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Jack’s world grew fuzzy at the edges the instant Dana told him that his son was waiting for him in West 13. Every decibel of the ER’s grind was simultaneously amplified and muffled like he was half below the tide, washing in and out of his ears, refusing to allow him to settle.

Hands clamped on his stethoscope, he swung it over his neck. His arms pumped as he sprinted through the ER with the urgency the place often demanded but only somewhat saw. A gurney nearly took him out and Javadi flattened herself to the wall to allow her attending-for-the-shift to dodge through.

Curtains closed, too close to see whose feet were poking underneath, Jack filled his lungs with a long and deep breath. The counting he used to mock in therapy now pulled him like a tether to the linoleum floor. His hand still shook though as it reached up and swiped the curtain open.

His husband sat in one of the notoriously uncomfortable chairs, holding a significantly smaller left hand. Jack’s eyes trailed up the arm and found the owner, his sweet boy, curls tousled, blinking blearily up at Perlah and Dr. Mohan.

“Hey, big fella,” Jack moved swiftly through the staff around the bed like a river bending about smoothed stones.

Tear-stained cheeks shining under the ER’s unforgiving lights, Theo trembled against his instinct to throw his arms in the air, ready to latch around his father’s neck. Jack swooped down to meet his son; his big hands were delicate against his boy’s body.

“Dr. Abbot,” Dr. Mohan greeted in an overly professional tone, suggesting that perhaps the tears he’d spied were as recent as moments ago, “Your partner was just explaining to Dr. Mohan how this happened,”

Theo winced as Jack withdrew and joined his husband at the other side with a quick “hey, honey” and a peck: eyes open and returning to their child, no evident ER care required.

“He was a bit excited at the top of the slide.” Y/N spoke in the voice Jack knew was under a tight leash. Any slack and they’d both start crying. When Y/N continued, he was paving over the cracks in his voice as best as he could, “He fell from the top, it’s about so high, and he hit his head when he landed on his bike frame at the bottom.”

Nodding, Samira turned to her patient, “Theo, did you fall asleep at all after you hit your head?”

“No.” Theo reached out with his left hand and Y/N instantly rejoined it with his own, squeezing gently. But Theo still looked to Jack, his lower lip wobbling, “Papa?”

Jack’s jaw slackened to allow him to answer, but nothing connected his brain to his vocal cords. How could he explain conflict of interest and inappropriate boundaries in the workplace to his nine-year-old?

Samira waited three agonising seconds before interrupting Jack’s thought process, “Theo, I know your dad works here, so he can help us figure out what the best plan is.”

“No, Dad works at home.” Theo shook his head and pointed with his left hand to his other parent, “That’s Papa.”

“But Dr. Mohan is right. Papa knows her very well,” Y/N explained calmly, “Dr. Mohan is one of the best here. She knows what to do.”

Jack cleared his throat, dressing his face up with a softer smile, “Daddy’s right. Taught her everything I know.” Then he winked at his son, creating a fragment of a giggle from the kid. That eased his anxiety a fraction.

Samira raised her eyebrows at her mento but allowed him to brag, watching how Theo accepted his fathers’ words as gospel and allowed her to flash the torch in his eyes and ask him questions. The humour seemed to put the room at ease, even if they all bar the child knew it was a mask to maintain an air of comfort.

History, reflex, pain out of ten, Dr. Mohan completed her many tests with a carefully constructed tone and Perlah to help encourage Theo’s engagement. Jack watched from beside his husband, trying desperately not to create more unease within his son and to not suffocate the life out of his resident’s confidence.

Eventually, he couldn’t help but ask, “What’s your plan?”

He listened doggedly to Samira reel off a list of procedures from the tiny stool as she completed her neuro exam, Perlah already acting upon it whilst still absorbing the remaining instructions like a sponge. Y/N was equally as attentive, but he still looked to Jack whom he knew was going over Dr. Mohan’s words with a fine-tooth comb. Theo tried to follow along, reaching his left hand across to tug on his right ear lobe, missing on his first attempt.

Dr. Mohan squinted at her patient and swivelled to face him.

“Theo?” She asked softly as she pointed to his right arm, “Can you move this arm?”

Theo blinked, “No, thank you.”

“How does it feel when you’ve tried to move it before?”

“Hurts, sharp.”

“If I touch it, I might be able to figure out what’s causing the hurting. Can I try that?”

Theo blinked again, his wet eyelashes sticking together. He nodded once. Jack felt Y/N’s hand in his own, completing the paper chain connection amidst the Abbot family. All eyes were on Mohan’s rubber gloved hands as she rolled up Theo’s long-sleeved Bluey shirt and applied tender pressure where the skin stretched oddly. A whine pitched from Theo, and she released that spot instantly.

“Thank you, Theo.” Samira left the sleeve where it was, turning to Perlah. “Add an X-ray for that arm.”

Theo’s eyes widened in recognition, “Dad had one of them when he went to the dentist, but I had to go out the room.”

“You’re a pro already then,” Perlah reassured, “This time, it’ll be you getting it done.”

