God Dynamite

after dennis came home from his first shift at the pittsburgh ER, he was devastated. you welcomed him with a tight hug and let him sink into you on your shared bed.

he had called you from the hospital, saying he’d have to stay longer because of the pittfest shooting, and the entire time you waited, you kept hoping he’d be okay, that the day wouldn’t break him completely.

by the time he finally walked through the door, his expression alone said more than a thousand words ever could. so that night, you simply held him, gently playing with his hair until he fell asleep in your arms. you let him process it all without asking questions. you were there if he needed to talk, but by now you knew him well enough to see when all he really needed was to be held.

the next morning, you woke up a little earlier and went to make him an omelette, his favorite, along with coffee. as you were still preparing everything, you felt two arms wrap around you from behind.

“morning, sleepyhead. you okay?” you murmured softly as he rested his head against your shoulder.

in response, he just nodded, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck, which made you let out a quiet giggle.

“just a few more minutes and you’ll get to eat. if you feel like it, you can tell me about… yesterday,” you whispered.

“i’d like that…” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before letting go and moving to sit at the table.

and then he told you everything. after resting and eating, his cheeks still full of food made with love, he opened up about the patient he lost, about how many times he had to change his scrubs, the rats running around the emergency room, how out of place he felt among all the confident, skilled doctors, and then the tragedy at the end of the day. you just listened, letting him get it all out.

it was also the first time he mentioned amy, though at the time you didn’t think much of it.

he said he was glad he could soothe her, even just a little, but that it was heartbreaking knowing she was carrying the child of someone who would never get to see their baby’s face.

still, it was one of the rare moments he felt truly helpful and useful during the shift, especially when he offered to help her at the farm and her entire demeanor seemed to calm down a little.

you nodded along, thinking it was just something he said in the moment to comfort someone, especially a grieving woman, but as the months passed, you slowly realized that his promise to amy had never been empty at all.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the first time you were left feeling hurt by your sweet dennis was during a weekend.

a lot of time had passed since his first shift, and dennis had changed in a lot of ways. he had grown a mullet, picked up a bit of sass from his colleague trinity santos, who you got along with pretty well whenever you visited dennis at the hospital to drop off lunch or something he had forgotten that day, and overall, it seemed like he had finally found his place in emergency medicine, but with that came more responsibility and less time for the two of you.

if it wasn’t him who was busy, it was you, juggling college classes, assignments, and your part time job all at once. so your dates with denny usually ended up indoors, curled up watching a movie that faded into the background as you either fell asleep or, on better nights, got distracted by each other. dennis always seemed far more interested in your lips and the soft warmth of your body than whatever storyline was playing on the tv anyways.

but this weekend was supposed to be different. for once, both of you were mostly free, and he had promised to take you somewhere fancy. you deserved it, he said. you deserved to be taken care of for once, after all the days you spent taking care of him.

“doll yourself up and leave everything to me. i have to stop by somewhere in the morning, but by four i’ll come get you and we’ll spend a lovely day together, okay?” he had said earlier, while you looked at him with a sleepy smile. he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, lingering just for a second as he admired you, beautiful even like this, soft and unguarded in the morning light, before heading out.

that was hours ago.

now it was already thirty minutes past four. you were sitting in your shared bedroom, your makeup done, your hair styled, dressed in one of your prettiest dresses. it hugged your figure perfectly, always earning you that soft, stunned “wow” from dennis, even though he had seen you wear it countless times. it was his favorite.

but he was nowhere to be seen.

you had called and texted him, but every call went straight to voicemail, and your messages stayed on delivered.

when you thought about it more, a quiet unease settled in your chest. denny hadn’t even told you where he was going. the thought made your stomach twist. did something happen to him?

the longer you waited, the worse it felt. the dress, that made you feel pretty just a little while ago, now felt too tight, pressing against your ribs as your anxiety crept in. your makeup started to feel heavy on your skin, suffocating, and your perfectly styled hair pulled at your scalp until it began to ache.

when you glanced at the clock again, it was already almost six.

and just as you were about to call trinity, ready to fully freak out, you heard the door softly open. you hurried over, only to see dennis by the door, calmly taking off his shoes like nothing had happened.

“hey… sorry i’m late,” he said quietly, his voice a little uneven. then he finally looked up at you.

you just stared at him, trying to process it. this wasn’t like him. he had been late before, sure, but he used to be the one to panic, rushing in, apologizing over and over like the world was ending. now he just stood there.

“you look really pretty,” he added after a second, quieter than usual. no soft “wow” no hint of that familiar warmth. he just sounded kind of tired.

“i’ll take a quick shower and we can still go somewhere. i’ll find a place, i’m sure something’s open…”

“dennis,” you cut in, your voice tighter than you meant it to be. “where were you?”

he paused, clearly not expecting that.

“i told you, i’m sorry. i just got held up—”

“you didn’t respond to me. not once,” you said, stepping closer. “i called you like five times. i had no idea where you were or if something happened. do you get that?”

he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “i know, i know. i should’ve texted. it just… got busy.”

“busy where?”

there was a small pause before he answered. “at the farm. with amy.”

you blinked, thrown off. “amy?”

“yeah. she needed help. i thought i’d just stop by for a bit, do something small, but…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “her baby’s only a few weeks old and she was really overwhelmed. i didn’t feel right just leaving her there like that.”he said it like it was obvious, like it made perfect sense.

“so you stayed. for hours,” you said slowly.

he didn’t answer right away, which was answer enough.

“are you serious right now?” your voice rose before you could stop it. “you stood me up, didn’t pick up your phone, and you’re telling me it’s because you didn’t want to leave another woman alone? and not just a woman, but the widow of your deceased patient? do you hear yourself?”

“hey, i said i’m sorry,” he replied, a bit sharper now. “what was i supposed to do? just walk out when she’s clearly struggling?”

“you could’ve texted me,” you shot back. “you could’ve told me anything. i’ve been sitting here for almost two hours thinking something happened to you.”

he sighed, like the whole thing was exhausting. “okay, yeah. i should’ve texted. i get it.”

“no, you don’t get it,” you said, shaking your head. “this wasn’t just ‘you forgot to text.’ you made plans. you promised.”

he looked at you for a moment, then shrugged slightly. “i mean… it’s not like you’re dealing with a newborn right now, unlike her.”

the second the words left his mouth, the air shifted.

you just stared at him in disbelief. “wow. okay.”

he ran a hand through his hair, stepping closer. “that’s not what i meant. i just… look, i miss nebraska sometimes, okay? being out there, helping like that… it feels familiar. it feels like i’m actually doing something that matters.”

“and this doesn’t?” you asked quietly.

he hesitated. “that’s not what i said.”

he let out a breath, softer now. “i’m sorry. really. i should’ve handled it better. it won’t happen again.”

you looked at him for a moment before averting your eyes, taking a slow breath, then another, trying to blink the tears away before they could fall. this just… didn’t feel right. just this morning, dennis had looked at you with so much love. it would be unfair not to accept his words now, wouldn’t it?

but it still hurt. it really did.

you had tried so hard to look pretty for him, and now all you felt was stupid. stupid for wasting your time, stupid for sitting there for hours, stupid for feeling like you had turned into something he had to squeeze in after spending his day somewhere else. like you were just another thing waiting for him at the end of it.

you didn’t want to be jealous. not of her. she had lost someone she loved, had a newborn to take care of and a whole farm. you kept telling yourself dennis was just being kind, that he had always been too kind for his own good.

he wouldn’t… cheat on you with a grieving woman.

right?

it must have shown on your face, because before you could fully spiral, before the tears could slip past your control, dennis stepped closer and gently placed his hands on your shoulders.

“hey,” he said softly. “look at me.”

you hesitated, but slowly did.

“i said i’m sorry. you told me what was wrong, and we talked it out. everything’s fine, okay?” his voice was calm, almost too calm. “you don’t need to cry.”

you were already too overwhelmed to argue. you just nodded, swallowing hard.

