancing and jumping around to songs of Katy Perry and other early 2000 bangers, he had wanted nothing more than to be there with her. She looked like a joy to be around, so carefree and full of life. Nothing he saw made him want her less - if anything, whatever she posted, made him want her even more. It was insane, if he thought about it, yet here was. Hopelessly entranced by a girl that seemed to have forgotten he even existed.
Complete radio silence. He couldn't really understand it. Had the moments they'd shared meant nothing to her? Had he just imagined the way she'd gazed up at him? Had he just imagined the way her heart sped up when he drew closer to her and her breath hitched?
No, he hadn't imagined it. Paul and Ben both told him to be patient - to go talk to her when he'd see her next which would probably be in fucking December. She had been named for the United Cup to represent her country, and Jack would be there too.
Sure, he could have messaged her - but would she have answered? Would she have even seen it? Jack was pretty sure that there were so many others who slipped into her DMs, so she probably wouldn't have seen it anyway. He didn't really know how else to contact her. Maybe he could have asked someone for her number, but it wasn't a given that he would have gotten it - and he didn't want to come off as desperate.
Yes, he was desperate to a certain extent (which he'd even admitted to Paul and Ben after a few drinks too much, after which they'd teased him relentlessly, claiming they'd known all along 'their boy was in lurrveee') - but he didn't want to appear that way to her. And so he didn't really have a choice but to wait. Little did he know that his chance to talk to her again would be coming sooner rather than later.
Jack had survived hell week and now was in normal training, a typical regimen for the preseason that would start at the end of December. He was on the way to his usual training center, the National Tennis Centre, and it was a dreary morning, typical London November weather. He parked his polo at his usual spot, grabbed his bag and entered the training center with big, confident strides. Jack was ready for a day full of training.
When he entered through the front door, he immediately felt that something was different. He didn't really know what - but something definitely was. There were murmurs and whispers and much more people than usual in the front area. He furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "What's going on?" he asked one of the staff, but they only shook their head, as if they weren't allowed to say anything. Jack, annoyed with the commotion, decided that he didn't really care - he was here to practice and that was what he was going to do.
He entered the locker room, putting his bag down and getting ready for his session. He had changed into his practice attire and picked up his tennis bag, the way to the practice courts only a short distance. Suddenly he bumped into a somewhat familiar body. Wait - that couldn't be - or could it really? The figure felt familiar, like the one he had been pressed up against in a hotel lobby in New York. But that was crazy. Why would Jennifer Langfort be in London? At the National Tennis Centre, nonetheless?
"Oof." the person let out a sound that resembled the yelp he had heard from Jen when he had bumped into her in New York. Before the girl could fall backwards after the hard bump-in, he placed his hands on her shoulder to steady her, and then he finally got a chance to look at the girl he'd bumped into, though he already knew it was her.
Yet, when he really saw her with his own eyes, he still couldn't believe it. He looked down at her, his eyes a dead giveaway how surprised he was at seeing her here, where he always practiced.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, stunned at seeing none other than Jennifer Langfort standing in front of him. Her eyes were wide - she hadn't been expecting him either.
"I-" she stuttered, her eyes darting across his face before locking with his. Jack's hands still rested on her shoulder, but he didn't really care to move them away, because - just maybe - touching her was some sort of reassurance to him that she was really here, that she was really standing there in front of him.
"I'm here to practice..." Jen's voice sounded surprised at seeing him. "I didn't know you'd be here."
Jack wanted to roll his eyes. It sounded like if she'd known he'd be here, she would have practiced somewhere else. "Oh, thanks." he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and he finally stepped back, his hands dropping from her shoulders.
Jen exhaled. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that I hadn't realized you'd be practicing at the NTC, that's all." She sounded exhausted, mentally and physically, as she bent down to pick up the bag she had dropped. "My usual training center got hit by a flood in September and it's still not repaired, so now... I'm here." she shrugged with her shoulders. "The LTA was generous enough to let me practice here, because we don't really have any other high quality practice courts where I come from, except the ones I usually practice on."