Nodding solemnly, Theo spied his papa staring at his arm, expression neutral on the surface but a hardness to his gaze.

“Papa, how does an X-Ray see inside my arm? Can it tell I’ve been drinking lots of milk?”

This, Jack could do: explain a medical procedure in a way that was understandable and soothing. Theo was hanging onto his every word, apart from a minor interlude where Perlah attached his IV. He repeated back the words his papa told him, his dad sweeping his hair from his brow.

“Up to C.T.”

Jack explained that too, Theo looking between both parents with a line folded from concern between his brows. Then he spotted Dr. Mohan walking beside his bed and he began to tell her about when his head hit his bike’s frame.

“When I hit my head, it felt like a bell was going off,” he said earnestly, “Gooooooong.”

“I bet,” she replied, that empathetic aura oozing off her and bundling the boy in its blankets.

Y/N squeezed Jack’s hand for the tenth time, his face relaxing with every comfort from his son’s doctor. He squeezed again when he had to let go of Theo, handing him off to Perlah when they continued to C.T. without him.

Neither parent took one of the chairs. Jack hated those chairs. Plastic and cracked and the antithesis of ease, they should be added to the list of things the hospital didn’t have the funding for.

Without a space to relax, Y/N was pacing but slowly. That was worse. It was deliberate, forced calm into a shape it couldn’t maintain, spreading like cookie dough in the oven until it no longer resembled the careful cutter shape that had created it. This accident was spiralling inside of him and battling the folded arms that held his chest together.

But Jack’s cortisol-clogged mind took too long to recognise this typical sign of stress. The symptom of his “time abroad” left him with a stare a thousand yards long. He didn’t even clock the number of times his husband had lapped the small section of linoleum until Y/N burst out.

“It’s so cliché but it really happened so fast. I was right there and it happened.”

His quick breaths to fill the space of his confession spurred Jack to find his way out of his fog, but he could only make it within shouting distance of the actual problem.

“He’ll be okay,” Jack said and even he could tell that his blank tones were nowhere near the level of reassurance required.

And, just like that, their time as a couple was over. The doors to C.T. opened and the pair clocked back in as parents.

Back in the elevator, Theo’s pain medication had kicked in enough for him to be chatting more. Meanwhile, Jack was a clammy mess and struggling to stomach his anxiety and his husband’s. He tried to conjure up a list of things he’d tell a parent in his position.

Holy shit, none of it was comforting.

Not even his own years of knowledge and understanding of every PMTC staff member - their competency, their expertise, their skills he saw relentlessly - it assuaged none of the turmoil in his gut or his head.

His patient satisfaction score was a sham.

Theo flexed his toes as he was reversed back into West 13, “Can I have a snack please?”

Perlah smiled sympathetically, checking his IV, “Not yet. We gotta make sure you don’t need surgery first.”

“Daddy?” Theo looked up with wide eyes.   

Jack watched Y/N immediately reply, “Yes?”

“Will surgery hurt?”

“No, not at all. But we don’t know if you need it yet. Let’s get your X-ray first.”

“Will that hurt?”

“Maybe a little when they move your arm, but not for long.”

Jack caught his son’s eye, “You counted to a hundred and thirteen when I cleaned up your grazed knee, you remember?”

“Will it take that long?” Theo’s shoulders curled inwards. Flashbacks of getting a particularly nitty bit of grit from under a flap of skin crossed his eyes.

“No, Theo, nowhere near that long.”

Numbers tumbling quickly out, Theo winced as his arm was shifted through the brace under the X-ray, but the trooper kept found his next number with his parents’ help. Both had to step outside, Theo’s counting wavering when he watched them step away, but they continued numbering in the curtain’s entrance, hands clutching each other’s. The instant the flash was over, Jack and his husband were right back at their son’s side ready to announce forty-four.

Between fielding the requests for food and maintaining the avoidance of looking at where the IV was taped to Theo’s hand, Jack took on the heavy lifting. Even after moving to days, he was still the parent with the least presence compared to Y/N, yet Theo was turning to him more and more today for answers to his ceaseless questions. Maybe because Y/N was there when it happened-

“Good news, it’s a clean and single break,” Mohan showed the family the X-Ray on an iPad, Theo the most engaged he’d been that day. “No surgery, just a cast and you, Theo, get to choose what colour you’d like.”

The answer was instant. “Green.”

“You know what that means?” Jack patted his son’s pillow. “Anything you want for dinner.”

The gasp paired with beaming eyes melted the older man’s heart as Theo whispered awestruck, “Even Red Robin?”

Not what he thought Theo would go for, but Jack acquiesced, “Sure, big fella, whatever you want. Gotta take it easy these next few weeks though.”

“Okay. Wait!” Theo shuffled up in the bed, not getting too far with his arm strapped down. His expression was distraught and his voice wobbled, “Will I miss the zoo?”

Tears swiftly flooding his eyes, Jack cupped Theo’s head and kissing his brow. Since he brought the permission slip home, not a day had gone by without Theo badgering on about the field trip. Today was no different in spite of everything that had happened.