“just… touch up your makeup, yeah? give me a minute. i’m here.” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before stepping away and heading towards the shower.

you went back to your shared bedroom and sat in front of the vanity mirror. your eyes were red at the edges, still glossy from tears that hadn’t fully fallen, mascara slightly smudged under your lower lashes. as you carefully fixed it, you kept replaying what had just happened in your head.

this was… so not like your denny.

he didn’t usually brush things off like that. he didn’t usually decide that “you talked it out” and then move on like nothing happened, especially not when you were still clearly upset.

but maybe you were overthinking it. you had to be. one bad moment with your otherwise caring boyfriend didn’t suddenly rewrite your entire relationship, right?

still, your chest felt tight as you stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to smooth out the expression on your face like that could fix what you were feeling inside.

in the shower, dennis just stood under the running water, unmoving for a while. he couldn’t tell if he was trying to wash off the sweat from a long day outside in the sun, or something heavier he didn’t want to name.

guilt, maybe.

not even fully guilt, just… that uneasy feeling sitting under his ribs that he hadn’t handled things the way he normally would have.

he didn’t really understand why he had spoken to you like that. usually, he was the one over-apologizing, even when you weren’t asking for it. but lately, something had shifted in him. a new kind of confidence, or maybe just a different way of justifying things to himself.

he didn’t think he needed to feel bad about amy. not really.

he was helping her. he was doing the right thing.

that was what he kept telling himself as the water ran over his face, louder than the thoughts he didn’t want to fully face.

and somewhere in the background of it all, without him really saying it out loud, your sadness became something he pushed aside to make room for that belief.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the second time happened a few weeks after that. by then, you were already a little worn down.

you didn’t work in the ER, but your job as a barista still drained you in its own way. you weren’t saving lives, but some customers surely did act like you were actively ruining theirs if their latte wasn’t perfect, even when the issue had nothing to do with you.

and lately, it had been one difficult shift after another.

you couldn’t tell if it was the summer heat making everyone more irritable, but it didn’t help your mood either. especially when you kept checking your phone for any notifications from dennis and there was either nothing at all, or messages like:

behind on charting, won’t be able to pick you up :(

there was an accident on the road and it’s all coming to us, sorry love, don’t wait for me for dinner

you’re working, right? amy will pick me up after my shift, she needs help with building some furniture for the nursery, don’t know when i’ll get home yet. good luck!

any time amy’s name appeared, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. you wanted to be understanding, you really did, but did she not have anyone else? no friends, no family, anyone at all?

it started to feel ridiculous.

and by now, you knew you weren’t the only one who thought so.

once, when you mentioned it to trinity, she had scoffed and called it weird, saying it wasn’t professional at all, that if anyone else at the hospital behaved like that, they’d be reprimanded immediately.

you didn’t really disagree.

but at the same time, you felt almost silly bringing it up again when you and dennis had already “talked” about it before. sort of.

you leaned against the cash register, exhaustion settling into your bones as another shift dragged on. your eyes drifted over to the pastry display, where an apple pie sat neatly behind the glass.

dennis really liked apple pie.

he always said it reminded him of home, how his grandma used to bake the sweetest ones.

you smiled a little at the memory and made a quiet mental note to bake him one soon.

it seemed like your relationship was lacking something sweet these days, and you didn’t want it to turn sour. after all, aside from the amy situation, everything else still felt like it was working. when you were doing your assignments, he would still kiss your temple on his way out, leaving a bowl of fruit on your desk so you’d have “something in your system.” he still held you close when you fell asleep, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you just needed to focus on the good things a little more.

as soon as you clocked out, you went grocery shopping, feeling inspired to make the best apple pie in the world.

when dennis came home later that day, the sun already long gone, he found you waiting for him.

“surprise!” you said brightly, bouncing slightly on your toes, apron dusted with flour still tied around your waist. the whole apartment smelled warm and sweet, like baked apples and cinnamon.

he paused in the doorway for a second, then let out a soft laugh. “what is this?”

you grabbed his hand immediately, pulling him towards the kitchen. “just come see.”

his eyes landed on the pie sitting on the counter. “woah,” he murmured, more genuine now. “baby, you didn’t have to do all this. weren’t you working today?”

“yeah,” you said, smiling as you watched his reaction, “but i don’t know. i just wanted to. i know how much you like it.”

that softened him. he turned to you right away, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your lips, then another to your cheek like he couldn’t decide where to land.

“you’re sweet,” he said quietly.

you smiled into him, letting yourself lean into the moment.

“let me wash my hands first,” he said after a second, already loosening his grip. “and then i’m going to absolutely destroy that pie. can’t have your effort going to waste.”

he laughed as he said it, a bit lighter now, and before you could respond, he spun you around once in his arms.

it was new. a little unexpected. stronger than before. now that you thought about it, ever since he started going to the farm more often, he did gain some muscle that he didn’t have before.

you let out a small laugh, steadying yourself against him. “okay, okay.”

while dennis was getting changed into his comfortable home clothes, you cut the pie and made him a cup of tea with two sugar cubes. he liked everything sweet.

when he came back, he kissed your cheek again and immediately dug in.

you watched him closely, waiting for his reaction.

“mhmm.” he let out a satisfied hum with his mouth full, which made you laugh, a small spark of pride warming your chest. “it’s so sweet, baby. thank you, i love it.”

he reached for his tea, still chewing. “though it would be nice if you used whipped cream too. amy did it when i was at hers and it tasted like a dream.”

he said it casually, like it didn’t mean anything at all, like it was just a passing thought he decided to share.

but your expression shifted immediately. happiness dropped into something tighter, disbelief and hurt mixing in your chest.

“are you comparing me to her?” you frowned.

dennis paused, eyebrows pulling together like he genuinely didn’t understand the question.

“no? i just said it’s a tip for next time. don’t take it so personally.” he gave you a small smile, already moving on, like it was nothing.

then he continued talking about something from his shift, completely slipping back into his day, like the moment had already passed.

but you hadn’t.

you stayed still for a second too long, trying to figure out if he really didn’t see it or if he just didn’t care enough to. neither option felt good.

“i’m tired. i’m going to bed.” you said quietly, cutting through his sentence as you took off your apron.

he blinked. “oh. okay. night, baby.”

and then he went right back to eating.

you walked into the bathroom and turned on the water, letting it run loudly so it could cover the sound of your sobs. you just sat on the cold floor, knees pulled in, tears slipping down your cheeks faster than you could stop them.

so much so for wanting to do something sweet for your boyfriend.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the third time dennis hurt you came pretty quickly after that. by then, it didn’t even take much to make you feel sad.

over time, as dennis kept shining brighter, his job clearly fulfilling him, combined with all the farm visits and the confidence he had grown into, something else started happening too.

you wanted to be happy for him. you really did.

but the more he seemed to step into the light, the more you felt like you were being left somewhere behind in the dark.

at first, it showed in small things. forgetting to turn in your assignments. being late to your shifts at the café. then it got worse. you couldn’t sleep properly anymore.

the only times dennis was home, he was usually exhausted, barely able to do more than kiss you hello before collapsing into bed. your movie nights disappeared. your time together shrank into almost nothing. and somehow, the quiet moments became the hardest.

when he was asleep beside you, snoring softly, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist, that was the only time you still felt like you belonged in his world. like you still had a place there.

and even then, it didn’t last.

because the second you tried to fall asleep, a thought would creep in, heavy and persistent.

what if you let go for too long and he just… drifted away?

so you stayed awake.

and then there was the faucet.

it started dripping one night, a steady, uneven sound echoing through the apartment. and if your thoughts weren’t enough to keep you up, that quiet, repetitive tap of water hitting the sink made sure you wouldn’t rest at all.

by morning, you felt completely drained.

when dennis was getting ready for his shift, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on his socks, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back.

“baby…” you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion. “the faucet’s dripping. can you fix it? i can’t sleep because of it…”the dark circles under your eyes had only gotten worse over the past few days.

“oh,” he said lightly, like it hadn’t even crossed his mind before. “i didn’t notice.” he turned slightly towards you, gently taking one of your hands off his waist and pressing a quick kiss to your palm.

“yeah, of course. i’ll take care of it when i get home. you’re not dating a farm boy for nothing.” he gave you a small smile, easy and reassuring, before standing up to finish getting ready for his shift.

as dennis left for work, you were left alone in the apartment with that… sound. the quiet space only made it worse, the steady dripping echoing through the rooms like it was filling every corner.

but it was okay. denny said he was going to fix it.

you took a deep breath and made yourself a light breakfast, then sat down to study and work on your assignments. you tried to focus, really, but the grating sound of the faucet kept pulling you out of it. over and over again.

at some point, you weren’t even sure if it was the sound itself that was driving you mad, or if it was everything else piling up inside you, finally starting to crack.

you texted dennis around the time his shift was supposed to end, but once again, you were left on delivered. you rolled your eyes, already knowing what that meant.

but it was okay. maybe amy just needed help with groceries or something small, and he’d be home soon. after all, he promised he’d fix the faucet for you.

and still, nothing.

by midnight, dennis still hadn’t shown up. his dinner sat untouched on the table, wrapped in foil, long gone cold. you didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore. you just sat there, staring at the sink, at the constant drip, your chest tight as your thoughts spiraled.

you couldn’t live like this.

2am passed. still nothing.

eventually, you went to the bedroom and lay down, staring at the ceiling, waiting. and waiting.

dennis finally came home at 5am. he moved quietly through the apartment, like he didn’t want to wake you. or maybe like he didn’t want to deal with you being awake.

unfortunately for both of you, you hadn’t slept at all.

