Summary: After an annoying mix-up at a hotel, leaving you and Ni-ki with only one bed to share, you're confronted with the unspoken words that have been floating around your head for months. But you shouldn't cross that line...you really shouldn't.
A/N: I love this trope so much, and after learning that Ni-ki is a certified cuddler, I had to do this (also, absolutely obsessed with Limbo Ni-ki).
You walked into the hotel room and dropped your backpack with a huff. The single bed in the middle of the room stared at you mockingly, its perfectly straightened sheets and undisturbed covers daring you to ruin it.
Ni-ki walked in behind you, lugging his large leather duffel. He stopped when he saw the bed, and you felt the sudden urge to create space between the two of you.
“I guess they weren’t lying about the bed mixup.”
You walked to the window, tossing your bag into the corner, “I guess not.”
You heard him shift on his feet, “I can sleep on the floor, ask them to bring up some extra pillows and blankets…”
“No, it’s fine, we can manage, it’s just a bed.” You said, although your heart raced at the idea of sharing a queen-sized bed with Ni-ki. He was a tall guy, and you knew from the other members that he tended to stretch out in his sleep. You thought about the other members peacefully enjoying their rooms with separate beds, and cursed the gods for making you and Ni-ki the youngest, always getting the leftovers.
Ni-ki walked to the bed. “Which side do you want?”
You jumped onto the right side, closest to the window, and took your phone out. “This side’s fine, want to get room service?”
He smiled and climbed on the bed next to you, reaching for the TV remote, “You read my mind.”
Thirty minutes later, two plates of potstickers and a big bowl of orange chicken with rice sat between the two of you on the bed. You watched the TV together, the light from the screen casting a soft glow on your faces. It was almost midnight, and the building was quiet. Based on the group chat, you guessed that most of the others were asleep. Only Jungwon, doing his nightly Weverse messages, was still active. You loved the stillness that came with staying up late. It was a moment for you to have the world to yourself, to take a break from all the day-to-day activity.
Ni-ki was the same; he often joined you on late-night walks or midnight snacks in the kitchen. You didn’t talk all the time, just enjoyed each other's presence, passing the time together when your heads were too loud to sleep.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, there were no separate rooms to retreat to when your eyes started to get heavy. There was only this bed, nothing to cut the tension that hung between the two of you on lonely nights.
Ni-ki’s deep laugh echoed next to you, sending a jolt down your back. You shifted on the bed, taking another bite of food before standing up. “It’s getting late.”
Ni-ki nodded, “Yeah, we should sleep.”
You stared at each other for a second, unsure how to navigate the new situation. “I guess I’ll shower first?”
He nodded again, eyes darting away and back to you, “Sounds good.”
You bit your lip slightly and grabbed your bag before heading to the bathroom. You heard him start to clean up the food as you closed the door.
You showered quickly, too anxious to enjoy it properly. You opened your bag to get your sleep shirt, and after a few seconds of digging, realized with horror that you had forgotten it in the dorms. You looked through your other clothes, but none of them were baggy enough to be comfortable for sleeping. You sighed, putting on your sleep shorts (that you thankfully remembered), and wrapping a towel around your chest.
You cracked open the door to the bathroom and found Ni-ki lounging comfortably on the bed, his head propped on the raised arm behind his head. “Ni-ki?”
He glanced up, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the towel you clutched to your chest.
“Could I borrow one of your shirts? I forgot mine.”
His eyes got even wider, but he didn’t waste a second. “Yeah, totally.” He went to his bag and grabbed a large black t-shirt, tossing it to you, his eyes avoiding you like the wrong side of a magnet.
“Thanks,” you stammered, quickly closing the door behind you. You leaned against the door, cursing yourself for the second time that day. Of all days, you chose this one to be forgetful?
You removed the towel and pulled Ni-ki’s shirt over your head. It was huge, falling low enough to cover your thighs. Unable to resist your curiosity, you sniffed it slightly. It smelled like him, well, like his perfume at least. Mandarin and basil, a calming scent you’d always liked on him.
You finished up in the bathroom and cracked the door open slowly, avoiding Ni-ki’s eyes as you set your bag back in its corner. But you felt his gaze on your back the entire time, dragging down your back and legs. You felt it like a physical touch, a warm caress down your hot skin. It made you shiver.
You let your eyes glance up as you crawled under the covers. He was staring, but clearly trying very hard not to. He ran a hand through his honey-colored hair and stood up almost as soon as you sat down, like he couldn’t stand to be near you. Without a word, he grabbed his stuff and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
You scrolled on Weverse as you listened to the shower run, replying to posts and comments. It was the only thing that kept your mind off the feeling of Ni-ki’s shirt on your skin, and what you would do if Ni-ki’s legs brushed against yours in the night…
The shower stopped, and a few minutes later, the door opened. Ni-ki walked out with his hair damp, a towel resting on his shoulder over a white tank top. His boxers hung low on his hips, revealing the top of his V-line. You dragged your eyes away, feeling heat creep up your neck.
He rubbed his hair with the towel one more time and climbed into bed. The space was even smaller than you anticipated. If you shifted your legs more than a few inches, you knew you’d brush against him. You could feel his body heat already sinking into your skin, making the covers feel hot and stifling. You felt the urge to throw the covers back, but you felt strange being so exposed. The sheets were the only thing between your bare skin and Ni-ki’s gaze.
Ni-ki scrolled on his phone beside you, chuckling at random TikToks. You were looking at your phone, but your mind was fully concentrated on the proximity of Ni-ki’s elbow to your shoulder. You shifted to give yourself more room.
He looked over, “Comfortable?”
You smiled, “Yeah, just warm.”
He glanced down, “You can take off your shorts if you want, I don’t mind.”
You bit your lip. Maybe he didn’t mind, but you weren’t so sure you didn’t. But the longer Ni-ki looked at you, the warmer you got, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you were practically melting.
“Ok…” You slipped off your shorts from under the sheets, leaving yourself in nothing but underwear.
You looked at him, and he quickly glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. You swore you could see a hint of red on his cheeks…
You bit your lip, “I’m going to turn off the lights now.”
He nodded, eyes locked on his phone.
You turned off the lamp on your side table, and he turned off his, plunging the room into darkness. The glow of Ni-ki’s screen was the only light in the room, and you turned so your back was to him.
A few minutes later, Ni-ki put his phone on the bedside table and turned on his side. You felt his breath ghosting the back of your neck, and heard him inhale sharply. “You smell good.”