“As long as you rest up and listen to your daddy and me, and to our friends here, you can still go,” Jack promised.

“Yes, Papa.”

Regardless of the promise for Red Robin, Theo began dozing off sharpish. His head lolled in a way that would cause a crick in his neck. The young boy didn’t seem to care about that; his parents did. Y/N propped him up on a fluffed ER pillow and his rolled hoodie, leaving his denim jacket over the back of his chair. Then he pressed a kiss upon Theo’s crown and stroked through his hair. His lips moved with a sound that couldn’t surface over the ER’s wavelengths.

Jack watched the scene unfold, unable to connect to the warmth that he saw. His heart was stuck inside this futility that afflicted every parent when something beyond their control and repair happened to their child. He stood slowly as if he was wading through molasses, the helplessness sticking to every part of him.

“Going to stretch your leg?” It was one of Y/N’s favourite awful jokes, yet it stumbled rather than pirouetted out of him. His mouth was stretched too thin.

“Want anything for dinner?” Jack asked instead of inquiring.

“After what I’ve heard about the cafeteria? God no.”

There it was again, this thinness to his husband’s words but not so thin that Jack could see through them to what the source was. Jack pinned it to worry about their son, feeling in himself the residual panic despite knowing that Theo was more than fine now.

“There’s a vending machine,” he offered weakly, “And you heard the man: Red Robin.”

Y/N smiled through his son’s auburn curls, “If you’re buyin’.”

So, Jack placed the order and headed to his truck. His phone paired automatically and resumed Cigarette Daydreams from a sing-along he started with Theo two days ago. It vibrated with all the notifications that the Pitt had barricaded from entering his screen, including but not limited to the following: a “thank you” automated email for renewing his subscription to ExpressVPN, motion detected in the back yard, a local theatre’s latest ticket release. Empty booster seat in the rear-view mirror, Jack drove mindlessly to collect the burgers and return with them still warm.

En route back to West 13, Jack occupied his hand and mind with swiping to delete his unnecessary phone notifications. It was a successful plan until he came across the notification from his security system about the back garden again.

Before Jack could talk himself out of it, he was opening the app and scrubbed through the footage until-

The fixed angle gave a full view of the back garden. Theo had been running laps around the space holding a water pistol. Speaker spluttering his cries that someone was “getting away! Go!”, the little lad indelicately banged from fence to fence and around his garden architecture, ducking behind the flower bed his dad still hadn’t finished building.

“Open fire!” Theo screeched, aiming his pistol at the house and squirting.

The arc was pitiful. Not even reaching a foot above Theo’s head, it landed a few feet from its target. Theo’s disappointment was palpable in his slumped shoulders.

Even a stranger to Theo could see the eureka moment strike him. The young boy went ramrod straight and burst into a trot, water sloshing about the plastic magazine eagerly. Theo reached the big orange slide; he made his ascent double time. Jack’s heart stuttered when Theo let go of the railings with both hands to fire water at the house. The splash sounded off camera and Theo roared with jubilation, grabbing both slide railings and heaving his body weight back and forth in some kind of hip-thrust of success.

In the next second, his hands were empty.

The second after that, he was flung into the ground, reverberating the echo of his skull against the hollow of his bike’s frame that Jack had just noticed at the bottom of the slide steps.

Jack’s breath released from his ribcage, clacking along each bar as it slipped past his guard. The video continued, his husband appearing out of thin air at Theo’s side. The boy’s mouth was agape like a torn sore. No sound emerged from him, the camera not even picking up Theo’s winded hiss over the sound of Y/N’s reassurance that he was “okay, you’re okay, sweetie”.

Then, on autopilot, Jack’s pointer finger rewound the video back to the initial topple and paused. Theo’s hauling body weight had lifted the end of the slide off the yellowing grass - not enough to tip but plenty to scare his little man into letting go.

“Hey, man!”

A clap on the shoulder shocked Jack out of his tunnel vision. Robby, blissfully unaware of any emotional turmoil, gave his signature close-lipped old teddy bear smile, “Bring any of your SWAT buddies in today?”

“Theo’s broken his arm.”

The smile dropped, “Oh shit, Man.” Robby’s hand followed suit, swinging loose at his side. “I’m sorry. How’d he manage that?”

But before Jack could stumble through an explanation or reveal the video, a voice called out to him.

“Ahoy, Captain.”

Only one person was allowed to call Jack that; Y/N waved from an awkward distance away and greeted the other man, “Hi, Robby.”

Thankfully, Robby was already in doctor mode, greeting and offering his apologies for the situation.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Y/N’s deflection wobbled on its way out.

Robby redirected back to his coworker, “I’ll start rounds without you. Go be with your son.”

And he was already around the corner by the time he finished his insistences that Jack return to his real job as a father.

“You got the food okay?” Y/N gestured to the paper bag under his arm.

Then he stilled, his arm hovering unnaturally between them. Jack traced his husband’s gaze down to his phone, the older man’s settings running his phone’s battery dry to keep that screen on just a little longer.