“where the hell were you?” you said the moment you saw him, your voice flat from pure exhaustion.

he paused for a second before answering. “i’m so sorry, baby. i swear i wasn’t ignoring you. i left my phone at work by accident, and by the time i realized, i was already at amy’s. the storms this week caused a lot of damage on the farm, so i had to stay and help. and then it got late, and she didn’t want me driving back when i was that tired. but… i’m here now.”

you let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“yeah. to get clean clothes. you’re not here for me.”

he frowned slightly, like that wasn’t fair.

“you promised you’d fix the faucet, dennis. i haven’t slept in days. why are her problems always more important than mine?”

he stepped closer, gently holding your face in his hands like that would calm you down.

“it’s not like that, baby. i promise i’ll fix it today, okay? actually promise. it just slipped my mind.”

he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. you didn’t kiss him back, but he didn’t seem to notice.

he glanced at the time right after.

“after work, okay? i’m already late and robby’s gonna be on my ass if i don’t show up. bye. love you.”

and just like that, he was already moving again, grabbing his things and heading out, leaving you standing there in the same apartment, with the same dripping sound still echoing in the background.

you took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself, but it got harder the moment you realized your own shift started in three hours.

great.

you could barely handle customers on a full night of sleep, let alone like this, after nights of barely resting at all. you already felt it in your body, the heaviness behind your eyes, the way everything seemed just a little harder.

you groaned quietly, frustration bubbling up. at yourself, at amy, but most of all at your boyfriend. all the apologies, all the promises that never really seemed to reach you anymore. it felt like those only meant something when they were directed at her.

you pushed yourself up anyway.

slowly, you got ready, moving through everything on autopilot. you made yourself the strongest cup of coffee you could manage and forced it down before heading out.

to say the shift dragged would’ve been an understatement.

everything felt off. you kept making small mistakes, ringing up hot drinks instead of iced ones, spilling milk on the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you poured coffee. even the simplest things felt like too much.

you were just so tired.

during a quieter moment, when the line finally died down, your coworker approached you. mark. you didn’t know him that well, just small talk here and there, but enough to know he was a year older, also in college, and had really nice hair.

“hey… you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, careful. “you don’t seem like yourself today.”

you let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. “you can say it. i look like shit.”

he gave you a small, almost amused smile, but didn’t argue.

“thanks for asking though,” you added, shrugging lightly. “i just… couldn’t sleep. there’s this faucet in my apartment that won’t stop dripping, and i can’t fall asleep with it. and i don’t even know how to fix it myself, so…”

mark nodded, listening. then, after a second, “are you free after your shift?”

you looked at him, a bit confused.

“i mean,” he continued, leaning slightly against the counter, arms loosely crossed, “i’m pretty handy. i could take a look at it for you. probably fix it pretty quickly.”

for the first time in what felt like weeks, something in you lifted. just a little.

“really?” you blinked. “that… that would actually mean a lot. are you sure you don’t mind?”

he smiled easily. “i wouldn’t offer if i did.”

then, a little softer, a little more playful, “besides, i’ve been meaning to get to know you better anyway.” he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “don’t tell anyone, but you’re kind of my favorite here.”

you couldn’t help it, you giggled, the sound feeling unfamiliar but nice.

he winked, then straightened up again as another customer walked in, already slipping back into work like nothing happened.

after that, the rest of your shift felt a little easier. anytime you got dazed or lost, mark would quietly slide in and take over for you, telling you to take five and go easy on yourself.

it felt… nice. being seen, being taken care of, even in such a small way. even if a part of you kept insisting it was probably just politeness, nothing more.

when you got back to your apartment with mark, you actually got to know him a bit better. he told you he was majoring in sculpting at one of the fancy art colleges in pittsburgh, joking that being handy was probably the only reason he got accepted. he talked about playing basketball, about his two younger sisters, and somewhere along the way, the conversation just… flowed.

you found yourself laughing more than you expected. it was nice, talking about things that had nothing to do with dennis for once.

you liked trinity, you really did, but she always circled back to him. and right now, you just couldn’t handle thinking about any of it.

you ended up making a quick pasta as a small thank you, insisting he stay for at least a few bites before leaving. after that, you walked him to the door, exchanging a quick, easy goodbye.

once the apartment fell quiet again, it didn’t feel as heavy as before. not as suffocating. and the second your back hit the couch, exhaustion took over. you fell asleep almost instantly, finally getting the rest your body had been begging for.

dennis came home hours later.

you only stirred when you heard dennis’ keys, your body too tired to fully wake up.

he stepped into the living room, his voice low. “hey…”

you barely responded, just a small nod before turning onto your side, your back facing him. you didn’t have the energy to talk to him. not now.

he sighed quietly and went to change, but then paused.

something felt… off.

the apartment was too quiet.

he walked towards the kitchen, glancing at the sink, and froze for a second. the faucet wasn’t dripping anymore. but there were two plates sitting there, neither of them his.

he stood there for a moment before speaking.

“hey… what happened to the faucet?” he asked, his voice careful, though there was something tense underneath it.

you stirred slightly, pushing yourself up just enough to look at him.

“oh. yeah. that,” you mumbled, still half asleep. “my coworker fixed it. i was a mess at work, didn’t sleep, so he offered…”

you stretched a little, not thinking much of it.

dennis, however, did.

his expression tightened just slightly, a strained kind of smile settling on his face as he stepped closer.

“your coworker?” he repeated. “like… a guy?”

you frowned, confusion mixing with irritation as you sat up more properly.

“yeah. why? does it matter?”you pushed yourself off the couch, already exhausted again. “whatever. i’m going to bed. i need sleep.”

you tried to walk past him, but he caught your arm, stopping you.

“i don’t like you inviting other guys into our place to fix things,” he said, his tone firmer now. “that’s what you have a boyfriend for.”

for a second, you just stared at him.

“do i?” you said, your voice sharp despite how tired you felt.

you pulled your arm out of his grip.

“because i haven’t seen him in a while.”

his jaw tightened, but you didn’t stop.

“i asked you to fix it first. you brushed me off for amy. you don’t get to play house at a farm with some other woman and then get mad at me for accepting help from someone else. that’s not fair, dennis.”

dennis looked at you for a moment, clearly deciding what to do next. if it had been the dennis you first fell in love with, he probably would’ve dropped his gaze, stumbled over his words, and started muttering multiple apologies, though the dennis you started dating wouldn’t have let things get this bad with you in the first place.

but now he wanted to use his newfound confidence. to show you he had become better, not just for himself and his coworkers, but for you too.

so instead of backing down, he closed the distance between you and kissed you.

it was sudden, passionate, catching you completely off guard. your eyes widened, and before you could react properly, he pressed you back against the nearest wall, his lips moving down to your neck, slowly sucking at your sensitive spot.

your breath got caught in your throat, your body reacting before your mind could catch up, hands instinctively wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

for a brief moment, it felt like everything else faded. like things were normal again.

dennis pulled back just enough to look at you, something almost smug flickering across his face.

“you don’t need other guys for this,” he said quietly, as his hand slowly slipped into your pants, his lips returning to your neck. “could that coworker of yours do this to you, huh?”

and for a moment, you did feel it. the warmth, the closeness, the pull. and it would’ve been a lie to say you didn’t get wet from his touches, because you did. however it was his fault you were this needy in the first place. months of distance, of being tired, of him barely being there or only half present when he was. you don’t even remember the last time the two of you got intimate.

and just like that, something in you snapped back. because as quickly as your body responded, your mind caught up as well.

the missed calls. the empty apartment. the nights you spent staring at the ceiling. the sound of the faucet. amy. always amy.

your hands pushed against his chest.

“stop. stop!” you raised your voice.

dennis stepped back immediately, actual fear in his eyes. he had never forced himself on you, and this was the first time you had ever fully rejected him like that.

you stood there, breathing uneven, and then it all came out at once.

“you can’t do that. you can’t leave me hanging for months, walking away from me when i need you, choosing some other woman who should be relying on literally anyone else but you, and then come back and act like this fixes it.”

your voice shook, but you didn’t stop.

“waltzing back in here to try to do some jealous power play on me? saying how you can make me feel things that my coworker can’t? when’s the last time you even did anything like that for me, dennis?”

a bitter, exhausted laugh slipped out of you as you ran a hand through your hair.

“i love you, dennis,” you said more quietly now, voice breaking a little at the edges. “i still do. but i deserve better than this.”

you looked at him for a second longer, then turned away.