"Oh." Jack's response wasn't the intellectually brilliant one he had hoped it would be, his brain desperately trying to find something that would resemble words, but it was hard to seeing as his brain seemed to turn into complete mush in her presence.
"Yeah." Jen looked around awkwardly, clearing her throat. "Well, anyway, I have to get going, I'm gonna be late for practice and I forgot something in my locker." she gestured to the room behind Jack, who stepped aside to let her get past.
As she walked past him, he caught her familiar scent - the same one that had intoxicated him in New York. "Wait." Jack couldn't stop himself. He had to know.
"Why did you disappear like that?" Jack tried not to sound too hurt, but Jen's face was riddled with guilt as she turned back to him, so he probably hadn't been too successful with that. "Look, I know we just kissed but I thought... well, I thought that there was something more going on, you know? Or did I just imagine that?" His eyes searched hers for an answer.
Jen shook her head, earnestly, her voice only slightly above a whisper. "No, you didn't." she looked down and fiddled with her hands, a nervous habit she tended to have, Jack noticed. "You didn't imagine anything, but I ... I think I panicked." she added, not meeting his eyes.
"You panicked?" Jack was confused and Jen nodded. "It was... too much. All of it." she tried to explain and Jack finally understood. The feelings - the sudden feelings - had overwhelmed her too. But while his way of dealing with it would have been to talk it out, take her on a date and see where this was going, her way of dealing with it was... running away, quite literally.
"And to be honest" Jen said quietly, "I didn't really know what to say."
"How about, 'Thank you again, Jack, for this amazing kiss. I'd gladly let you take me out on a date.'" he quipped, trying to lighten the mood a little as he sensed the tension around her, and Jen scrunched up her face in an adorable laugh. Oof, I got it bad, he thought.
"Oh really? That's what I should have said?" Jen's voice was full of laughter. "I don't recall you ever asking me out."
"Yeah, well, you never talked to me again afterwards - but if you had, I would have asked, you know." Jack winded her up, a smile making its way onto his face.
"But what makes you so sure I would have said yes?" she teased right back, and Jack loved the way the banter immediately seemed to flow between them.
"I mean... that was one hell of a kiss. Pretty sure you didn't stand a chance at saying no after that."
Jen guffawed at his mock arrogance, and Jack felt weirdly proud of making her laugh like that. "You're impossible." she playfully punched his shoulder.
"Impossible to say no to?" Jack offered, and Jen rolled her eyes, still laughing.
"You wish, Disney Prince." she shook her head with a laugh, and turned around to the lockers. Jack followed her in, enjoying their banter.
"Why'd you call me that, anyway?" he asked her as Jen rummaged around her bag. "Is it really the hair?"
Jen nodded earnestly, though the mischievous smile gave her away. "Yep, it's definitely the hair. And because you're really tall, but mostly the hair." Jen looked into his eyes, and he could detect a teasing glint in her gaze, so he decided to step up with his flirting. He walked over to her, closer than before and looked down at her, a slight smirk covering his lips.
"So you said, all the girls would love me..." he trailed off, as he playfully narrowed his eyes at her, and Jen cocked her head to the side. "Does that include you?"
Jack watched, fascinated, as a light blush dusted her cheeks - a blush she desperately tried to cover up by looking down at her fiddling hands. "N-no?" she stuttered, and Jack raised an eyebrow, the smile not leaving his face. As she looked up, her cheeks looked even darker. "Maybe?"
"So, which one is it?" Jack dared to step even closer, and he was suddenly hyper aware of her presence. His hand reached out and toyed with a string on her sports jacket. He watched as her eyes moved down to where his hand touched the string and then darted back again to his face.
"I-" Jen was clearly out of sorts, and he loved evoking this reaction in someone who was usually so self-assured and confident. But he didn't want to make her uncomfortable, so he decided to let her off the hook - at least for now.