Jack’s lips grimaced. A cry had crawled up his throat like a J-horror character out the TV except it was pressing up against the glass screen of his mouth, cracking the film, demanding to be heard. He swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry I let this happened to him,” Y/N said suddenly, his hands wringing in front of him, “I swear I was watching him. I did everything you said as soon as he fell. But I should’ve been better.”

Jack’s voice seemed to arrive at last, “What?”

“I know I should’ve been keeping a better eye on him, kept my eye on him the whole time!”

His voice snagged at the end like a cloth on a nail, the rip guttural and irreparable. Jack had just enough wherewithal to put their only meal of the day on the floor before he snatched his husband in, tight as a rubber band.

Jack’s breath was hot against his husband’s ear, “Don’t apologise. I mean it. You did everything right.”

Then his whispers shrank, almost inaudible below the intercom overhead, but Y/N heard him, felt him mumble, “He was pretending to be me. He fell because he was pretending to be me.”

Feeling Y/N exhale, deflating and sagging in his embrace, Jack listened to his husband’s quiet quip: “He does that a lot. Remember when he was learning to walk?”

Such a bittersweet memory. What Jack knew as his swaying gait adapting to his prosthetic, what Y/N called his swagger (among other things that weren’t appropriate for their son’s ears), it was also Theo’s waddle once he progressed from crawling. Watching the two walk side by side, it was hard for anyone not to be endeared to the Abbots. Jack went into mourning later that year when he realised Theo had stabilised into a more regular stride.

“You’re his hero.”

“Why can’t he…” Jack pulled back to wipe his eyes despite none falling, “Why the SWAT stuff?”

“Because Papa helps heal people even when he’s not at his job.”

“I don’t even do it anymore.”

“He found your SWAT gear the other day when playing hide and seek.” Y/N pulled on Jack’s collection of IDs clipped to his waist, his lanyard snatching it back. “This isn’t your fault either.”

Jack sighed, “I know.” His body didn’t.

“C’mon,” Y/N nudged the toe of his boot against Jack’s and then let out a laugh that was still wrapped in a sob, “If I can’t blame me, you can’t blame you.”

Jack drew in a deep breath, his eyes shuttered as his breath shuddered.

Then he tilted his head to his husband’s, “Okay.”

Humour to cope was common, but nothing struck the Abbots so deeply as emotional blackmail/chess. That was also humour to cope with how genuine Y/N could be, so genuine it made Jack want to claw his heart out and squeeze it to stop it beating so quickly. His husband’s sweetness was a double-edged sword he was still not armoured against; he hoped he never would be. Jack dried his eyes with the crook of his forefinger as he approached his son’s bed once more.

The sight of Theo practicing hearing Perlah’s heart with Dr. Mohan’s stethoscope in his ears both eased and exacerbated the fathers’ agony. His voice reached them to assure that he was completely fine – even if their alarm bells were still unsettled from the day.

“Why did you put a torch in my eyes before?” Theo asked loudly.

Dr. Mohan’s answer was as patient as she’d always been: “To see how the pupils – the black parts in your eyes– changed. They changed how we wanted them to, so I knew your head was going to be okay.”

 Just as it had been evident when Theo was excited on the camera footage, his joy was clear when he spotted his parents through his overly passionate wave from his unbroken arm. It seemed to levitate him off the bed.

“Papa, Dad! I’m gonna be an X-Ray technician!” he exclaimed across the ER.

“You got the experience already,” Y/N reached him first, “Got your foot in the door early, and your arm.”

“yes, dray, you can come with me. we’re already here,” you said breathlessly, trying to shove the door shut with your hip whilst holding most of draco’s weight in your arms.

“mhmm, you’re warm” he made a pleased little sound against your skin and dropped his forehead heavily onto your shoulder. 

now, it didn’t help that draco malfoy got extra clingy around you whenever he was drunk. and to be completely honest, you were enjoying it more than anything. there was always something about being able to hold him close and taking care of him in a way he would never fully allow when he was fully in control.

you liked how he leaned into you without hesitation and trusting you enough to let his guard drop so that you could see the vulnerable side he kept hidden from everyone else.

he always found his way back to you. every. single. time.

his cold fingers somehow managed to find their way beneath the hem of your shirt to settle at your waist, holding on as though you might vanish if he let go. wrapped around you, the blend of his expensive cologne and firewhisky made everything felt pleasantly lightheaded.

draco made no effort to hold himself up and instead, started rambling incoherently about mattheo owing him money before losing track of his own sentence. he kept on leaning shamelessly against you as you guided him down the hallway with both hands still braced at his waist. 

“y’sleepin’ with me t’night?” he slurred as you guided him into your shared bedroom and eased him down onto the bed.

“i am, dray,” you said as you brushed the blond strands away from his forehead. his cheeks were still flushed pink, and his grey eyes had gone visibly heavy with sleep, blinking slower by the second. 

he let out a quiet hum at you, shoulders loosening into the mattress. his hand lifted sluggishly and searched blindly for you until his fingers found yours and curled them in his bigger one lazily. 