“i’m going to bed.” you walked past him, heading to the bedroom, leaving him standing there in silence. he couldn’t react in any way, because deep down he knew you were right. he just didn’t want to accept it.

didn’t want to admit that everything he thought was making him better, stronger, someone you could be proud of, was slowly pushing you away instead.

that night, he stayed on the couch.

he didn’t dare come into the bedroom. not after everything.

and as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, the faint scent of your perfume still lingering on the couch pillows from your nap, he realized how far away you suddenly felt.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the fourth time dennis hurt you came the next morning.

you woke up with a headache worse than any hangover you’d ever had, and instead of feeling well rested after finally getting the sleep your body desperately craved, you just felt awful.

you didn’t even want to get up, knowing you’d have to face dennis again, face that difficult and weird situation he put you into.

you just wanted to stay in bed. sleep the whole day away, maybe even the next one too, but unfortunately, you couldn’t.

you glanced at the empty side of the bed, the one dennis usually slept on, the cold bedsheets showing that he didn’t sleep there at all.

with a heavy sight you got up from the bed and carefully navigated your way through the hallway into the living room. you took a deep breath before you opened the door and then carefully stepped inside, bracing yourself for what was yet to come.

dennis was still there, which by now, was rather unusual. he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his eyes tired, but they lit up a little when he saw you in the doorway.

you two just looked at each other for a moment, awkward silence filling the room. after another beat of silence, dennis opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his phone started ringing.

he glanced at it, hesitating for a second, clearly unsure if he should pick up.

“amy?” you asked, your voice flat, already knowing the answer.

“y-yeah, but uh let me just take this, it’ll be quick, and then we can finish our conversation from yesterday, okay?” his voice wavered slightly.

you let out a quiet, humorless breath.

“bold of you to assume i want to finish that conversation,” you said, your tone tired more than anything. “i said everything i needed to, so go ahead. pick up. wouldn’t want to leave poor amy hanging, right?” you rolled your eyes and turned away, walking out of the living room.

you meant to go back to your bedroom, to get dressed and leave, just get out of the apartment for a while.

but you didn’t go far.

you stopped just behind the door in the hallway, your chest tight, your curiosity and anxiety keeping you there.

you needed to hear it. needed to know how he talked to her. what he sounded like speaking to other woman than you.

you heard him click his tongue before picking up the call, the tension in him slipping out in that small sound.

“uh, hi amy. what’s up?” he said, his voice a little gentler now, like he didn’t want her to hear that he was stressed.

“oh, theo’s teething? is that what’s making him act up? i’m sorry to hear that.” after a pause, probably listening to what else she had to say, he responded with a light laugh in his voice. “you’d like me to come on sunday?” he repeated, glancing at the calendar hanging in your living room.

sunday was marked as your anniversary date. officially three years together. dana had once joked that even some marriages don’t last that long.

you tensed at the mention of that, waiting for his answer just as much as amy.

“y-yeah, i don’t know…” he started, clearly aware he was busy. with you. he was supposed to be busy with you.

but he didn’t finish, as amy probably started insisting. at least that’s what you assumed.

dennis ran a hand over his face before responding. “okay, sure. i’ll come. probably in the morning, because—”

and the moment you heard his defeated “okay” you didn’t even for him to finish the rest of his sentence. you had already heard enough.

you rushed to your bedroom and shut the door behind you, louder than necessary, making sure it made a sound.

you didn’t even know what came over you in that moment. probably all the pent up sadness, the anger, the constant feeling of being pushed aside finally spilling over. the more you thought about it, the more worse you felt.

you did everything for this man. you were there when he had nothing, when he was struggling financially, when he didn’t even have a place to stay. you welcomed him into your home and made it a home for both of you. you supported his decisions, tried your best to build up his confidence, to make him feel like he was enough.

and now he was using the widow of his dead patient, which was insane in itself, to boost his ego?

for what?

were you never enough?

was it because you were a city girl, while amy could give him that quiet life he always talked about? the white fence, the baby, the farm?

you couldn’t do this anymore. you just couldn’t.

so with shaking hands, you pulled out a suitcase and started packing. quickly, carelessly, not even looking at what you were grabbing, just throwing clothes in, one after another.

the moment dennis heard the loud thud from the bedroom, he ended the call with amy almost immediately and rushed in.

he froze for a second when he saw you.

“what are you doing?” he asked, frowning, already stepping forward.

then he moved closer, panic kicking in as he started pulling your clothes back out of the suitcase.

“what are you doing?” he repeated, more urgent now.

“what are you doing, dennis?” you snapped back, your voice rising as you yanked your sweater out of his hands.

“i’m tired of this. i’m tired of feeling like the other woman in my own relationship.”

your chest was heaving now, emotions spilling out faster than you could control.

“you’re going to her place even on our anniversary? seriously? grow a backbone. why couldn’t you say no to her for once, the same way you keep saying no to me?”

the words came out sharp, unfiltered, driven by everything you had been holding in.

and something in dennis… snapped.

he didn’t mean it. not really.

he was just angry. mostly at himself, honestly.

but it all came out wrong.

“yeah?” he shot back, his voice tight. “you know what? i always thought you were a good person, but now it just feels like you simply liked me better when i was at my lowest.”

you froze.

“yeah,” he continued, words spilling out faster now. “when i was that broke, clumsy med student with nothing. no money, no place, nothing. and you got something out of that.”

your heart dropped.

“you used it. you used me to feel better about yourself. and now that i’m not beneath you anymore, now that people actually see something in me, even another woman… you just can’t handle it.”

the room fell silent after that.

you just stared at him, like you didn’t even recognize the person standing in front of you anymore.

“if that’s what you really think,” you said quietly, your voice shaking but steady enough, “then i don’t understand why you’re even here.”

you swallowed, forcing the next words out.

“it’s over, dennis. i want you to leave. right now. and if you won’t, i will.”

your eyes were glossy, but your tone stayed stern.

for a moment, he just stood there, blinking, like he didn’t fully realize what he had just done. then, without another word, he turned and walked out.

the door closed behind him.

and suddenly, it was quiet again.

you sank down onto the floor of your bedroom, the suitcase still half full, clothes scattered everywhere around you.

little pieces of your life together, now just painful reminders you didn’t know what to do with.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

time moved on, but neither did you and dennis. it had been almost a week since he left the apartment, and unfortunately for both of you, today was that fateful sunday.

you decided to stay in, considering all the plans you once had for that day were long gone. you bought yourself a big tub of ice cream, a bottle of wine, and planned to spend the entire day inside, rewatching your favorite show, not even bothering to open the blinds.

dennis, on the other hand, picked up a shift. it was a convenient excuse not to go to amy’s, and at the same time, he needed something to distract himself. he figured if he focused on his patients, maybe he wouldn’t have to think about everything else.

unfortunately for him, his coworkers had other plans.

the first one to bring it up, as expected, was trinity. he had been staying at her place for the past few days. at first, she gave him space, knowing when to leave things alone, but patience had never really been her strength, and she had clearly had enough.

“so, when are you planning on fixing your fuck up, huckleberry?” she said bluntly, her tone sharp as they both sat down to do charting.

“what fuck up?” he replied, not even looking up, like he didn’t know exactly what she meant.

“oh, don’t play dumb,” she scoffed. “just a few days ago you were going on and on about how you were gonna treat your ‘queen’ on sunday, and now you’re here instead. and don’t think i didn’t notice the fifteen cans of beer in my fridge. if you drink all of that and throw up in my apartment, i swear…”

he exhaled, rubbing his face, clearly not being in the mood for this conversation.

trinity just shook her head. “to think you threw it all away for that farm girl…” she muttered.

that was enough to set him off.

“look, i really don’t want you bringing that up, especially here, okay?” he said, his voice lower now, but tense.

trinity raised her eyebrows, her tone immediately turning more biting.

“wow. look at that. acting like a victim,” she said, a sarcastic smile creeping onto her face. “as if i haven’t told you multiple times how weird this whole thing is. you kept telling me how your girlfriend is this perfect, understanding angel, and i kept thinking, who in their right mind would actually be okay with that? now look at that, she wasn’t okay with that.”

he stayed quiet.

“for fuck’s sake, amy was picking you up from work more often than your own girlfriend at this point. everyone saw it. and you didn’t seem to mind back then,” she added, her voice sharper now, as she she stood up, grabbing her things.

“i’m saying this because i actually care, huckleberry. fix it today, or you’re going to regret it.” and with that, she walked off.

dennis sat there for a moment, then dropped his face into his hands.

after a second, dana leaned slightly towards him.

“she’s right, kid. harsh, but right.”

“you too, dana… don’t even start.” he muttered, already ready to get up and grab another case just to avoid the conversation, but she stopped him.

“look, i know it’s not my business,” she said more gently, “but that girl of yours… she seemed really sweet. and she loved you. that was obvious.”

he didn’t respond.

“people mess up. trust me, i’ve had my fair share with my husband. but if the love is real, it’s worth fighting for.”

then she leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice.