His voice was so quiet you thought you were hearing things, “What?”
“You smell really good.”
You were not hearing things.
He moved slightly closer.
“It’s probably my shampoo,” you whispered.
“I like it.”
“Thanks.”
His breath was hot on your neck, and you put all of your energy into keeping your heart rate steady. You thought he would touch you; you realized you wanted him to.
But he didn’t, and ten minutes later, the quiet sounds of his breathing filled the room.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. What were you thinking? This was better anyway, you wouldn’t want to make things…awkward in the group. But you couldn’t help but acknowledge the hint of disappointment that sat heavy in your gut.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the tension slip off your shoulders as the softness of the mattress sank under you. You listened to the quiet sounds of Ni-ki’s breathing and slowly slipped into sleep.
After what felt like hours, you were awoken by the heat of your skin and a thin layer of sweat on your neck. You were hot. One of your legs was thrown over the top of the covers, your bare skin exposed to the room. You were curled forward slightly, hugging a bundle of sheets to your chest.
And that’s when you noticed the arm wrapped around your waist.
Ni-ki’s chest was pressed against your back, holding you close so your body molded around the curve of his torso. His face was buried in your hair, his lips brushing against your neck. His body heat flowed into you like a heater, setting your skin on fire for more than one reason.
You shifted slightly, your arm ghosting over the one wrapped around your waist. Ni-ki made a sound and pulled you even closer, sighing deeply.
You froze, unsure whether to move or keep still. You tentatively placed your hand over Ni-ki’s, stroking the skin slightly.
He stirred again, “y/n,” he whispered.
You tensed, your name falling from his lips like a confession, his voice low and rough with sleep.
“Yeah?”
He burrowed his face between your neck and shoulder, “So warm,” he murmured.
You weren’t sure if he was just saying things or if he was awake. “Ni-ki?” You whispered.
No response.
A devious thought slipped into your head. You started to wonder how he would react if he were awake. You moved your leg, the one trapped under the covers, until it tangled with his. Then you interlaced your fingers, keeping his arm locked around your waist.
You heard him exhale, and he squeezed your hand.
You moved again, this time lightly grinding against his crotch, which you felt pressed against your ass.
His arm moved, letting go of your hand and drifting away from your waist down your thigh. He traced the skin lightly, only brushing your hot skin with the tips of his fingers. Shivers raced down your spine, and you felt a slight pressure building in your core.
“Ni-ki?” You whispered.
His hand returned to your waist, this time slipping under your (his) shirt and resting on your bare stomach. His mouth went to your ear, “Did I tell you how good you look in my shirt?”
You smiled, “No.”
“You make me crazy.” He kissed your neck, his hair tickling your cheek as it fell across your skin.
You sighed softly, your hand drifting up to his hair. You tried to turn over to face him, but his hand on your stomach held you in place, moving over to grip your hip. “Stay still for me.” his hand dipped lower, brushing over your panties that were already wet with your arousal. “Let me make you feel good.”
You grinded against him again, a quiet whimper slipping from your lips, “Ok.”
His other hand reached under and around you to grip your breast. He squeezed it slightly before brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. His other hand cupped your core, his palm just barely rubbing against your clit.
You groaned, your whole body pressed against his chest as Ni-ki’s hands wandered over your body. Just light enough to make you whine with need. He held you tight, whispering quiet praise in your ears as you squirmed against him.
“I’ve wanted you for so long.” He said, his breath racing over your skin like fire. He continued to kiss your neck, working his way to the nape. He flicked out his tongue, wetting the skin.
You moaned, “Ni-ki…”
“Shhh, baby, I’ve got you.” Without warning, he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin, making you gasp. You arched against him, drawing a groan from Ni-ki’s lips as you rubbed against his hard length pressing against you. He brought his mouth back to the aching spot, running his tongue along the wound and sucking softly.
The pain mixed with pleasure, and you felt your walls start to clench around nothing. “Ni-ki, I need you, please.”
“Yeah? What do you need, baby? Use your words.”
“I-inside me, please-” You gasp as Ni-ki’s fingers dipped under your panties and into your folds in one fluid movement. The hand that had been playing with your nipple grasped the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up until your tits were exposed to the cold air of the room. He massaged one with his right hand and bent his head over your body to take the left one into his mouth, licking hungrily. His left hand continued its assault on your core, slightly dipping into your entrance and pulling out, never going where you needed him.
You moved your arm to tangle in his hair, pushing his head down closer to your chest. A deep rumble vibrated from his throat as you pulled on his hair. The sound made your walls clench again, and you moved against Ni-ki’s hand, desperate to be filled.
His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he turned his head to capture your lips. The kiss was messy and desperate, his tongue slipping into your mouth with ease. You felt his finger finally duck fully through your entrance. You moaned, and his mouth swallowed it, the wet sounds of your tongues mixing with the sound of his finger squelching in your juices.
He groaned with you and slipped in another finger, the stretch making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your mouth opened in a silent gasp as you felt your orgasm building. “I-I’m close.”
He picked up the pace of his fingers, “Let me hear your sounds y/n, you’re so pretty when you’re loud.”
Your nails dug into his scalp as you felt the pressure build, your breathing turning into desperate gasps. Ni-ki watched your face as your orgasm ripped through you. Your eyes widened, your back arching against his chest. He kissed you through it, placing gentle marks up your neck and on your cheeks. The pleasure swept through you in waves, tingling and pulsing across your body. You stroked Ni-ki’s hair, breathing slowly as the pressure dissipated and settled.
He removed his fingers from your hole, bringing them up to his lips and sucking softly, holding your gaze the whole time. Then he leaned down and kissed you, gently this time. You tasted yourself on his lips, and you sighed breathlessly against him.
He pulled away and lay back down, pulling you tight against him. He kissed your neck, “My girl,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes. The warmth from his body, paired with the exhaustion of your muscles, beckoned you back to sleep. Ni-ki traced slow circles on the bare skin of your stomach, murmuring into your ear as you drifted off with the feeling of his reverent hands drifting over your skin.
The next morning, you woke up to the feeling of warm sunlight on your face and a large hand holding yours.
You slowly opened your eyes and found Ni-ki’s sleepy face staring back at you. His features were soft and relaxed, his hair messy and sticking up in every direction. You’d always thought Ni-ki was especially cute in the mornings.
Your hand rested next to your face, and he held it gently within his own, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.
“You look so beautiful when you sleep.” He said, his eyes locked on yours.