“good,” he mumbled. “hate wakin’ up without you,”

your chest tightened. even in the state of half asleep and drunk, draco could still say things that made your heart start beating rapidly.

“the things you would do,” you muttered, letting go of his fingers and finally tugging off his remaining shoe, setting them aside. “drinking yourself senseless over some ridiculous bet with mattheo,”

draco cracked one eye open, “still won,” he informed as the corner of his lips raised softly. 

you shook your head, trying not to smile as you reached to unbutton his linen white shirt. your fingers worked them open one by one while draco watched through half-lidded eyes, not wanting to miss the way the moonlight caught softly along the soft curve of your face.

the white shirt slid off his arms easily, leaving him shivering as the lingering cold clung to his bare pale skin. draco made no move to help and only tipped his head back further against the pillows and let you fuss over his belt and trousers before carefully taking them off.

“comfortable there?” you murmured dryly as you stood. 

“mmm,” draco hummed softly as he watched you make your way to the walk-in wardrobe. 

after a moment, you came back with a fresh set of comfortable clothes for him.

he gave you the faintest smile as he noticed you had changed into a baby pink pyjama shorts and his white t-shirt that looked way too large for you. still, draco always adored you whenever you wore his clothes—you made them look better, he said.

“c’mere,” you climbed onto the bed next to him and tugged him upright gently. he let you pull him closer until he was finally sitting properly. surprisingly enough, he complied without protest tonight. 

you guided him to lift both of his arms and pull the clean shirt down over his head.  for a moment, he disappeared beneath it, then re-emerged with pale hair even messier than before. you smoothed the shirt down his chest as he watched your hands the entire time until they settled on his lap.

“up,” you said low enough for him to hear and gave his thigh a light tap.

a crooked smile found its way onto draco’s face at your command, but he still did it anyway. draco wouldn’t admit it loud, but he found it extremely hot when you took charge like that. 

he lifted his hips just enough to make it easier for you to slide the new pants into place, and shivered faintly when your fingers brushed against the side of his shin.

“there, feel better now?” you said quietly once his pants were on properly and adjusted the waistband into place while his eyes stayed on you with a steady focus. 

“d’you know you’ve got the prettiest face ever?” he murmured, completely ignoring your question.

a soft laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “well, it’s a good thing you tell me that every day,”

“i do?” he asked, catching your wrist, before you could even answer and tugged you down to his side on the mattress. draco didn’t waste a second when he finally had you close. though, in truth, he hadn’t left your side just a few hours ago at the reunion party with your friends from hogwarts—not even once. 

he loved how easily your face always seemed to settle against his neck like a missing piece finding its place.

you reached to cradle his face in one hand while your other one laced with his. leaning in, you pressed a quick kiss on his lips.

“mm, you promised me that in your vows, baby,” you giggled, peppering more kisses along his jaw.

despite the alcohol, a moment of realization finally struck draco. his gaze dropped to your intertwined fingers; and that’s when he noticed the delicate diamond ring sitting proudly on your fourth finger. the very same one he had chosen with his dear mother a few years ago.

he observed the way the band encircled your finger quietly, reminding him the truth that he had chosen, again and again; that you were his wife. a promise he had made and never once let go of, and never would.

his hand stilled for a moment before his thumb began to move and fiddled with the ring, turning it ever so slightly. draco toyed with it gently. the band shifted slightly beneath his touch until his thumb caught on something carved into the inside of the ring.

Eternally Yours.

his breath hitched softly as he pulled you closer. before you could even settle, draco shifted with ease. he rolled you gently beneath him until your back was pressed against the surface of the warm sheets and hovered over you instead.

merlin, his stormy grey eyes looked even more beautiful from this sight.

draco looked at you for a moment before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. it was slow and deep. your fingers immediately found their place around his neck, brushing against the platinum curls at his nape.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed on yours and his lips brushed against your mouth.

“means i’ve been doing it right, yeah?” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “but darling, above all things, i want you to know this—even without any promise between us, i’d still look at you and let you know how beautiful you truly are. that’s simply the truth, baby,”

his hand reached up and brushed a couple strands of hair out of your face. what draco said was true. even when he was intoxicated with firewhisky, he always meant it. hell, he would’ve told the entire world how much he loved you and that you were the prettiest thing to be alive.

you smiled softly, before pulling him back in and kissed him again with more passion this time.

“thank Merlin, i married a man of his words.”

a/n: edited!

Daryl eyes you both for a moment, clearly hesitant. Wary. You watch his hands— clench, unclench, clench.

Eventually he shakes his head. “Naw.”

“Please,” You pipe up, sweet and small and so damn fuckable. “It’ll make you feel better.”

You’re way too precious. Daryl’s never been so hard. His adrenaline’s high and his blood’s pumping in his ears— all reasons why he shouldn’t get anywhere near you.

“Jus’— not now”

“She can take it.” Rick assures. He stares at Daryl, his eyes that steady blue that have never led Daryl wrong yet.

Then Rick looks at you. “Right, sweetheart? Tell him. Think he needs to hear it from you.”