“and it’s definitely not worth losing over… whatever this is with a patient’s family.”

she gave him a look before going back to her work.

dennis stayed there, shoulders slumping as he processed everything that was said to him just now, because well, they were right.

all of them.

and you… you had been right from the start.

he had seen it, even if he didn’t want to admit it. the way you held onto him a little tighter in the mornings, the way your smile slowly faded over time.

somewhere along the way, he had lost the balance between taking care of himself… and forgetting to take care of you.

before dennis could dwell on it any longer, a trauma was called in and he was needed immediately.

dennis quickly pulled on protective eyewear and a sterile gown, falling into the routine as he joined the rest of the team rushing to receive the patient. it was serious enough to require a trauma surgeon and immediate transfer to the OR, which meant everything had to move fast.

garcia was the one called in, and at that, dennis couldn’t help but roll his eyes. she had never really spared him when it came to snarky remarks, and now, knowing trinity, she probably knew everything already.

“oh, if it isn’t the funky music,” she said when she spotted him, her tone light despite the situation. “i know you’ve been going around breaking hearts, but don’t break this one too, okay?” she shot him a teasing look before turning back to the patient.

dennis huffed quietly under his breath but didn’t respond, focusing on what needed to be done as the team worked to stabilize the patient.

unfortunately for him, robby had been there the whole time too.

once things finally settled and the patient was stable, robby motioned for dennis to step aside, leading him towards the ambulance bay doors.

“you alright?” robby asked, arms crossed, studying him for a moment.

dennis frowned slightly. “yeah. why?”

robby raised a brow. “because you’ve been off all day. tired, distracted. not like you.”

dennis exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m fine. just didn’t sleep much.”

robby didn’t seem convinced. he leaned back slightly against the wall, still watching him.

“that all?”

there was a pause.

dennis hesitated, glancing away for a second like he was debating whether to say anything at all.

“it’s just… stuff at home,” he admitted finally, quieter now.

robby didn’t interrupt.

“i messed up,” dennis added after a moment, his voice low. “with my girlfriend. like… really messed up.”

he let out a short breath, shaking his head slightly.

“i don’t even know how it got this bad.”

robby hummed quietly, not surprised. “that explains the mood.”

dennis let out a tired laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“yeah.”

there was a short silence before robby spoke again.

“you gonna fix it?”

dennis didn’t answer right away.

he just stood there for a second, the question settling heavier than he expected.

“…i don’t know if i can,” he admitted.

robby shrugged slightly. “then figure it out. because whatever’s going on, it’s clearly getting to you.”

he pushed himself off the wall, giving dennis a small nod.

“get your head back in the game. we still got a shift to finish.”

and just like that, robby walked off, leaving dennis standing there with his thoughts again, only now he couldn’t ignore them as easily.

the end of the shift couldn’t come soon enough. dennis rushed through handoffs with the night shift, barely listening as perlah and princess exchanged knowing looks, whispering to each other in a language he didn’t understand, but he could guess exactly what it was about. at this point, it felt like the whole hospital knew about his fuck up.

he didn’t even bother changing out of his scrubs. he just grabbed his things and hurried out, stopping by the nearest flower shop and spending almost all the money he had left, which wasn’t much, considering he had only just started getting paychecks, on the biggest bouquet of your favorite flowers.

then he drove to your place.

he still had the key.

dennis stood outside for a moment, taking a few deep breaths before unlocking the door and quietly stepping inside.

the apartment was dark, except for the soft glow coming from the living room, along with the familiar soundtrack of your favorite show. one he had gotten to know pretty well over time. he remembered you rewatching it during breakfasts back when he was still in med school. he used to tease you about how you could probably recite every line by heart, and you never denied it. he had grown to love it too. mostly because it reminded him of you.

he swallowed and slowly made his way towards the living room.

when he stepped in, he saw you curled up under a blanket on the couch, a half-empty bottle of wine next to you. your eyes were puffy and tired, like you had been crying for hours.

his chest tightened at the sight. he hated himself for letting it get this far. for being the reason you looked like this.

“hey…” he whispered softly.

you looked at him, taking a second to fully register his presence, before a small sniffle escaped you.

“get out,” you said, trying to sound firm, but your voice shook. “i don’t want to see you.” you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, hiding your face completely.

dennis stepped closer, careful and hesitant.

“darling… baby, please just hear me out,” he started, his voice already shaky. “i know you said everything you needed to that day, but i didn’t, and i… i’m sorry. okay? i didn’t mean any of the things i said at that moment.”

he swallowed hard, his voice threatening to break.

“you are a good person. you always have been. and i should’ve been grateful that you stayed with me when i had nothing, when i was… pretty useless, honestly. and then i go and treat you like this…” he let out a breath, shaking his head. “i’m a fool. i know i am.”

his voice cracked despite his effort to keep it together.

“you’re the best thing in my life, and i don’t want to lose that. i don’t want to lose you.”

he took another small step closer, still not touching you.

“i’ll cut amy off. completely. i swear i never thought of her in a romantic way, not once, but i should’ve realized how it looked, how it felt for you. but i didn’t. i messed up. badly.”

he ran a hand through his hair, his words coming out more rushed now.

“i just… i felt good for once. at the farm, i know what i’m doing. i feel useful there. like i actually stand out. in the hospital, there are so many people who are better, stronger, more confident and then there’s you…” he let out a small, almost breathless laugh. “you’re the strongest, most amazing, most beautiful person i’ve ever met. and i think i just… lost myself trying to prove i could be something too.”

his voice softened again.

“and in the process, i pushed away the most important person in my life.”

there was a pause.

“i regret it. more than anything.”

he finally stepped closer to the couch, slowly lowering himself down in front of you, but still keeping a small distance, giving you space.

“can you… just give me a chance to fix this?”

after a few seconds, you pulled the blanket down, your face still tear-streaked, your eyes red. you had listened to everything. every word.

but you didn’t know what to say.

you loved him.

you really did.

but was that enough?

was it right to let him back in after everything?

as if he could read the doubt in your expression, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“you don’t have to forgive me. not now… maybe not ever,” he admitted. “but if there’s even a chance… let me earn it. let me prove to you that i can be better. that i can be the man you deserve.”

he swallowed, then carefully got down on his knees in front of you, placing the bouquet beside you before gently reaching for your hands. this time, he waited, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to.

“i, dennis whitaker, promise that i’ll take care of you,” he said softly. “i’ll fix every stupid faucet, anything that bothers you. i’ll take you anywhere you want to go. i’ll do all those dumb things like putting my coat over puddles just so you don’t get your shoes wet.”

a faint, sad smile tugged at his lips.

“i’ll rub your neck when you’re studying, and in return i just… want to be the one who gets to wake up next to you. the one who gets to eat your pies and whatever you bake until i’m old and annoying.”

his grip on your hands tightened just slightly.

“please. just one more chance. you’re the only one for me.”

there was a beat of silence, as if you were still weighing everything he had said, still deciding what to do with it.

then you let out a small sniffle.

“if i ever hear about amy again,” you started, your voice shaky but holding onto that familiar edge, “or if you ever dare to say my pies aren’t perfect, i’ll sell your clothes on ebay and come to the hospital to show everyone your donald duck boxers.”

a quiet, broken giggle slipped out of you.

dennis let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, a soft, relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“yeah… that’s fair,” he murmured. “that’s definitely what i deserve.”

he smiled softly before looking at you properly again, his expression warmer now, but still careful.

“thank you. for letting me try again. i love you.”

you sniffled once more, your lips pressing into a small, tired smile.

“you’re lucky i love you too.”

“i really am.” he whispered.

that night was finally the first one in a while where you actually slept a little peacefully.

dennis took the bottle of wine away from you, putting it back into the kitchen cabinet and making you tea instead before gently tucking you into bed.

for a moment, he hesitated.

he wasn’t sure if he deserved to lie next to you yet. part of him thought he should just take the couch again, give you space, not assume anything.

but then you reached out for him. your hand searching for his without even opening your eyes.

that was enough to convince him. he slipped into bed beside you, and the moment you settled, resting your head against his chest, something in him softened completely.

he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting carefully against your back as he felt you slowly drift off to sleep.

he stayed like that for a while, just holding you. making sure you were really resting.

and once your breathing evened out, he carefully reached for his phone.

he stared at the screen for a moment before typing out a message to amy, that he was going to focus on building his own family now. with you. and that if things got too overwhelming, she should reach out to the hospital psychologist, but that he couldn’t be there for her anymore, because he was needed somewhere else.

he sent it, then turned his phone off completely.

when he looked back at you, you were still curled up against him, your chest rising and falling softly with each breath.

his expression softened, but his eyes stung. a few quiet tears slipped down his cheeks as he brushed his thumb gently against your arm.

“i’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered. “i won’t ever do this to you again. promise.”

fin.

general masterlist 🩺 the pitt masterlist

“Jack,” you whispered, “you’re hurt. Let me take care of you.”

His breath faltered. “Sweetheart, I don’t…I can’t. I’m not exactly in shape to—”

You kissed him.

Soft, slow.

Just enough to make his shoulders drop as his hands found your hips.

Then you slid your hands down his chest, pushing the rest of his shirt off as your fingers gently glided across the bruise on his chest.