You smiled teasingly, “You definitely have the best bedhead I’ve ever seen.”
He laughed and buried his face in his pillow.
You interlocked your fingers with his, bringing his hand up to your lips and kissing it softly.
He looked up, watching you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “So…” he said, his eyes darting nervously between your face and your interlocked hands.
“So…” You said back.
He reached out with his free hand and brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “Everything I said last night was true. I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you.”
You smiled, but it quickly faded when you thought about what awaited you outside of the bubble of the hotel room. “I just don’t want to hurt the group.” You whispered.
He tilted your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look at him. “We won’t, not if we’re careful. You’re mine, and I’m yours. We’ve always known it, and ignoring it will only make it worse.”
You thought back to the numerous late nights spent eating ramen and laughing until you were both crying, the unspoken words you never dared acknowledge. You saw now that the two of you had always been on interweaving paths, paths that were inevitably set for collision. And now that you tasted the sparks, felt them race down your skin, you knew there was no going back.
You moved, crawling over him until you straddled his waist. His hands instinctively grabbed your hips, looking up at you with wide, hungry eyes. You leaned towards him slowly, “You’re mine, you said?”
He smiled and met you halfway, his lips parting around yours. His hand ran through your hair, tugging slightly as he pulled back to whisper against your lips. “And I’m yours.”
Pairing: Steve Harrington x unexperienced / shy female reader
Summary: Steve has fallen hard for you. And he doesn`t hide his affection at all. But you are not used to this kind of attention ... yet.
Warnings: shy reader. unexperienced. friends to lovers. Steve has a huge crush. kissing. flirting. no use of y/n.
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Steve wasn't trying to be smooth. He was trying to be…Well. Normal. Unfortunately, "normal" tended to disappear the second you smiled at him.
It started with your hair.
The two of you had volunteered to help decorate the community center for Hawkins' annual summer fair, which meant ladders, boxes of paper lanterns, and Robin loudly insisting that every ribbon was "slightly crooked."
You were standing beside Steve, trying to untangle a string of lights. When a breeze drifted through the open windows and a loose strand of your hair fell across your face.
Without thinking… Steve reached over. His fingers barely brushed your cheek as he tucked it gently behind your ear. "There." He smiled. "Thought you might want to actually see what you're doing."
Your entire body froze. "…Oh." Then, after the shortest silence imaginable you took one quick step backward.
Steve's smile faltered. "…Sorry."
"No!" The answer came too fast. "I mean—" Your gaze was suddenly glued to the floor.
"I just…" You laughed nervously. "I have to…" You pointed vaguely toward absolutely nothing. "…go."
Then you practically speed-walked away. Steve blinked, to stunned to even breathe. Robin watched the whole thing from across the room.
"…Well." Steve looked at her. "I messed that up."
The second incident happened three days later at the Family Video.
You reached for the same VHS tape at exactly the same time and your fingers brushed. Steve smiled instinctively. You looked at him and your heart did a complete somersault.
He smiled. Your brain promptly packed its bags and left.
You yanked your hand back so quickly you almost dropped the tape. "Sorry!"
Steve frowned. "It's okay."
"No, I—" You laughed waaay too loudly. "I should…" Another vague gesture. "…Alphabetize something."
You disappeared into the next aisle.
Steve stood there holding The Princess Bride. "…What just happened?"
Then came the fair.
You'd spent the afternoon helping Steve run one of the game booths. He kept making you laugh, while you kept trying not to stare at him.
Neither attempt was particularly successful.
Late in the afternoon, Steve leaned closer to hear you over the crowd. "You've got paint…" He smiled. "…right here." He pointed to the corner of your mouth.
"Oh!" Instinctively, you tried wiping it away.
"No, other side."
"This side?"
"No." He chuckled. "Here." Before he could think better of it, his thumb lightly brushed the tiny streak of blue paint from your cheek.
It lasted less than a second, but your heart nearly exploded.
"Oh." Your voice squeaked. You took two entire steps backward.
Steve's hand dropped immediately. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay."
"No…" His smile had disappeared now. "I shouldn't have…"
"No, really." You were blushing so hard you thought you might actually catch fire. "I just…" Words. Where had words gone?
"I have to go help Mrs. Henderson."
"…She's over there."
"I know." You pointed in the opposite direction. "…Exactly." Then you fled.
Steve watched you disappear into the crowd. His stomach sank and he felt like the worst person that had ever walked the earth.
By evening he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Three times. Three different days. Every time he'd gotten a little closer… You'd moved away.
Maybe Robin was right. Maybe he'd been too obvious. Maybe he'd made you uncomfortable.
The thought sat like a stone in his chest.
He hated it even more than rejection. More than embarrassment. The idea that you might not feel safe around him made him feel physically sick.
So… just after sunset… Steve knocked on your front door. You opened it wearing an oversized sweatshirt and socks.
You smiled when you saw him. Then immediately looked confused. "Steve?"
"Hey."
"Everything okay?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Can we…" He nodded toward the porch swing. "…Talk?"
A few minutes later you were sitting side by side in the warm evening air.
Steve couldn't look at you. "I owe you an apology."
You frowned. "For what?"
He laughed softly. "For apparently making you uncomfortable all week."
Your eyebrows shot up. "…What?"
He sighed. "I noticed how you moved away when I came too close to you and I`m so incredibly sorry."
Your stomach dropped.
"I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable or that you are not safe with me. I would never force myself on you like that ... well I guess I kinda did that ..."
He dragged a hand down his face. "God, I`m so so sorry."
"I know."
"I just…" His shoulders slumped. "I think I got carried away."
"Steve?"
"…Yeah?"
"Can you look at me?"
He finally did. You were trying very hard not to smile. "You thought…" You covered your mouth. "…that I was uncomfortable?"
He blinked. "Weren't you?"
For one long moment you simply stared at him. Then you laughed with complete disbelief. "Oh my God."
Steve looked even more worried. "Was I really that bad?"
"No!" You reached for his hand without even thinking. The contact made him stop talking instantly. "No, Steve."
You shook your head. "I wasn't uncomfortable."
"You weren't?"
"I was…" Your cheeks warmed immediately. "Oh man how should I put it?."
"What?"
"This is so embarrassing."
"You don't have to tell me."
"No." You smiled shyly. "I think I should."
Steve waited.
"I moved away because…" You laughed at yourself. "…I forgot how to function."
He stared. "What?"