“I can.” You promise with a nod. You sound more than certain. “I like it, Daryl, you know that.”

Daryl’s not sure when he’d stepped closer, but he realizes suddenly that he’s mere feet away from you. Close enough to touch. He swallows thickly. “I ain’t gonna be gentle.”

You let out a soft moan, and Rick can’t help but laugh.

“Jesus, does she have to beg for it?” Rick moves backwards off the couch, separating from you and granting Daryl access. “Get your fuckin’ pants off and fuck her already.”

Daryl’s on you in the next instant, all rough hands and clanking teeth… but you still feel his restraint. He growls against your mouth as he fumbles with the fly of his pants, and you roll your hips up into him.

“Let me have it, Daryl, please.”

“Shit,” the younger man grits out. “Goddamn, baby.”

He thrusts into you with no fanfare once his cock is freed from his boxers. You gasp at the feeling, hands grappling at his shoulders, eyelids fluttering closed. Daryl growls.

"Look at me."

You don't. If anything your eyes squeeze shut tighter at the feeling of Daryl's thickness stretching your walls. His fingers dig into your hips, his restraint waning.

"Fuckin' look at me--"

"Make her." Rick orders from over his shoulder. "Come on, man, buck up."

Daryl grunts and the last of his self-control snaps. His hand comes down to land heavy pats on your cheek-- almost smacks. The closest he's ever gotten.

"I said look at me, girl." His usually light rasp is lower and darker than you've heard it. "Or do I gotta pry your eyes open?"

"Sorry," you whimper, eyes flying open at the light sting on your cheek and Daryl's harsh tone. "Fuck, Daryl, feels so good."

"Yeah?" Daryl lilts. His hips snap ruthlessly in his frantic pursuit of release. The room rings with the sound of skin slapping skin. His eyes flit around your face, then to your bouncing tits, then down between your legs to watch his cock slide in and out of your tightness. He groans low in his throat. "Fuck, missed this pussy. Only fuckin' thing that knows how to act around here. Knows exactly what it's for, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Daryl." You moan out. That’s a far cry from the usual praise that spills from Daryl's lips, and it makes your toes curl.

"Just a hole for us to fuck, isn't that right honey?" Rick pipes up, adding to the mingled humiliation and arousal that pools in your stomach. "Always ready for us."

"Always." You whimper.

You gasp when Daryl's cock hits just the right spot-- but then he shifts, grabs your leg and hikes it up high to change the angle, and your gasp turns into a disappointed keen.

"No-- wait, I want--"

Daryl's hand comes up to cover your mouth firmly, the side of his index finger pressing lightly against your nostrils and making it hard for you to take in a full breath. "Didn't ask what you want, did I sunshine?"

Your eyes widen, your pussy clenches, and you shake your head beneath his hold. Your eyes flit briefly from Daryl's face to Rick's. You catch a glimpse of his smug smirk.

"That's right," Rick murmurs with a nod. "Tell 'er, Daryl."

Daryl grunts, thrusting hard into you. "This ain't about you. You just gotta lay there and take it. Alrigh'? You got that?"

Daryl removes his hand and you squeak out a quick "Yes."

"Attagirl." Rick praises, and when you look at him again he offers you a single satisfied nod. His arms are crossed over his chest as he watches the scene unfold. "He's makin' it real simple for you, kid, you know that? Takin' it pretty easy on ya. Don't find a way to fuck it up."

"I won't." You insist. Your eyes have glazed over the way they usually do when Rick gets rough and controlling, and when those eyes meet Daryl's his cock throbs inside you. "I'll be good, I promise. I'll take it."

"You better." He grits out. His thrusts grow sloppier, losing their quick steady rhthym as his orgasm approaches.

He leans down to kiss you, all tongue and teeth, and you whine pathetically into his mouth. Saliva connects your lips when he pulls away. The sight makes something wild and dark flash behind his eyes. Before you can really identify it, Daryl’s spitting at your parted lips. You moan as the saliva lands, messy, on your lips, tongue, chin, and cheek.

You swallow, making Daryl groan, then your tongue darts out to gather the rest of what it can. Rick’s distant “fuck” barely registers as background noise. You just blink up at Daryl, lower face shining and eyes surely as crazed as his own.

“Shit,” Daryl growls. He’s so close he feels like he could burst right open. “Gonna take my cum like a good girl?"

"Please," You moan out. "Yes, Daryl, please, want you to fill me up, want you to feel good---"

"Fuck, tha's my girl."

Daryl's forehead rests heavily on yours, his intense eyes locked on yours as he drives his hips forward one final time.

You whine lewdly at the feeling of Daryl’s warm cum spilling into you, his thick cock throbbing against your walls as it pumps out every last drop. Your hands grip into his muscled shoulders, nails digging deep crescents

“Daryl,” you whimper. “Ohmygod, feels so good.”

Daryl just groans in lieu of a response. His lips find your neck, kissing and nipping and biting as he rides out his high.

When he does, he pulls out of you quietly, slumping backwards against the arm of the couch. You’re left wanton and panting, cunt clenching uselessy around nothing.