“Let me ride you,” you murmured against his lips. “You don’t have to do anything. Just lie back.”

Jack inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering half shut as a deep rumble escaped his chest. “Jesus… you’ll kill me saying things like that.”

You guided him back against the pillows.

Carefully.

Gently.

His body relaxed in a way it never did on its own, his hand sliding up your thigh almost without thought as he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, watching you with a look that was half worship, half desperation, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you whispered, easing his pants and briefs down. "Let me make you feel good.”

His cock sprang free, already hard, already flushed, already leaking from just the sight of you climbing over him.

Jack swallowed hard. "....fuck.”

You straddled his thighs, still in your panties, running your fingertips lightly along the thick length of him.

His eyes rolled back.A low groan rumbled in his chest.

“That’s it,” you murmured, stroking him slowly, “just relax....you work to hard."

“Relax,” he scoffed breathlessly, hips twitching into your hand, “while you’re sitting there looking like that, yeah...sure, super easy—”

You slid your panties to the side and lifted your hips.

Jack’s hands flew to your waist, not to stop you but because he needed to hold something.“Sweetheart—wait your legs, my balance—”

You sank down onto him.

Slow.

Deep.

Taking him inch by inch until he filled you completely, your pussy stretching around his cock in a way that made both of you moan.

Jack’s head fell back against the pillow. “Oh god—fuck, sweetheart—” His fingers dug into your hips, trembling. “You’re, warm, Jesus....I can’t—”

You braced your hands on his chest and started to move. Letting him feel every tight, slick slide of your pussy around him.

Jack looked wrecked.

His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his hands wandering up your sides like he couldn’t believe you were real, his gaze fixed where your body swallowed his cock.

“You’re!! shit.....you’re riding me so good—” he groaned, voice cracking, “sweetheart, you feel incredible—”

You leaned forward, your breasts brushing his chest, and kissed him.

He whimpered, nails digging into your hips.

“Does it hurt?” you whispered.

“No,” he gasped, thrusting up shallowly without meaning to. “God no, it feels...it feels so good, don’t stop—”

You rolled your hips, deeper this time, your pussy tightening around him exactly the way you knew made him lose control.

Jack’s hands slid up to your waist and stayed there, gripping but not guiding, letting you choose the pace.

“I love it,” you breathed against his mouth, your tongue gliding over his, “when you let me take care of you.”

Jack groaned, eyes squeezing shut, his cock twitching inside you at your words. “Keep talking like that and I’m shit, I’m not gonna last—”

You rode him harder, your pace steady but deep, your pussy clenching around him with each rise and fall of your hips.

Jack’s breathing turned ragged.His fingers dug into your waist as his orgasm crept up too fast for him to fight it.

“S-sweetheart! slow down....if you keep, ah—fuck—”

His hips jerked, his muscles tensing under your hands.

“Gonna come....I’m gonna—”

You lowered yourself fully onto him, grinding down, your pussy squeezing the base of his cock as Jack groaned out your name, head pressing back into the pillow as he came hard, his cock pulsing deep inside you with hot, shuddering waves.

His hands slid to your thighs, gripping gently as you rocked through it, helping him ride the trembling aftershocks.

When he finally sagged back into the bed, breathless and dazed, his thumb stroked your hip softly.

“You’re…”He swallowed, voice raw“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

You bent down and kissed him.“No,” you murmured. “I’m your reason to live.”

Jack pulled you into his chest, still inside you, holding you close like the world was quiet for the first time in days.

“…Round two,” he mumbled into your neck, already half-asleep, “when my leg stops hurting.”

All you could do was watch as George stomped around his driver’s room to collect his belongings in preparation to head back to the hotel, eyes trailing him back and forth from your spot atop the massage bed. He was muttering to himself as he shoved things in his bag as if you weren’t even there. Every time you tried to speak, he completely ignored you or cut you off with some other utterance you couldn’t pick up. Some dig about the team orders, the tire degradation, how the entire race was a waste of his time.

Then, suddenly, he turned to you, bag slung over his shoulder, voice clipped like he was bossing around a child, “Let’s go.”

With a quirk of your brow, you stood, drifting past him and out the door with a simple, “Watch your tone with me.”

George kept his mouth shut. And he did for the entire drive back to the hotel, merely staring out the window with a scowl. 

But up in the room, in the private space for just the two of you, away from the team or fans or cameras, he let himself go. His backpack hit the floor by the dresser with a thud and his shoes were kicked off and followed—thunk, thunk—as he traipsed farther into the room. 

“I’m not hungry so you can just order food yourself,” he said without even looking at you, focusing on taking his phone out of his pocket and he gave the notifications a skim. 

You scoffed and set your purse on the dresser with a sarcastic, “Nice.”

“I’m really not in the mood,” George warned, finally looking at you, as if he could sense your impatience. 

“Yeah, I’m not either.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

George set his phone down and turned to you, holding out a hand as if he were explaining something horribly complex that you couldn’t have fathomed on your own, “I’ve had a pretty exhausting and shit day, frankly. I couldn’t even catch a fucking Haas. P-fucking-7 because no one fucking listens to me. No one listens to me! In the car, in debrief, media…you…fucking whatever! No one listens!” 

His outburst hardly made you flinch and you stayed firmly in place, arms still crossed over your chest, simply staring. And then, your reply came, simple and taunting, “You wanna try that again?”

The tone of your voice seemed to halt him right then and there, almost snapping him back to reality for a moment. You could see the anger on his face waver just slightly, the cracks in his tough exterior showing just a fraction more. 

“Come here,” you demanded. 

George took the three strides across the carpet to stand in front of you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Say it again. Who doesn’t listen to you?”

George struggled to keep your unwavering eye contact, his voice having lost most of its aggressive edge as he replied, “The team.”

“Yeah?” You reached up to grab his face in one hand, making sure he couldn’t look away from you as you continued condescendingly, “You think they want to listen to a whiny bitch? Huh? Marcus isn’t going to take orders from a whiny little baby. The well-established Mercedes AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team is not going to bow at the knees and roll over for a whiny little fucking baby, are they?”

George swallowed thickly before croaking out a tepid, “No.”

“What’s that?” You leaned in closer just to spite him. 

“No, ma’am,” George repeated a little louder. 

Your hand let go of his face and took a step back, “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

He hesitated for a second, as if he were about to argue, at war with himself over what he should or shouldn’t do. There had been too many strategy decisions swirling through his mind all day. He didn’t need another one. So, he relented and went for the button on his slacks. 

You watched him, wordlessly, as he undressed in front of you, removing everything from his t-shirt to his socks, leaving them all in a heap on the floor. He was still mostly soft but you knew that wouldn’t last for long. You had a few tricks up your sleeve; a few demands that you knew worked wonders on him like he was a gold-star Pavlov experiment. 

So, before he could turn for the plush king size bed, you stopped him with a scolding, “Ah, ah.”

George turned back to you. 

You snapped your fingers towards the floor where his pile of clothes lay, “Is there someone here you expect to clean up after you? Put them away.”

George bent over to grab them but you set a hand on his shoulder and forced him down farther until he was on his knees, hitting the carpet of the hotel room a little harder than he might have normally liked. Wincing, George then fell forward onto his hands so he was on all fours in front of you, staring down at his pile of clothes. 

“You wanted to be a fucking baby so bad today, didn’t you? Whining like one on the radio?” you taunted down to him, “Babies crawl. So crawl.”

He wasn’t looking up at you but you could hear him let out a little huff of air at the intensity behind your words. There was no margin for misinterpretation. And so George gathered his bunched up clothes in his hands—socks, underwear, slacks, t-shirt—and crawled on his hands and knees across the floor to drop them in his open suitcase on the far side of the hotel suite. You stayed rooted in place, hands on your hips, watching him carefully as he shuffled across the carpet, scuffing his bare knees, his perfectly round ass and shapely thighs on proud display. 

When he returned to you, he stayed on all fours for a moment before settling back on his haunches with his hands poised politely on his thighs. He looked up at you beneath long lashes, his cheeks already kissed with the flush of humiliation. Between his legs, his cock twitched. He was getting hard. From simply being forced to crawl across the room and back. You shouldn’t have been surprised—you knew the ins and outs of him better than anyone else—but you still caught yourself smirking with pride. 

“That’s better,” you tutted and lifted one of your socked feet to graze over the shape of his cock and balls, the slight friction of the fabric against his sensitive skin making him flinch slightly. You could feel him stiffening up a bit more under your sole and you kept rubbing, just enough to rile him up, teasing him just enough. “You had so much to say earlier…now you’re so quiet. What’s happened, hm?”

George’s eyes shut momentarily, as if he were trying to compose himself, before opening them again and peering up at you, “Please…”

“Please what?” you taunted, “Please touch you? You think you deserve that after how you acted today?” 