"I've never…" You looked down at your joined hands. "…had someone flirt with me before."
Steve's heart skipped a beat. Yeah he flirted with you. Hard and with everything he got. And he couldn`t understand the fact that nobody did before.
"So when you tucked my hair behind my ear…" You hid your face for a second. "…my brain completely shut down."
His mouth fell open.
"And when our hands touched at Family Video…" A tiny smile. "…I spent the next ten minutes pretending to organize shelves because I couldn't remember the alphabet."
Steve actually laughed. "You couldn't…"
"I genuinely couldn't." He laughed harder. "I got to 'G' three times."
"Oh my God."
"And then…" You groaned. "…at the fair?"
Steve smiled. "You practically ran away from me. I felt like a deadly disease."
"I know." You looked at him through your fingers. "But you smiled at me first. As if that's a normal thing to do!"
"It is!"
"Not when you look like that!"
Steve blinked. "…Like what?"
"Like…" You took a deep breath. "Like I'm the only person you're looking at. And with those eyes? Give a girl a break!"
His expression softened.
"So every time you smiled…" Your voice became smaller. "…or accidentally brushed my hand…I felt like my heart was trying to climb out of my chest."
Steve had gone completely still.
"And I moved away because I was scared that if I stayed…" You looked up at him. "…you'd notice how hopelessly in love with you I am."
Silence. Complete silence. Steve's face turned the most spectacular shade of pink.
You blinked. "…Steve?"
He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
"…Steve?"
He laughed once. Very quietly. "I spent…" Another laugh. "…an entire week convincing myself I was the worst guy in Hawkins."
"Oh god. I`m so sorry."
"I thought I'd scared you."
"You absolutely did." His face fell. "No!" You quickly squeezed his hand. "Not like that."
A smile spread across your face. "You scared me because you kept doing incredibly sweet things…and I didn't know what to do with all the butterflies."
Steve looked at you as though the world had just tilted on its axis.
"So…" He smiled, almost shyly now. "…if I did this again…"
Very slowly, giving you every chance to move… He reached up. His fingertips gently tucked another loose strand of hair behind your ear.
This time you didn't step away, instead you leaned into his touch. Just a little.
Steve's smile grew. "That is the reaction I was hoping for."
You smiled back. "That was the reaction all along, I just needed a little longer to understand."
"I`m glad because I dont think I can stay away from you any longer after tonight." He laughed softly. "I love you too, sweetheart."
You reached up, your fingers finding his wrist. "So…"
"So?"
"You can keep flirting with me."
Steve's eyebrows lifted. "Yeah?"
You nodded. "I'll probably still get flustered."
"That's okay. I kinda love it actually."
"I might still forget how words work."
"I think that's kind of adorable."
You laughed. "Just…" You looked up at him with the sweetest, most bashful smile he'd ever seen. "…don't mistake butterflies for fear."
Steve's heart melted on the spot. "I won't."
And when he leaned in to kiss you, you didn't run away. You smiled into the kiss and afterwards Steve wondered how he'd ever mistaken that look for anything other than love.
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Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated
summary: Jack comforts you after a particularly long day, and you're forced to face your true feelings about your 'casual' fling.
pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!Reader
warnings: +18, MDNI, explicit sexual content, unspecified age gap, reader is a college student & a cashier, dramatic!reader (can u tell this is self-indulgent yet?), jack makes you dinner, cozy night in vibes, established relationship, very light alcohol consumption, written by an acts of service connoisseur, massages, finger sucking, nipple play, vaginal fingering, edging if you squint, clit stimulation, unprotected piv, riding, praise kink, pet names, porn with feelings, light angst with a happy ending, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, a bit of pov switching at the very end, reader has hair that can be brushed & styled but has no other physical description
wc: 6.3k
note: this was supposed to be a short smut drabble and then i just didn't stop idk what happened, thank you to @thykingdoncome for taking a peak at this for me and if u like this u should def go check out her stuff it has me on my knees rn
[masterlist] [AO3]
It was one of those days where anything that could go wrong does.
By the time you drag your weary bones to Jack's place, your back aches and your feet hurt and your brain feels like mush.
You're still a few paces from the door when he pulls it open to greet you. Just seeing him makes you deflate, and you do so in typical dramatic fashion. Heavy bag drooping from your hand, head falling back, shoulders slumping.
Jack laughs when it happens, but just the sound of his amusement makes you feel better. "Aw, baby," he says, stepping off the front porch to come to you. He takes your bag and sets it over his shoulder with ease. "C'mere. Long day?"
"The longest." You fall into his embrace, letting him wrap you up in his big arms, resting your head on his chest and sighing deep when you hear the steady rhythm of his heart.
Jack rests his cheek against the top of your head and tightens his arms around you, holding you close. You let out a long-held breath in response when he says, "You hungry?"
"Starving," you answer. He loosens his hold only to lace his hand through yours and tug you forward, up the steps and over the threshold.
He sets your bag down near the sofa and you drape yourself over the back of it, face pressed into the cushions, letting out a groan of frustration.
Jack laughs at your theatrics and smooths a soothing hand over your spine. "Hey," he says, voice soft and comforting. "You're home now, yeah? I've got you. Why don't you go on an' get comfy. Shower if you wanna. An' I'll make you something to eat. How's that sound?"
If his words weren't enough, Jack lifts one of your legs carefully into his hands and pulls off your sneaker. He then follows suit to the next, freeing both of your aching feet, and you get this tickle of adoration in your chest.
He always seems to know just what to do. It's one of the things that drew you to him in the first place. Jack's older and wiser and he seems to like taking care of you even more than you like being taken care of.
Your words are muffled in the fabric of the couch as you say, "I don't deserve you."
Jack just laughs and shakes his head. "Nah. You deserve the world an' I'd give it to you if I could."
He lands a stinging, playful smack to your ass and you squeal and flinch in response.
"Now go on," he says, wrapping a hand around your elbow to pull you back up. "You'll feel better when you get outta these clothes."
You nod and press a kiss to his shoulder before wordlessly obeying. Jack has two drawers cleaned out for you in his bedroom, filled with your favorite pajamas and a few outfits you use on the nights you stay over. Which, lately, has been way more often than not.
But you bypass his dresser entirely, opting instead for one of his old t-shirts in the back of his closet and a clean pair of underwear. They're not a pair you'd bought for yourself, but they're soft and pink and you tell yourself you'll scold him later for buying you things you don't need.