"It's okay, love, I'll give you some time to think about it." Jack winked at her, and bit his lower lip as he stepped back. Then he leaned forward slightly, so his face was closer to hers and Jen looked like a deer caught in headlights. "But I definitely won't let you disappear on me again." With that, and a final smile, he turned and left the locker room, heading to his practice. It was going to be a good day, he thought, as he realized Jen would be around for quite a while. And for the first time in three months, Jack felt like he could finally breathe.
Jen stood there in the locker room, completely dumbfounded.
Jack Draper, otherwise also known as 'Disney Prince' had just flirted his ass off - and Jen had been completely out of it. Her usual confident, smart demeanor had been shattered, and it was all his doing.
Jen hadn't realized Jack Draper was such a charm and flirt machine. Like, he could seriously flirt, and he knew it. He had known exactly where to push her buttons, using her own words against her like that. And when he called her 'love' - God, she wanted to swoon.
She had to admit, after their incredible kisses in New York, she'd googled him, and basically internet stalked him. She had watched his interviews on YouTube - unfortunately there weren't too many -, she had stalked his Instagram and Twitter - unfortunately he wasn't too active-, and she'd googled any article she could find, which also wasn't a lot. The YouTube videos gave her the most to work with because she had studied the way he'd carry himself, the way he talked, and he sounded decidedly professional, thoughtful and, well, not very flirty. His interviews were completely professional, sure, but he didn't give away too much. The only sarcastic or unhinged quip here and there were a few flashes of the person he was underneath his professional persona. But he seemed really sweet, earnest and just really nice. Exactly the kind of guy she could see herself with.
But she'd gotten scared. Of course, she had noticed that Jack had followed her, and that he had liked her posts or reacted to her stories. It was impossible not to notice, at least for her, because she'd checked religiously. Jen had chickened out, pure and simple. She was a chicken when it came to being vulnerable, or letting her guard down. And somehow, Jack had gotten under her skin, he had reduced her to this mess that really only wanted to be close to him, to be held and kissed by him. He had made her want that.
And that scared Jen immensely. She'd told herself she didn't even know him. That this was just her hormones talking. But deep down, she knew it wasn't. It was real, and it was genuine, this connection between them.
Jack did have a point. Going out on a date would have been the next logical move, getting to know each other, talking to each other properly. But their paths hadn't crossed in months, and to be honest, she thought he'd forgotten her.
Clearly he hadn't. So maybe they could have a second chance - but would Jen be able to give him - them - one?
The courts at the NTC were bustling, the British tennis elite taking up every court the center had to offer. Jen felt a little out of place, if she was being honest. A little bit like an intruder, she was hiding on the last court of the center, trying to keep any attention off of her, which was easier said than done. Sure, she knew a few of the female players, not nearly close enough to be real friends, but there were some acquaintances, and she'd seen some of the male players around at some tournaments here and there. But this was completely new territory, everybody knew everybody around here, and she didn't. The only person she'd been somewhat close to had been Jack - and really, that was only on surface level, too, even if they'd kissed.
To everyone else around the NTC, having the Jennifer Langfort there was fascinating. Lower ranked players always liked watching the higher ranked ones practice to see if there was something they could learn from them. And that was the case here as well. As Jen got ready for some drills she could feel some of the other players' eyes on her. It wasn't uncomfortable per se, but she was out of her comfort zone here, so she would have liked more privacy. But she had to make do with what she'd got, and so she just dealt with it and ignored the looks and whispers.
Jack was on the other side of the center, much to his dismay. He would have loved to watch her train more closely. Or to watch her more closely, in general. But alas, that had to wait. Maybe he could convince her to go get some dinner together after practice - not as a date, at least not officially. He didn't want to scare her off. He had sensed some apprehension on her part, not because she didn't like him or because she wasn't affected by him, but there was definitely something else. So, he wanted to keep it light and somewhat casual, for her sake. Though, Jack knew that was probably easier said than done. He could barely control his thoughts let alone his reactions around her. Playing it cool and casual required a lot of willpower on his end.