Without a response to offer in reply, George hung his head to look down at your foot rubbing against his cock, how it was now properly hard, arousal already pulsing through his veins. But your foot was gone before he could shamefully get too into the feeling of the pressure it offered and then you were grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull his head up, forcing him to look at you. He groaned lightly. 

“Answer me,” you ordered. 

“No, I don’t deserve it,” George rushed out in a single breath. 

You gave his cheek a smack, “Get on the bed. On your back.”

Even though you didn’t ask him to, George still crawled across the floor until he reached the side of the bed and then he climbed up onto it and laid back against the neatly arranged pillows. You trailed after him, stripping out of your clothes on the way until you were only left in your bra and panties, and then you knelt up on the mattress and moved in towards him like you were stalking your prey. George, naked and outstretched, didn’t tear his eyes away from you until you were positioned over his thighs, sitting yourself down pretty right there. He exhaled. 

“That’s better,” you hummed.

George’s hands were folded over his abdomen like he were in a proper business meeting, wide eyes blinking up at you, almost manic with anticipation. His cock twitched against his pelvis and a thin string of precum broke from the tip, leaving a dot of a slight shimmer on his skin. He made a small noise. 

You smeared the tip of your finger through the dribble of precum before trailing down the length of the underside of his cock, slowly, taunting, “You’re so much prettier when you’re quiet and obedient.”

“Yes…” he agreed absentmindedly in a breath, eyelashes fluttering as he stared up at you. 

“Yeah?” you smirked, setting your palm flat on his cock to slide back up to the tip, “You agree that you’re prettier when you’re quiet?”

George’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip and he nodded, just as you finally wrapped your hand around him properly. The soft gasp that choked itself out of his throat only spurred you on and you gave him a slow, torturous, stroke as you watched how his expression withered. A little dribble of precum slipped out of the slit at the tip and the pad of your index finger swiped it away and dragged it back down the length of him with another slow tug.

Almost instinctively, needily, his hands reached downwards towards you, as if to silently help you along, to give him more, but you nudged them away. Then, you warned him with a firm, “No touching. Do you want me to tie you up?”

George shook his head, exhaling strongly, “No…sorry.”

Instead, he raised his hands to rest beside him on the pillow, fingers twisting into the linens of the pillowcase to hold himself back while his eyes flickered between your face and your hand. You let a thick string of spit fall from your lips onto his cock, easily smearing it in with your hand in a few more strokes, gradually getting a little firmer, a little faster.

George arched his head back with a strangled groan. 

“That’s what you want, hm?” you spoke down to him.

You were now properly jerking him off in your hand, slicked up in your spit and his precum, sliding easily with the glide of his foreskin that pulled back just enough to reveal that pretty pink tip on every downstroke. You gave him a little tease of the pad of your thumb just under the head every time too, right in that most sensitive spot that had his fingers tightening on the pillowcase with a groan. 

“You just want everyone to give you whatever you want, is that it?” you continued without faltering your pace, speaking through the slick sound of your hand on him. 

George squirmed a little underneath you but his body was trapped by your weight resting on his thighs, holding him in place, “Ah—!”

You barely acknowledged his reactions, still talking down to him while your hand stroked him a little faster, “Demanding your team to swap the cars like that? Thinking you were better but couldn’t show it? Couldn’t pass the tiny teenager in equal machinery on your own? Whining like a baby; ‘Waa, Marcus, I can’t overtake him. Waa, make him let me pass. Waa, I just like the sound of my own voice.’”

“Please…” George moaned shakily, squirming some more, eyes locking on yours and he already looked so lost and needy as he pleaded his case, “I was playing the team game…with Kimi…trying to get us more points.”

Your response was immediate, “No, you were being a selfish bitch.”

George whimpered and dropped his head back and you could feel his cock throb in your hand as you kept pumping.

“Say it. What were you?” you taunted.

“Selfish,” he rasped. 

“Ah?”

George thrashed just a little underneath you, choking back a sound that almost passed as a sob and his hands flew down to grab your wrists. You shoved them away. You knew he was just trying to get what he wanted, yet again. Tough luck for him that you were always dead set on proving a point. 

And so you immediately halted your movements, stilling your fist firmly around the base of his cock, “Try again. What were you?”

George thudded his fists against the mattress and his head tossed back against the pillow with a shaky cry, “A selfish bitch…I-I was a selfish bitch!” 

“Yeah?”

“Please—”

“‘Please’?” you mocked, “Oh, now you remember how to ask nicely?”

Before he could open his mouth again, you resumed the quick pumps of your hand around him, firm and fast. He cried out almost too loudly and your free hand rested against his abs, trying to hold him in place despite the way his body desperately tried to writhe away from you. With a bite to your bottom lip, you just stared at him proudly. 

Precum was slicking your hand up more, leaking from him pathetically so now, encouraging you on in all the ways that drove him mad but that he equally loved. He knew the safe word. He just never needed to use it. Some pathetic, desperate part of him got off on you treating him like this, talking down to him, as if it were finally a space for him to break away from the tough, calculated, in-control persona he put on for the world. 

And so you jerked him off in a tight fist in cruel tugs and twists, fast enough that you knew he was getting close. He didn’t even have to say a word and you knew. 

So you stopped again. Suddenly. Leaving your hand wrapped around the thick base of his cock. 

“No!” George all but sobbed, heels digging into the mattress. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes with a shaky wet whine, his body tensing beneath you as if he were trying to buck up into your hand for more, to get you going again. “Please!”

You hummed, “I don’t think you deserve to get what you want tonight. I don’t want to reward your poor behaviour.”

“I know,” George panted, dropping his hands down to grab your wrists pleadingly, hardly flinching as you shoved them away again. His shimmering eyes were on your face, a pout on his lips, swollen red from how he had been biting it, “I know, I know, I know…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, I won’t do it again.”

“You won’t?” you challenged, using your free hand to teasingly swirl the pads of your fingers across the tip of his cock, gathering up a bit of the sticky precum that almost poured out of him.

George gasped, long and high and sensitive, staring at you. Just staring. His eyelashes fluttered as if he were lucid dreaming. 

You pulled your fingers back and reached forward to smear them over his lips as you taunted, “You’ll be a good boy and do as you’re told?”

He nodded, and kept nodding, like his mouth couldn’t catch up with his brain, before finally, he choked out a meek, “Yeah”, against your fingertips.

You slowly started to pick up the pace around his cock again, watching how his expression changed with every passing stroke, how his body reacted to you, how his hands splayed stupidly in the air between you as he struggled to stop himself from reaching out. The hotel room was slick with the sounds of your hand on him, lewd. George’s hands fell heavily against the mattress as his head arched back against the pillow with a pitchy moan, thick neck on display for your hungry eyes, and his fingers gripped the duvet so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. 

There was something about him like this that thrilled you; maybe it was the erotic nature of it or maybe it was obvious trust between you that it all represented. Even still, you just wanted to see how far you could push. 

But, fuck, George was a mess. He was barely able to catch his breath, heaving for relief, moaning and whining and making a whole scene. Honestly, it took a bit of effort on your end to keep steady and upright on his thighs, to hold him down—it was no secret he was stronger than you. Except, really, in moments like this, when he seemed to give it all up no matter how much you edged him, how much you teased him. 

His head thrashed from side to side against the pillows, pitchy whines tumbling from his lips amidst a messy string of a useless, “Please, please, please—”

“Do not come,” you ordered, in case your silence on the matter had left any room for misunderstanding.

“Please—” George sobbed, his lips wet with spit and cheeks streaked in tears as if he couldn’t control himself anymore, absolutely out of his mind enough to cry out a pathetic, “Please, mommy.”

You knew you had him in the palm of your hand then, when his filter disappeared into absolutely nothing, when the words he said in a fit of desperation sent a filthy thrill right through you. Your hand kept going, you just kept pumping, even as he was so clearly struggling to hold back. You needed him as close as you could get him.

“Look at you crying like a baby too,” you spoke down to him, having to be a little louder so he could hear you over the way he sobbed and moaned and the way the bed creaked under his strangled movements, pinned by your thighs on either side of his. “Baby doesn’t get what he wants and he’s gonna cry all over himself, hm? Poor baby. Poor fucking baby has to learn he can’t always get what he wants.”

And then you took your hand off him entirely and sat back, letting his achingly hard cock flop against his pelvis, twitching and leaking and desperate. George groaned as if he were in agony, face turning into the down-filled pillows he was still cradled on while his body shuddered under your weight, desperate to move…to do something to get release. An almost embarrassingly large dribble of precum spilled out across his flushed skin, leaking from the swollen tip of his cock. 

“You wanna come?” you finally spoke, “Do it yourself.”

George seemed to be moving on autopilot as he reached his right hand down towards his aching dick but, before he could touch himself, you grabbed both of his wrists.

“No. No hands.”

“Fucks sake…” George whimpered, eyes screwed shut and body squirming beneath you.