You take your time in the shower. Scrubbing your scalp with your bottle of shampoo that lives in the corner of Jack's tub and massaging the suds from his bar soap into the tight muscles of your arms. The water is hot and falls on your skin like a warm rain, effectively cleansing you of the stress that's clung to you all day.
When you're finished, you lather your skin in your favorite scented lotion and brush the tangles from your hair. And when you finally leave the bathroom, you find Jack plating up pasta in the kitchen.
The air smells like fresh garlic and that tomato-based sauce he hand-makes himself. Your mouth starts to water before he turns around to say, "Sit. Put something on the TV. I'll bring it to you."
It makes your chest pull tight, because you know how much he hates eating in the living room instead of at the table, and you know he prefers dinner with the television off to make room for conversation instead. You'd called him an old man for it, but will fully admit that you enjoy the slow quietness of a meal together.
But he doesn't ask for it tonight, because despite what you know he wants, he does what you need instead.
You don't have to ask for anything with Jack. It's like he always just knows.
There's a YouTube video you've been meaning to get to, so you put that on and settle into the corner of the couch with your legs crossed beneath you. You already feel better, but the moment Jack hands you your pasta and a full wine glass, you could cry from relief.
"It's, uh—that Chianti you were looking at," he says.
"The one from the winery?"
Jack nods as you take both from his hands. He disappears from your sight only long enough to grab his food and a bottle of icy cold water before returning to your side.
He sits beside you, and watches as you take a slow and careful sip of the red wine in your glass. It tastes like sour cherry and plum, sweet and aromatic and somehow everything you'd hoped for and more. A low, satisfied hum leaves your mouth without noticing, and Jack chuckles at the sound.
"Y'like it?"
"It's so good," you answer. "Thank you."
He smiles wide and nods towards your food. "Eat. An' tell me why it was such a bad day."
You start from the very beginning, explaining how you'd set your alarm for the wrong time and showed up to your college campus thirty minutes after your first lecture began. And then you tell him about the pop quiz in your organic chemistry class. "And you know how much I hate Mr. Clark," you add. "He's the actual worst. I'm barely scraping by in that class no matter how much extra credit I do. I swear the man has it out for me."
You then tell him about your shift at the grocery store and how a lady had gotten so upset over an expired coupon that she'd complained to your manager about you and abandoned her entire cart. "And of course Mary had me take care of it, which took almost an hour. And I was nothing but nice to the lady, too. Even after she screamed at me, I still told her that I hoped she had a wonderful day. But really, in the back of my head, I was hoping she stepped in someone's gum on the way out."
That makes Jack laugh. He sits there and listens to you vent about the entire day. He doesn't interrupt or lose interest and he asks questions about your coworkers and if you're enjoying the finance elective you'd just picked up a few weeks ago.
By the time your YouTube video is over, the both of you have finished your food and set the dishes on the coffee table.
Jack spreads his arms open and you crawl into them like it's second nature. Wrapped up in his arms, head against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart behind his sternum.
He's warm. He always is. It's one of the things you think you love the most about him—even if you haven't exactly said the word aloud yet.
You're not quite sure what you believe in these days, but you find yourself sending a silent prayer of thanks to whatever or whoever might be listening.
Because you think it's rare to find a man like Jack, who's comforting and kind and warm, who makes you feel valued and loved and cared for in a way you've never experienced before.
He's said to you once that he wishes you'd met earlier. Wishes that he could've known you when he was your age, so that the two of you might have more time together.
But you often find yourself thinking the opposite, grateful for the entire life he'd experienced without you. Grateful that when you did finally find each other, he was exactly the kind of man you needed.
Wise and gentle. The safety net you've been blindly reaching for since you were young. And here he was, waiting for you with open arms and pasta cooking on the stove.
You think you should say it now. Tell him you love him, because you do. And you think you have for a lot longer than you've known. Longer than the time it took to put a name to the feeling.
But this was supposed to be casual.
He'd been honest with you from the very first date that he wasn't interested in a serious relationship. He had just been looking for someone to pass the time with.
He'd experienced the love of his life already and had tragically lost her. It wasn't meant to happen for him a second time, he'd insisted.
Jack had been adamant about it in the beginning. He'd even given your relationship its own set of rules; no staying overnight, no meeting the family or friends, no work-place visits, no social media posting or labels or feelings.
But by the third time he'd had you naked in his bed, it was Jack who'd asked you to stay over.
And it was him who'd asked you to stop by PTMC late one night just so he could set his eyes on you and kiss you one good time out in the ambulance bay.
It was Jack who'd eventually introduced you to Dana and Trinity and Parker.
And when you passed your exams last semester, Jack insisted on taking you out to celebrate. He chose some fancy restaurant and the two of you had gotten all dressed up. He'd worn a suit and you'd worn a new dress he bought for you.
You'd asked to take a photo together and he'd been delighted to do so. You pressed a kiss to his cheek and he'd smiled wide while the shutter clicked.
Afterwards, you texted him the photo. You both looked so happy in it, because you were.
And the following day when you posted on social media, his name popped up in your likes and you'd discovered he'd changed his profile photo to the one you'd taken the night before.
And, now? You had shampoo in his shower and drawers of your own in his dresser and a favorite cereal spoon. Your apartment served as a storage unit more than an actual home because you always slept better in his bed.
Every single rule had been broken, and not by your hand.
But this rule, well…
Jack shifts beneath you, his fingers stroking your hair back and moving to find your chin. He turns your face towards his, looking down his nose at you in that assessing way he always does. "What're you thinking about?"
You shake your head, unable to hide the smile that tugs at your mouth. "Nothing," you say. "Just that I'm…happy. Here, with you."
Jack blinks, running his knuckles down the column of your throat. "Yeah?"
You nod and touch your temple to his. "Yeah, I am. You always do that, you know."
He chuckles and smiles and you think he definitely knows exactly what you mean, but he still asks, "Do what?"
"Make a bad day a good one," you answer. "It's like magic or something."
"Magic, huh?" Jack grins. His hands find your shoulders then, thumbs pressing gently against the tender muscles in the back of your neck.
Your head falls forward, giving him more access, and he nudges you to turn so you're facing away from him, sitting right between his spread thighs while he leans against the back of the couch.
"I wouldn't call it magic," he says. "I just…I know my girl. I like to pay attention to you so on days like today, I know exactly what you need."
My girl.
The name makes your brain feel all fuzzy. It always does.
His fingers massage the tension from your shoulder blades, working the stress out of your body in a physical way.