He noticed Jen was hiding away on her practice court a little bit. She always seemed to be turned away slightly so as to not be seen by the others that clearly. And he'd noticed the attention she was getting. Clearly, she wasn't too comfortable with it.
Surely, he thought, she was used to the attention from years of being in the spotlight. Jack wondered if her discomfort stemmed from only coming back very recently after her accident - which, granted, would be a major disruption in anyone's life - or if she was uncomfortable with being in the limelight in general. He guessed it was the first because he could tell from watching her interviews she was quite the natural when it came to interviews or being the center of attention, as if she'd always been there - not in a conceited way, but simply natural. Now, however, she tended to hide away a little. Maybe she'd gotten used to her shell while she'd been away from the tennis world and it was difficult for her to get out of it. Jack decided that he'd find out.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as she went through with her practice - serves, forehands, backhands, volleys, drills, sprints, dropshots (her specialty) and all over again. The others were watching her too, but after a while it looked like she was in her own world, completely focused on her training. Her coach seemed nice, very caring and they laughed a lot together. They seemed like friends, and not just coach and player.
As Jack took a break during his own practice, he sat down on the bench and looked over at Jen, who looked so carefree and full of life as she laughed at something her coach said. He realized he hadn't ever really seen this side of her; then again, he hardly had seen any side of her yet, but he was planning on changing that. He couldn't wait to find out what kind of music she liked, what her childhood was like, what food she liked, what movies, and so many other things. He wanted to get to know the person Jennifer Langfort. What made her her.
"You're staring." Paul said as he sat down next to Jack who nearly flinched with surprise. He had been caught up in his own world watching Jen practice. "You're making it very obvious, you know?"
"Making what obvious?" Jack played dumb, but he knew exactly what Paul was going to say.
"That you like her." Paul deadpanned.
"Yeah, so?" Jack shrugged. "I don't mind if she knows."
Paul's jaw nearly fell to the floor. "Oh, so you suddenly admit it!" he hummed once he had regained his composure and Jack shrugged again, unbothered (or at the very least pretending to be).
"No chance hiding it, I'm afraid." Jack took a sip of his water. "I .. I met her in the locker room. Guess I made it abundantly clear I'm interested." Jack gnawed on his lower lip as his eyes wandered back over to Jen's form in the distance who was now talking to Katie Boulter.
Paul raised an eyebrow, slightly flabbergasted. "Oh?"
"Yeah." Jack sighed and then smiled slightly at the memory. "I told her that I would have taken her out on a date if she hadn't run off in New York. Among other things."
"Hm." Paul sounded impressed. "So you finally grew a pair." he told his best friend with a smirk.
Jack burst out laughing and threw his towel at Paul. "Oh fuck off!" he was still laughing, and he noticed Jen looking over at them out of the corner of his eyes.
"So, we finally get to see how the great Jennifer Langfort practices." Katie Boulter teased and Jen playfully rolled her eyes. They had practiced together for the entire day, and had developed quite a good rapport between each other. "I'm pretty sure my training routine isn't that much different to yours." she remarked before she put the water bottle down. "It's really not that special."
"Girl, are you okay?" Katie laughed, astounded. "That was the hardest practice of my life! And you're trying to tell me it's nothing special?"
Jen shrugged, slightly shy at her rigorous training regimen. "I don't really know anything else. It's how I've always practiced. Guess I've always been a little obsessed with improving."
"Huh." Katie looked at her with a thoughtful expression. "So that's how you become World Number 1 then. Duly noted."
Jen laughed at Katie's remark and then she heard another round of laughter coming from the other side of the hall. It was Jack and a guy she didn't recognize, but they seemed to be really close. Jack was laughing at something his friend had said and threw a towel at him. Jen couldn't help but smile at that. She wished she'd had someone who was this close to her during her early practice years, someone who was a genuine friend. She wished she hadn't always been so alone during these formative years because she was the only one from her country on that level. It sometimes was quite lonely.