You still had him trapped down against the hotel room bed but he had just enough movement to kind of be able to buck his hips up into nothing. Keeping a firm grip on his wrists, you watched as he tried to fuck up into the sticky air of the hotel room, panting and whining and his handsome face screwed up in pleasured and agonizing frustration. 

“All by yourself,” you cooed down to him as he writhed against the bed, flexing his hips up the best he could, making his cock jump against his pelvis. You stroked your thumbs over his wrists with a sickeningly sweet, “Good boy. That’s it.”

“Please, can I…?” George choked out.

“Can you what?”

His hands bunched into fists where you held them, his words pitchy, “Can I come?” 

“Can you come like this, baby? Untouched?”

George nodded, eyes still screwed shut, hips still gyrating and tensing and bucking ever so slightly, using every inch of the limited space you were allowing him to move. Oh he was a vision. A pathetic, wondrous vision.

You intertwined your fingers with his, giving his hands a squeeze, with your attention focused on his twitching cock and the needy squirms of his hips, and you said sweetly, “Show me then. Show me that you’re a big boy and can do it all by yourself.”

Shame on you for thinking he wouldn’t be able to do it, honestly. Because in only a few more seconds, you were subject to his ruined, weak, untouched orgasm that he cried out through and flexed up into as if searching to get more out of nothing.George’s hands were like iron in yours, gripping onto you through it, his jaw clenched and body coiled tight as he chased more that wouldn’t come. And his cock twitched and pulsed against his pelvis and spurted creamy white across his flushed skin and matted in the trimmed hair just below. 

Wordlessly, you let go of his hands and leaned down, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath his navel before working your way downwards until you could lick up his mess from his skin and leave him with a soft kiss to his softening cock. George withered, melting into the mattress, and he scrubbed his hands over his face. 

“Jesus…” he exhaled. 

You sat up again and caressed his waist, “Feeling better?”

A little embarrassed, a little shamed, his hands fell to your thighs and he nodded, “Yeah. I’m sorry…I was a fucking twat.”

“I know. It’s okay,” you purred with a smile, leaning down to let your breath ghost over the shell of his ear, “baby.”

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Your Jace is dead.

Even thinking it in that dark part of your mind made you feel as if you were betraying the mere memory of him.

He's dead.

Your bedchamber is cold. The vial of oil you'd run through his hair most nights laid on your vanity untouched. The dress that you wore that made his eyes widen was so far deep in your wardrobe that you didn't care to try to find it ever again. 

Every Targaryen sigil you saw— the three headed dragon— made you think of the three arrows you were told found their way to his body. The red of the fabric's stitching made you think of his blood mixing into the water at the Gullet.

And you think often of how fearful he must have been.

You haven't left your room in days. The devastation had left you without energy or care.

"I'll speak to her," you tried to comfort your husband. You'd laid a hand on his chest, over that sigil you were willing to give your life for.

Your eyes met his, deep and knowing, and you had smiled.

He had smiled back, if only for a fleeting moment. You'd later recognize that as a smile of guilt.

And when the door shut behind you, you were unaware that Jace would order for it to be locked to keep both you and his mother, the two most important women to him, safe.

That's what he told himself at least. In all honestly, he didn't want to see the hurt in your eyes if he told you he was going into battle.

So instead, he rested his forehead upon the door for a moment before you could realize what was going on.

He was gone before Rhaenyra had began to bang on it frantically.

She had given up once she knew it was a pointless task.

But you, the poor girl whose husband was out fighting a battle with an unseasoned dragon, was going into hysterics. 

You rattled the door and beat it with your fists. You screamed and cried. You even clawed at it until the pain became too much.

You were full of life with a heart so full of love.

You were numb now.

You were willing to give your life for this war, but you weren't willing to give his.

Your throat ached from crying so often. You didn't eat much. You didn't take care of yourself.

Baela had tried visiting to cheer you up, but you could not even look her in the eyes without thinking of him.

And Rhaenys felt too guilty to visit you at all. 

The maester had tried everything he could to help you. He kept a small smile on to convince you everything was alright.

But he had diagnosed you with a broken heart. And for that, there was no cure.

The dreams started not long after that. 

They started out sweet at first. His face, his eyes, his toothy grin when he would tease you. Then scenes of the two of you together, memories you had of him. Your wedding, your trips to the shoreline, sunbathing at Dragonstone, introducing you to Vermax.

Then they shifted.

The sweet dreams would shift to something horrid. He would be smiling at you perhaps, then his face would fall. Suddenly there's chaos. There's water. And blood. So much blood. And he's there with three arrows in his body. It ends with you swimming after his sinking body until you drown.

You knew Vermax did everything he could, but nothing will ever make you forgive every person and animal that let this happen.

And the dreams were beginning to make you go mad.

It made you do something horrid.

You knew of witches and spells that could do things no others could. 

And after waking from another horrid dream of losing him, you decided to give in.

You didn't tell anyone of this but the handmaiden and guard that saw it done.

You couldn't take another day like this.

…

It took a few days, but a woman was soon discreetly brought to your room.

She was older, perhaps in her 40s. Her hair was beginning to grey and she looked wise. You trust her immediately. 

You talked to her in ways you hadn't spoken to anyone since your Jace. You confided in her. You told her everything about your prince, your life, and how you wished to join him in death.

She cooed and comforted and listened until you were malleable in her hands. 

"I've seen many women come to me with similar thoughts," she hummed. "But it does not good to die alongside them. Who remembers them when you're gone?"

You sniffle and frown. "There are plenty to remember him—"

"But not like you remember him." She grabbed her bag and began to dig through it. "What is your heart's greatest desire?"

"My…?" You had tried to avoid doing deep dives in your mind as of late. "I don't know."

"Think then," she huffed. "What do you want most in this world?"

"I suppose… I want Jace. I want him back so badly. I would do anything. I would kill to have him with me again."

She grinned widely— so widely, it looked unnatural. But she gave you no time to contemplate, for she pulled out a cloth and handed it to you. 

You take it and realize it's wrapped around something.

And you unveil and mere stick.

"Before you scoff, this is a special thing here. It's been blessed, you see. It will grant one singular wish from the one who breaks it. It cannot be undone, so ensure it is what you want most."

You look at the stick this way and that. "But it's a stick."

"Believe what you want, but you will see." She tilts her head. "Did you not say you wanted to see your prince again?"

The mere thought, a hope, that you would see him again made your breath catch. "This would… bring him to me?"

She shrugged and stood, gathering her things. "As I said, a singular wish. Do it carefully."

You thank her over and over, making the growing hope in you obvious. She smiles and pats your cheek before leaving.

The moment she's gone, you sit on the bed and pull your legs up. 

You pick up the stick carefully and look it over again. It looks like an ordinary stick. There's no special paint, no glow, nothing to indicate that she spoke any truth.

But your hope outweighs doubt.

"I wish my husband was alive."

Snap.

You don't feel a change in the air. No knocking at the door. The room is just as cold as before.

You feel like the broken stick in your hands is mocking you, and you throw it to the ground.

You flip the blankets up and cry yourself to sleep like you do most nights.

…

Jace coughs.

Everything burned inside. His lungs felt on fire and the water within them did nothing to extinguish it. He coughed up liters of water into the sand and still felt as if it'd done nothing.

He's covered in wet sand and soaked from head to foot. His hair clings to his forehead.

But the most obvious things that caught his attention were the three large arrows still stuck in his body.

He still struggled to move, but each bodily function was slowly coming back to him. 

He'd have to pull these out if he even wanted to roll over, much less get up.

His mind was scattered and empty. He felt loss in his heart, but he wasn't sure why. Some part of him was dead, he was sure of that, but was unaware of what it was.

He looks out to the wreckage of ships still out in the waters. Much had washed up onto the shore. Wood and metal and bodies alike filled the beach and he was one of them.

It must have been a vicious battle.

But he only can think of one memory— one thing to cling to.

There was a day, on a beach much like this one, that he spent with someone.

He remembers a picnic. And laughter that was soft and bright. A white fabric that made his mouth water. And he remembered swimming.

Each flash of the memory becomes clearly as he goes on until he had a face to the person he's remembering.

"Jace!" The person laughed as he slung them over his shoulder and went into the water. "Jace! I'm only in my shift!" Her giggle was contagious. 

And he fell into the water with her.

But when he resurfaced in this memory, he expected to see burning sails and dragons. Or feel the piercing in his back and neck.

Instead, he saw you.

Your face was clearer now, though some details were still a bit fuzzy. What color were your eyes? Is that the right shade of your hair?

You brushed that hair from your face and wiped the water from your eyes. And you smiled widely. It was so bright, Jace almost closed his eyes, then remembered it was a memory in his head and nothing he could truly see.

"Such a cruel monster to your wife!" You giggled so hard you clenched your stomach. 

Wife.

It rang in his head over and over.

Wife.

My wife.

Where is my wife?