"Here, sweetheart." Rick drawls, settling down on the couch cushion beside your head and urging you over with two fingers. "Want me to help you out?"

"Yessir," you slur breathlessly. You crawl towards Rick, slow and clumsy on shaky limbs, and he chuckles as he grasps under your arms to haul you onto his lap with a gruff “c’mere.”

You let out a tired sigh as you settle onto Rick’s lap. The man’s pent up from watching Daryl take you like that— you can tell by the rippling tendons in his arms and the hard tension in his abdomen as your warm, wet pussy envelopes his leaking cock. He chokes on his groan.

“What a good girl you are.” He murmurs, low and gentle. “Helpin’ Daryl out like that.”

Rick's hand moves between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. It's sloppy, the sound of it all as Daryl's cum leaks out of your pussy around his cock.

“Wanna be good,” you reply, near mindless. Your head falls limp against Rick’s shoulder, and you don’t move aside from the involuntary twitch of your hips at the sensitive pleasure. You just let the man to fuck up into you on his own accord.

“Y’so good, dollface.” Daryl rasps from the other side of the couch. He seems to have settled, his eyes sharp and calm as he watches Rick finish you off. Returned to himself. “Best girl I know.”

That praise does you in. You tremble in Rick’s lap as your orgasm washes over you, slow and tense and long overdue. His hand finds he back of your neck, cradling your head.

"That's it, cum for me, just like that," Rick growls in your ear. Then he presses a kiss to your temple, and his hips jut upwards two more times before he groans and adds his own load to your spent pussy.

You collapse against his chest, entirely exhausted. Another kiss is pressed to your cheekbone, prickly with stubble and making you squirm and let out a weak giggle. Rick smiles into your hairline.

"Tired?"

"Beat." You affirm. Your fingers idly trace shapes on Rick's upper arms as he rubs your back.

Daryl reappears suddenly with a damp cloth in hand. You hadn't even noticed him leave, sneaky bastard. Your smile widens when you look at him.

"Feel better, Dar?"

He grunts as he squats down behind you, waiting for Rick to pull out slowly before he can start wiping you clean. He doesn't verbally respond until you cast a pout his way.

"Yeah, 'm better." He chews his inner cheek, seeming unsure, then deadpans. "Yer pussy... it magic, or somethin?" He flashes you a look, and seems relieved to see you grinning in amusement. "Some kinda drug?"

You giggle outright at that and offer Daryl a noncommital shrug. "Maybe. Jus' don't go tellin everybody."

and it is a good dream, it is. john, your boyfriend, and you are on a secluded beach somewhere in cape cod, getting toasty under the warm sun. the warmth feels so good on your skin, a welcome contrast to the cold air the AC has been blasting all night long (blame the unbearable pittsburgh summer). a smile spreads over your lips when you feel john’s skin against yours, lips touching, the wet trail of saliva carving a path from your chin to the valley of your breasts.

it is maddening.

the feeling only gets worse when his soft digits run freely around your body; a light squeeze to your bikini clad breast, followed by a harsher one that makes you moan into his mouth, a bite on your neck synchronised with a pinch on your waist, john’s fingers making their unhurried way across the soft of your stomach to where your pink and orange bikini is tied together, torturously pulling on the strings to undo the knot, even more torturously so making his way down to your drenched heat.

once, twice, three times john circles his index and middle fingers against your clit and–

da-da-da-da

the iphone’s annoying “radar” ringtone shrills around the room, making you jolt awake and scramble to get the device on your night stand, dropping it once before clumsily sliding the “slide to stop” button to the right. 

it is your weekly alarm, meaning the sun is about to rise, that five in the morning has arrived and it is time for you to wake up. 

or it would have been if it were a normal friday.

after carefully coordinating your days off, you and john were finally able to have a three day weekend off together. 

you curse under your breath, silently praying and hoping that your slip up didn’t wake john, as it was a rare occurrence for the man to sleep so soundly at night. 

you turn back to your previous spot and try to get cozy again, fluffing and hugging your pillow tighter and covering yourself with your downy duvet, when a pair of toned arms, the ones you love so much, circles your waist and brings you close to a shirtless chest. 

“mornin’.” john rasped out.

“good morning, baby. sorry i woke you up.”

“it’s okay.” he soothed your worries, hugging you tighter and kissing the nape of your neck. the action makes you moan softly, and john is quick to let you know how pleased he is that his move got a small reaction from you, with a smile against the same smooth skin he had just kissed. “did you sleep well?”

“mhm.” you yawn. “i was having a really good dream before the alarm scared me awake.” you move a little in his arms, trying to find a more comfortable position, only to feel something rather… sturdy against the bare part of your ass. it makes john groan and you stifle a laugh, pretending to not have noticed his very obvious morning wood. you circle your hips once again to add a bit more fuel to the fire, and john grabs your waist gently to stop you. “what about you?”

“i passed out.” john laughs. “what were you dreaming about?” 