The words almost slip from your mouth unbidden.
You love him. God, you do.
But is it worth the risk just to say it? To possibly push him away, to lean too close and force his distance?
Jack loved his wife. And you know he has no intentions of loving another. But would it really be so bad if you love him?
You tell yourself it wouldn't matter if he returned the sentiment, that you could never ask it of him. Especially not when he's been so clear about his boundaries regarding that particular word.
But you know yourself. And you know, too, that you're only setting yourself up for heartbreak.
He works his way down your spine slowly. And if it's not Jack that's magic, you think his hands certainly must be. He touches a particularly sore spot at the small of your back and he spends extra time there. His thumbs dig into the muscle tissue until the pain subsides and all that's left is an aching pleasure.
When he's satisfied, Jack pulls you back until your spine is pressed flush against his chest. You melt into him, eyes fluttering closed when he lays his cheek against the top of your head.
His hands work themselves down your arms, massaging your biceps and your forearms and taking extra care with the joints in your hand.
"Is this a physical, Doctor Abbot?"
The sound of his laughter reverberates through his chest and you can feel it in the curve of your spine. "Just relax and let me make you feel good, would you?" His voice holds that teasing edge you love, and you can't hold back your grin.
But you do as he bids without further explanation, letting his hands work their magic. Your head falls back against his shoulder when he reaches for your calves next.
Jack massages them one at a time, thumbs pressing hard, calloused hands leaving behind a warmth only he can ever elicit.
He moves higher next, squeezing the pillowy flesh of your thighs, starting at the top of your knee.
Your whole body starts to feel like liquid, held together in the shape of a girl by his arms alone. When he gets to the inside of your thighs, you squirm just a little from the sensation, brain short circuiting, sending signals of desire despite the fact that he's done nothing to make you believe his intent is anything but pure.
But then his hand slips beneath your oversized t-shirt, and suddenly your breath becomes shallow.
If he notices, Jack doesn't say anything. Just keeps on his tension-relieving pursuit, massaging your hips next.
His thumbs trace the shape of each one of your ribs, and you swear you can feel the love in his hands.
Maybe he doesn't say it. But he takes care of you after a long day and buys you the Chianti you mentioned only once that you wanted to try. He holds your face when he kisses you and unlaces your sneakers when you get home and makes you dinner despite having worked a ten hour shift the night before.
He picks up your favorite shampoo when he goes that way in town and throws your laundry in with his. He encourages you and has faith in your dreams even on the days you yourself don't.
So, yeah. Maybe he doesn't say it.
But the love is there anyway.
His hands drift even further up your chest, massaging the space just below your breasts. His voice is low and tickles the shell of your ear as he asks, "Can I take your shirt off, sweetheart?"
You nod without hesitation, leaning forward only long enough for Jack to take the fabric by the seam and tug it up over your head.
He lays it on the back of the couch, and you feel suddenly cold. Goosebumps prickle your arms and across your belly, but the cool sensation only lasts for a moment.
Because when Jack puts his hands back on you, your blood heats beneath your skin. His fingers find your breasts, massaging almost clinically. But you can feel him harden in his black sweatpants, his bulge steadily growing as it rests against the small of your back.
Jack doesn't pay it any mind, though. He palms your breasts, massaging the swell of them, fingertips ghosting over the hardened peaks of your nipples.
Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can feel the heat gathering between your legs even though he hasn't touched you there yet.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers.
It slips your mind that he can see everything from where he sits behind you. Embarrassment threatens, but you push the thought far away. Because he's already seen all of you, and he makes you feel beautiful beneath his reverent touch.
Jack lifts his fingers to your mouth. "Let me in, baby," he says softly.
And you do. Lips parting, tongue immediately finding the pad of his middle finger as he pushes it behind your teeth. You can feel his cock twitch as you swirl your tongue around the digit, drool gathering at the corner of your mouth.
Once he's satisfied, he withdraws his finger and spreads your spit over one of your nipples. The wetness allows for freer movement, but Jack doesn't pick up the pace. He moves leisurely, unhurried, taking far too long to touch you the way you want to be touched.
He moves to your other nipple, spreading your saliva, leaving your pebbled skin all glossy. He circles it slowly, fingers flicking over the peak, his breath hot against the back of your neck.
Your need for him grows teeth, the pinpricks of desire becoming sharper with each moment that passes. By the time his name leaves your mouth, the cotton center of your underwear feels wet and sticky. "Jack."
"Shh," he soothes. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."
You think about begging for more. Crying, maybe. It certainly begins to feel like you could.
But then, blissfully, his hands begin to move again. Sliding down your abdomen, over your curves, settling at the elastic band around your waist. You think—hope, that he'll slide his hands beneath the fabric, but he doesn't.
Jack instead runs his hand down your center over your underwear. But the pressure of it and the warmth of his palm pulls a quiet whimper from your mouth anyway. Your hips twist and lift, chasing the friction.
You can feel his smug smile against your ear. "Greedy girl," he teases. "This not enough for you?"
"God, no. Please Jack I want…" Your face heats.
"What do you want? Tell me. Use your words."
"More," you answer, hips bucking up against the palm of his hand. Your clit throbs with need, desperate to be touched.
Jack doesn't make you suffer. "I know you do," he says. "I'm only messing with you, baby. C'mon. Let's take these off, hm?"
You can't move fast enough, lifting your hips while Jack hooks his thumbs into the elastic and tugs it down your legs. He discards them at the other end of the couch and takes hold of your thighs in a firm grip. He spreads you wide, settling your legs on the outside of his own, exposing you completely.
He pulls you back to his chest and presses a chaste kiss into your hair. "M'gonna need you to relax for me," he tells you. "Getting all worked up like I won't take care of you or somethin'."
"I know you will, I—I just—"
"You want it bad, I know," he answers. "An' I'm gonna give it to you, but you gotta trust me. Yeah? Close your eyes, sweetheart."
You do as he says, eyes fluttering closed, lashes resting against your cheeks. You inhale a long breath, willing yourself to sink back into that floaty feeling he'd put you in only moments ago. When you exhale, your mind goes blank, and your limbs start to grow heavy.
"Yeah, there you go," Jack encourages. His hands stroke gently up and down your thighs, leaving a buzzing feeling behind. He traces the same pattern over and over, and it soothes you so much that you think you might even fall asleep, just like this.
But then his hand finds your center, and every nerve ending flares on edge. With his fingers pressed together, he flattens them over your core, spreading the obscene amount of wetness that's gathered there.