Katie had watched Jen as she had observed Jack and Paul's shenanigans on the other end of the hall. She wasn't stupid - she had noticed Jen trying her hardest not to look in Jack's direction but she had slipped up sometimes, and she had wondered what was going on there, if maybe she just found Jack attractive? She didn't really think they'd met before. And she realized from talking to Jen a little bit that she must have been quite lonely or at the very least spending a lot of time on her own despite the friends she had on the tour.
"Have you met Jack?" Katie asked and Jen didn't notice the slight glint in Katie's eyes. Katie was so ready to play matchmaker. All the while during practice she'd thought that Jen and Jack would get on great. Jen was absolutely lovely, so down to earth despite her level of fame and she was hilarious - Katie would make a bet with anyone at the NTC that Jen would be Jack's type. So she decided to take matters into her own hands - he mind was buzzing with ideas.
"Uh - " Jen stuttered slightly before catching herself as her eyes flitted to Katie's. "No, I haven't."
"Hm." Katie cocked her head to the side. "Then you definitely should."
Before Jen could even realized what Katie was implying, she was dragged over to court 1 where Jack and Paul were sitting on the bench.
"Oy, Jack, Paul!" Katie shouted over to them and they looked up at her, surprised. "Meet Jen!"
Jen was being dragged by her new friend across the court to the bench, looking a little like a human ragdoll mixed with a deer caught in headlights. As the girls finally came to a halt right in front of Jack and Paul, the boys shared a look and a smile before getting up and meeting the girls. Katie looked at them expectantly and Paul made the first move. "Hi Jen, it's nice to meet you. I'm Paul."
Paul looked very friendly and nice as he held out his hand and Jen took it shyly, with a slight smile. "Hi Paul, it's nice to meet you too." she said softly. There was a cheeky glint in Paul's eyes that she couldn't quite decipher and she didn't have time to dwell on it because Jack stepped right in front of her with a barely contained smile. She could see Paul nudge Jack and Jen knew then and there that Jack had most definitely told Paul about their encounter in New York. She immediately felt her face heat up - which was extremely bad timing because she knew Jack could see it, and so could Katie, who had apparently decided to claim the title 'matchmater of the NTC'. Jack definitely noticed her blush because his smile deepened as he held out his hand, a teasing look in his eyes.
"Hi Jen." Jack took her hand and Jen felt her heard stutter. "I'm Jack. Nice to finally meet you, I've heard quite a lot about you." Jen felt completely entranced by him. Since when was he so openly flirty. Somewhere in another universe she could hear Paul choking slightly on a cough in the background, but she didn't really register it as she looked up at Jack with big eyes and red cheeks.
"Hi Jack." she said, her voice slightly shaky. "Nice to meet you too." Jen cleared her throat as she stepped away slightly and Jack licked his lips as he watched get all flustered. He was clearly loving this.
Katie had definitely felt the tension because her voice nearly cut it in half, it was so thick. "So now that you guys have met, what about a welcome dinner for Jen tonight? You know, to welcome her here. She doesn't really know anyone." she said and Jen rolled her lips in to stop herself from snorting. Oh, if she'd known!
Jack had seen her try to keep in her laughter after what Katie had said and covered up his smile by taking a sip of water. "Of course, that's a great idea. Isn't it, Jack?" Paul nudged his friend and Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, absolutely. Let's do it."
Katie clapped her hands together, excited at bringing them all together - and maybe making Jen and Jack spend time together. "Fantastic! I'll ask the others as well - the more the merrier!"
Jen's eyes flitted from Katie to Jack to Paul and back to Jack before she smiled gently at Katie. "Yeah, sure, sound's lovely." she said quietly before excusing herself. She definitely needed a little time to breathe.
When Jack had woken up that day, he hadn't realized the day would pan out like this. After he had met Jen in the lockers he had planned on asking her out and keep it a little casual, but maybe it was a good idea for them to go to dinner all together because that meant less pressure on Jen. He never would have wanted to pressure her into anything that overwhelmed her.
When Katie - completely unaware of their prior connection - had 'introduced' them to each other, Jack had barely been able to contain himself. The situation was so comical and surreal, but at the same time... his heart skipped a beat when he had looked at the girl in front of him. She looked so sweet and shy and her blush... God. That drove him wild. The way she'd blushed when taking his hand. He was discovering so many sides to her and he couldn't wait to discover more.
And then, when she'd excused herself, he wondered if Jen was getting overwhelmed with the attention or the situation, and if he could do something - anything - for her. He waited a few moments before telling the others he was going to the toilet. Jack didn't care if Paul knew he was going after Jen.
He found her leaning against the railing outside which was sort of like a balcony, outside of the rooms where they usually did their fitness training. It wasn't too hard to spot her, she was the only person in this area of the NTC. When Jack walked through the door, it looked like she was deep in thought.
"Hey, you okay?" His voice was soft, but she was still startled, her eyes wide as she turned around. Recognizing it was Jack, she relaxed again.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just... needed a break, I guess. From people." she said quietly, but the amused raise of her eyebrow gave away that it was meddling people in particular she wanted to get away from.
"So I gather Katie picked up on whatever's going on." Jack stood next to her as they both looked out onto the grass outside of the balcony.
Jen hummed, fiddling with her hands. "Yeah, I guess so. Quite perceptive, that one." she said and Jack laughed. "That may have been less her perception and more the fact that we keep looking over to each other during practice." he chuckled and Jen burst out laughing too. "Yeah, probably. Not quite so subtle."
The laughter died down and silence set in before Jack broke it. "You know, you don't have to do this whole dinner thing if you're not comfortable with it." he told her softly, before adding, "You can always do dinner with just me." There was a teasing glint in his eye and Jen laughed - a sound that made Jack feel all warm inside. "Very smooth, and very tempting." Jen turned to the side to look at him properly, just to find him already watching her. "But it's fine. I guess it'll actually be quite nice to get to know everyone there."
Jack watched her quietly for a moment, the teasing still visible in the way he looked at her, before sighing. "Yeah, I guess so. But I'm telling you right now, you're missing out on the best dinner company you could have."
Jen bit back a smile at his remark. "Aren't you going to be there, too?"
Jack leaned forward, slightly - he couldn't help himself, he was enjoying their flirty banter way too much. "Yeah, but I bet it would be much more fun alone."
Jen's breath hitched slightly as he spoke, and Jack had trouble keeping himself from kissing her right then and there. She caught herself again and rolled her eyes. "You have quite the opinion of yourself, huh?"
Jack laughed and gently grabbed her hand in his. "No, I just know that if you're there and we're together, it's going to be a lot of fun."
Jen's eyes darted down to where his hand had touched hers before drifting back to his face, raising an eyebrow. She was quite tough to crack, he had to give her that. He thought he'd had her, and then she regained complete composure. It was almost like a game and he couldn't get enough. "So what exactly does that fun entail?" she murmured and Jack had to used all of his willpower to keep his cool.
"Maybe the same fun we had in New York?" His voice was just as low as hers and their faces were impossibly close. Jack hadn't even realized they'd somehow drifted even closer together.
"Is that a question or a statement?" she challenged him, her eyes burning into his. And with that Jack had enough - he leaned in, and waited just a beat to ask if this was okay, before she nodded slightly and his lips were on hers.