Your clit catches on the heel of his palm and you moan. Jack does it again, leaving no part of you untouched. The thick swells of his knuckles press down harder than the rest of his fingers, and each time he passes over your cunt with a tender hand the pleasure ratchets higher and higher.
He moves so slow. God. It's aching and delicious and intentional. His fingers stroke up and down again and again, unhurried as if he's simply enjoying the show and has no intention of anything else.
"How's that feel?"
"So good," you whine, hips canting upwards, chasing the friction of his palm that's now smothered in your arousal. "Can you…want you inside, Jack. Please."
You can feel his answering smile against the crook of your neck. "Yeah, I think I can do that for you. I mean, since you asked so nicely."
Jack strokes your pussy again, but this time on the down motion he slips his middle finger inside your opening. Just one, God—just one, but it's enough to have you writhing. Enough that your breath gets caught in your lungs.
His palm remains flat against your cunt, repeating the same stroking motion. But it's different now, the tendons in his forearm flexing as he pulls his hand upwards. His middle finger pushes against that sweet spot inside you hard, and you gasp in response.
It somehow feels like too much and not enough all at once. "Oh my God."
"I know, I know. You're okay. I've got you."
His voice is like liquid velvet in your ear. Raspy enough to know the sight of you unraveling in his hands—because of his hands—is affecting him, but warm enough to know that he's not worried about the hardness of his cock.
He's only worried about making you feel good.
Jack finds a steady pace. Slow and torturous in the best way, your desire burns hot like embers in your belly. He strokes you with expert precision, and you think this will be enough. It'll be just enough to get you there, to have you stumbling over the edge of release.
But then Jack adds a second finger, and what once felt like embers now feels like a wildfire. "Oh, fuck. That's so—"
"You like that?"
"Oh, God, yes. Yes." The added pressure inside you is nothing short of heavenly. He keeps up his rhythm, clit pulsing beneath his slick palm with each brush of his hand.
When he curls his fingers, narrowing in on the most delicious place inside you, your vision goes all blurry. You squeeze your eyes closed and the heat between your legs intensifies.
"Can feel you squeezin'," Jack says. "Don't chase it. Won't feel as good if you chase it. Let me give this to you. Just let it happen, baby."
You whimper, the obscenities of his words heightening your pleasure. You give in despite the gnawing desire for release that feels tortuous now, instead letting yourself melt back into the intimacy of the moment he's created all for you.
It builds and builds and builds. His hand moves so fucking perfectly, like he knows your body better than his own. He lays wet, open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, hand moving steadily between your legs.
"Look at me," he orders, nudging the side of your cheek with his nose. When you do, Jack presses his forehead to yours and kisses you deep. His tongue is soft, licking into your mouth, greedily swallowing the desperate moans that spill from your swollen lips.
When he pulls away, he's breathing just as hard as you are. With his eyes locked on yours, he says, "Cum for me, baby."
It's blinding. Your release tears through you without remorse, body trembling, vision blurring with the tears that spring to the corners of your eyes. His name falls from your mouth between a jumble of half-spoken curses, and then—
"I love you," you cry. "God, Jack. I love you. Fuck, fuck. Feels so—hmm."
You don't even notice that you've said it right away.
And Jack doesn't even flinch. He just fucks you through it, thrusting his fingers hard inside you, the pressure of his palm almost too much to bear on your sensitive clit.
The aftershocks of your orgasm have only barely begun to fizzle out before he turns you to face him, pulling you onto his lap.
He tugs his t-shirt off, tugging at the hem at the back of his neck. Jack surges forward to press a searing kiss against your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs.
You reach for the tie at his waist and he's quick to abide this time, tugging his sweatpants low on his hips, pushing them down until his cock springs free. It's heavy and swollen and leaking at the tip, and as much as you'd love to sink to your knees and lick the salty release, you need him inside of you more.
So you lean forward on your knees while you straddle his hips, and Jack helps to hold you up with his hands on the swell of your ass. You line him up at your achy entrance and sink down in one smooth motion.
You're so wet from your first release that he slides in with ease. His head falls back and his lips part as his cock spreads you open real wide.
"Shit," he hisses. "You feel so good, baby."
You anchor yourself with your arms wrapped around his neck and begin to roll your hips, feeling high on the way he groans beneath you.
It doesn't take long, in truth. You ride him with intent, chasing not your release but his, whimpering as the thickness of his cock splits you apart.
You can feel him throb against your hypersensitive walls and you know he's close when he surges forward and kisses you again.
His mouth is greedy and wanting and his hands slide up your back to pull you into an embrace, pulling you into his heart.
You can feel the organ thumping against your own sternum, steady and in sync. And you think to yourself, how could you not fall in love with him?
How could you ever sit here and let him touch you like this, take care of you like this, love you like this—and not feel…something?
Pressure builds behind your eyes, and Jack must sense the change in you. He cradles your face in his hands and says, "Right here, baby, stay right here with me."
You look up at him through bloodshot eyes and thread your fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. The confession almost slips out again, but you swallow it down and bury it deep.
If this is the last time you'll ever get him like this, you want to enjoy it, to commit every second to memory.
Jack's hands twitch against your spine. You roll your hips a little quicker now, taking him deep inside, and then his breath stutters and his cock pulses between your legs.
"Fuck, you're so perfect. I'm gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill you up," he grits out.
Release takes hold of him only a moment later. Jack's grip on your waist becomes bruising, his mouth parting on a low sound of bliss. He kisses you hard, and you think he must be doing this on purpose, right?
How can it feel like that and not be love?
His cock pulses, filling you with the stickiness of his orgasm, claiming you in a way only he ever has. You think it’s only fitting. Everything you are belongs to him, anyway—your womb, your mouth, your heart.
Everything.
You slow your hips only when his muscles go slack, hands loose against your skin now. Exhausted, you fall forward, burying your too-warm face in the crook of his neck, afraid to see the post-coital look on his face.
Jack strokes his fingertips up and down your spine, cheek resting against your head. His breath slows, and you both just sit there.
You think it's to enjoy the last few seconds you have together.
Tears press against the back of your eyelids.
Because you don't want to lose him or the safety net he casts out for you. You don't want to go back to your shitty apartment or your empty bed or your empty heart.
Because that's what it was before Jack, wasn't it? You'd never noticed it before, would never have said it aloud and would've denied it until you were blue in the face.
But that's what it was. Empty.