He'd nearly forgotten how good it felt to feel her lips on his and how soft they were and how she tasted. Jack didn't waste any time - he pinned her back against the railing, his hands in her hair and on her back to guide and steady her. His lips moved against hers almost in a frenzy - he felt like he was in a rush, he hadn't kissed her in nearly three months. Jack felt like a drowning man who only now was coming up for air again, which was ironic because he was gradually running out of breath, but he didn't want to let go just yet. Their kiss was a rush of hands, tongues and sighs, breaths mingling in a heated moment and his head was spinning. He completely forgot the world around him, the fact that they were literally in the National Training Center and anyone could have walked in on them at any given moment - nothing of that mattered to Jack. All that mattered to him was Jen and how she felt once again pressed up against him, her hands on the back of his neck and in his hair, slightly tugging at the long strands. His hands wandered from her hair to her back, pulling her into a complete embrace before one of his hand slid back up into her hair. He was tugging her impossibly closer to him, but it still didn't feel like it was enough. Everything around him was completely drowned out, all he could focus on and feel was Jen. Her hands were soft, just like her lips and Jack could feel them all over his shoulders and chest, the back of his neck, in his hair. Her lips moved against his in what felt slightly like a frenzy, and Jack responded with equal passion.
He didn't know how long they were standing there, Jack holding Jen close to him, their arms wrapped around each other like they were each other's lifeline. And he didn't care. He didn't want to stop kissing her, he didn't want to stop holding her.
But Jen - between them - was the voice of reason and once again pulled away first. Jack wanted to scream, once again, just like he'd wanted in New York each time she had pulled away. Deep down, his rational self knew why she did, but his heart told him he didn't want to stop. At all. Jack pulled back slightly, albeit unwillingly, and opened his eyes. He breathed heavily and his chest was rising up and down rapidly
"Jack..." Jen mumbled, her hand still in his hair and her eyes closed. "We're in the middle of the NTC... we can't... we shouldn't..." Her words were a slightly jumbled and mumbled mess as she finally opened her eyes and looked up at him. Jack couldn't breathe with the way she looked at him. His mind was foggy and really all he wanted to do was lean back in and kiss her. He couldn't really understand what she was doing to him, and for what felt like the hundredth time he thought he had never really felt like this before.
"I know." he murmured but didn't move away. He still held her in his arms, their hearts beating rapidly against each other's chests. "I know we shouldn't... but i can't stop, I - I don't know how." Jack looked down at her, his eyes slightly hooded. It was like someone - or Jen - had pushed the 'off' button on his mind, because it didn't seem to function properly, just like his body. Instead of moving away like he should, he moved closer again, kissing her softly. And despite what Jen had said, she responded immediately and fervently. It was a soft and gentle kiss, they weren't rushing in the midst of a heated kiss, but the passion could still be felt in the way Jack held her against him and tilted her head into the perfect angle to move his lips against hers. This time he pulled away slightly, his breath mixing with hers, his eyes closed. "I don't want to stop." he whispered against her lips and moved back in into another soft kiss, his hands moving to gently cup her face.
Jack finally pulled away, knowing that they could be caught any minute - he wouldn't have really minded per se, but he knew that Jen would have felt embarrassed because she didn't really know anyone here that well. His thumbs caressed her cheeks and Jack noticed with astonishment they were slightly red. "You're blushing." he murmured as he watched his thumbs move across her skin. Jen grinned up at him as she held onto his arms and rolled her eyes. "Am not."
"You so are." he whispered and couldn't help but grin. "You're adorable." Jen blushed even more and his grin widened. He did that, he thought. He felt like it was a huge accomplishment. Jen rolled her eyes again and stepped back slightly. Jack felt a sense of loss now that she wasn't pressed up against him anymore. Jen took a deep breath and straightened her clothes, maybe to distract herself a little, Jack couldn't really tell. But then again, he hardly ever could tell what was going on insider her head. That's why it felt like such an accomplishment to him to see Jen blush or react in any way to him. "I have to go, my team's probably waiting and to be honest... I have no idea how long we were out here..." she said with a slightly embarrassed smile - and there it was again. That sense of accomplishment Jack felt at making her forget any sense of time. He only grinned cheekily and the blush on her cheeks deepened once again.
"I'll see you tonight, Disney Prince." she walked to the door to get inside from the terrace and Jack watched her, his eyes never leaving her even once.
"Is that a promise, Cinderella?" he called after her with a grin and as Jen walked through the door he could see her smile as she looked back at him one last time.