No real friends, no real prospects, no real warmth between you and your family. It's always just been you and your goals and a straight line from point A to point B.
Jack forces you to slow down. To appreciate small talk and a good meal together and a pit stop at a coffee shop you always wanted to try but drove past every day.
He taught you softness and grace. He taught you how to love, and you’re just supposed to pretend like you don’t?
"Hey," he says, voice tender. "Why're you crying, sweetheart?"
You think you should lie. Say it was just an in-the-moment lapse of judgment. That you'd had such a long day and it just slipped out by accident.
But it hadn't, and the words have been clanging around in your head for almost a month now.
So you lean back up to look at him. And you're sure your face is ruddy with tears and the fear of loss is reflected in your glassy eyes, but you know you need to say it.
You need to tell him.
"Jack, I…" The words get caught in your throat. As if a filter at the back of your mouth tugs them back into the darkest part of your soul. You try again. "I know we weren't supposed to…to do this. And I'm sorry if it ruins everything, but I…"
He waits patiently while you try to soothe yourself. Breathing in deep, exhaling even slower. Jack's thumbs stroke easy patterns into the spot just below the flare of your ribcage and his brow furrows in curiosity.
"I meant it," you finally choke out. "I…I love you. And it's okay if you don't say it back, you know? I could never ask it of you. You—you love your wife, and I understand. I really do, okay? So please don't feel obligated or guilty or…or anything like that. But I know how I feel and I have to be honest with you."
Jack nods, a small smile on his face. He reaches up with one hand and takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Pretty girl," he muses.
It hurts just to hear it, knowing it'll be the last time.
Your bottom lip trembles and when you squeeze your eyes closed, the tears spill down your cheeks unbidden. "Jack," you warn.
He shakes his head. "Hey, no. Look at me."
At first, you hesitate. But you do as he says, even if tears of embarrassment blur at the edges of your vision.
"I'm so proud of you for being brave, okay? It takes guts to do things you're afraid of. And you did such a good job."
His praise only makes that ache in your chest worsen, because you want to keep it. Want to hear it for the rest of your life, tethered to him so you don't feel the loss of warmth so deeply.
"And I know we made all these rules in the beginning but—baby, I've been in love with you for a very long time."
It feels like the world stops for just a single, record-scratch moment. "What?"
"Haven't you noticed? I've broken every single one of those rules and I did it because I love you."
You try to process it, but your brain feels muddy. "Oh—oh my god. Jack, what? Why didn't you say anything?"
He shrugs like it's some easy confession for him, while this whole time it's been eating at you like an awful secret. "This is your first time falling in love," he explains. "I wanted to move at your pace."
And just like that, all your worries fade to nothing. The tension and stress from the day dissipates, your terrifying thoughts of losing him fade to nothing, and what you're left with is this overwhelming sense of relief.
You curl inwards, pressing your forehead to his chest. "Oh my god."
Jack laughs, and the sound is so full of delight and worship you think to yourself, how could I not have known?
"I love you," he whispers, kissing the top of your head. "I love you." Another kiss, to your shoulder this time. "I love you." Your temple.
His cock twitches inside you, and you can't hold back your blithe giggling. "C'mon, old man," you tell him, carefully shifting off of his lap. "Let's get you to bed."
"Old." Jack snorts, laying a playful smack against your ass when you stand onto shaky legs. "Right. Could run circles around you, little girl."
The two of you make your way to his bedroom, and you climb beneath the sheets while he sits at the edge of the mattress to take off his prosthetic.
"I'm on call tonight," he tells you. "So if you wake up and I've disappeared, that's why."
You nod, and Jack slips into bed beside you. He lifts his arm and you slither right up to his side and rest your head on his bare chest. "I have to be at work by seven, so I might not see you before I leave."
He lets out a long breath. "Do you, uh…you like it there? You know—being a cashier?"
The question makes you laugh. "God no," you say. "I hate that place. The people are rude and half the time the work feels so degrading. And you know how I feel about my boss."
Jack's lips quirk up into a smile. "Ugh. Mary," he teases.
You shake your head and close your eyes, weariness beginning to take hold. "Precisely. But it's temporary, so. You know, I'll survive."
He doesn't speak again for some time. So long in fact, you think he might've fallen asleep. But then Jack says, his tone flat and serious, "You should quit."
"God, I wish."
"I mean it."
"If only my student loans would pay themselves. And I've got apartment fees, too. Not exactly light spending since they upped the electricity bill."
"How would you feel about…I dunno. Staying here?"
You lift your head at that. "What, you mean like move in?"
Jack nods. "Yeah, I mean…you could get outta there. Take your time finding a job you actually wanna keep, not just one that pays the bills. And you can focus on school in the meantime." He pokes you in the ribs. "Fill up that pretty head of yours with all that knowledge."
The offer makes your heart race. "Jack, are you…are you sure? What about my loans? And food and textbooks and—?"
"I'll pay for all of it," he says easily. "Just let me take care of you."
It feels almost too good to be true, like you're asking for too much.
But you're not asking, he's offering.
You silently admit to yourself that it would be nice, though. Knowing he waits for you at home with those magic hands and all those sweet words. Knowing that even on your worst days, he'll take you as you are and love you just a little harder.
Still, it's a big decision to make.
Jack says quietly, almost a little bashful, "You don't have to decide right now or anything, I just love coming home after a shitty shift to see you drooling on my pillow."
"I do not drool."
"How would you know? You're sleeping."
You laugh easily and roll your eyes, settling on a temporary answer. "I'll think about it."
And you promise yourself you will.
But the following day, Mary manages to make a snarky comment about the way you styled your hair before you've even clocked in. And you, of course, respond in kind with your two week notice.
Jack comes to your apartment that weekend to help you pack your things. He's going through your cluttered closet, and stashed in the back he finds a loose stack of old photos.
Some of them include your cousins or your grandma or your childhood best friend. But one of them is a small photo of you, no older than ten years old, dressed up in a surgeon Halloween costume that's a size too big for you.
Jack smiles to himself when he sees it and, for the first time in his life, wonders about fate.
He leans over to poke his head around the corner of the closet door. "Hey."
You look up from where you sit in the center of a pile of your belongings on the living room floor.
Jack holds up the photo. "Can I have this?"
"You actually want that?"
"Of course I do," Jack says, smoothing out the photo's frayed edges and reaching into his back pocket. His heart warms as he sticks it in his wallet, where it'll remain for years to come. "It's my girl."