“we were on a beach.”

john tightens his hold on you, bringing your body impossibly closer to his and, automatically, you rub your ass against his cock again, with more precision this time. the shuddering breath the both of you let out is a bit pathetic, but nothing you aren’t used to. he sneaks a hand inside your sleep shirt, the touch oh so familiar, running over the expanse of your tummy and stopping right under your right breast, where his thumb is now rubbing against the sensitive skin there. “yeah?”

there is something about john’s touch that acts like a tranquiliser on you, it calms your nerves when you are angry and turns you into putty in his hands when the both of you are horny. it is exactly what it is doing to you right now. 

“mhm.” you nodded. 

“which beach, baby?” john asks. the arm he has around your clavicle tightens, making you straighten up and giving him enough leverage to bring the same fingers that were playing with your underboob, to the gusset of your drenched panties. you moan a little harder this time, move your ass a little gawkily trying to get some friction. john woke up in a mood, and it is always so frustrating when he does so because he knows how to work you, knows how lazy your brain is when you have just woken up, how annoyed you get when he has the gall to “huh” you, to force you to go on when your brain is still trying to form a coherent thought. and he did it just now. 

you groan. “the one i sent you the tiktok of.”

“what is it called?” john prodded, punctuating his question by finally getting his fingers inside your underwear. you tried to answer, but the feel of his fingers going up and down, up and down, from your crying hole to your clit, made you stutter and lose your train of thought. john chuckled. “herring cove, right?”

you nod. 

“tell me about your dream, love.”

“we–we were at the beach. j–just us and– god, FUCK!” john slid both of his index and middle fingers inside your heat at the same time. and even with as wet as you were, it was a tight fit. it wasn’t an unbearable pain, john was always careful to never hurt you, but the ache that came with the intrusion was more pleasurable than anything. “go on, baby”

“it was just u–us at the beach. it was so, s–so good. warm and not his awful heat we have right now. i had that p–pink and orange bikini you like so much and we were– we were– john, please!” his fingers are working inside of you, not thrusting in and out like some dudes always insisted on doing, but massaging that sweet spot that makes you see stars with lazy intent.

it is driving you crazy. 

“we were what, honey?”

“we–we were making out and it felt so, so good, so real. shit, j–john, i’m gonna c–“

your orgasm washes over you softly. and it feels so damn good. your skin is buzzing, that static feeling only the mix of oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin can give you when it runs through your veins, giving you that same floaty feeling you had when you were dreaming minutes ago. 

it is ridiculous how john is the only man that has ever made you feel this way. yeah, you have had others before him, had a boyfriend here and there, random one night stands that you refused to think about because taking your clothes off lasted more than the act itself. 

but with john? it was like a whole new world had revealed itself for you.

you met him through a friend of a friend. laura and you had met for your monthly drinks and yapping session. not even thirty minutes in, caleb, laura’s friend, showed up with his cute friend and greeted her. introductions were made, you moved to a bigger table and, next thing you knew, you had a date with john shen the next saturday. what a weekend that was. (yes, weekend.)

the orgasm made you greedy, you had to have john inside of you. your arms are still constricted by his, body so tightly held together by him that you can’t turn around. as usual, john reads your mind, or maybe you beg, your mind is so foggy with a primal need that you are not sure. all you hear is the shuffling fabric of his sleep shorts, his free hand lifting your right thigh, followed by the blunt head of his cock breaching your cunt and teeth and tongue against your shoulder. 

“fuck.”

“shit.”

you moan in unison. 

john starts a slow and deep pace and it is fucking annoying. not because it is bad, no, never is, but because it is hitting where you need him to from the first thrust. and you know it seems counterintuitive, but you like it when it takes a bit longer to get it right, like to chase the feeling and prolong the act. 

“you feel so good, baby.” he murmurs in your ear and you try to answer him, give him one back and tell him he feels the same, but the only thing that leaves your mouth is a pathetic moan. he chuckles on top of you. 

“hey, look at me. give me a kiss.” john orders, softly. his thumb presses a little harder against your cheek, just enough to turn your face back to his. you crane your neck and john meets you halfway, in a messy kiss that he has to make it right on his own, since you have already hit a blissed out state that only deepens each time the tip of his cock hits your swollen g-spot. 

you can feel it creeping. the tips of your fingers are numb and you are pretty sure your thighs are starting to tremble. john isn’t far behind, he has let go of the leg he was holding and turned both of your bodies face down to the mattress. you tuck your face on your pillow, grab the edge of your mattress so hard that your knuckles whitens. 

john is spewing what you assume to be a string of curses on top of you and has lost control of his hips; the once slow and deep thrusts have turned into an unruly staccato rhythm that has turned your brain into mush. 

your second orgasm hits you like a freight train. it doesn’t sneak up on you and washes you softly like the first, no. it explodes, makes your vision white out and you a little deaf in your ears. slowly, you realise john has reached his peak too when you feel his cock twitching and the warmth of him emptying out inside of you. he keeps riding out both of your orgasms for five seconds or five minutes, who knows, but it becomes so unbearable you push him out. 

john tries to bring you close to him, but the aftershocks of your orgasm are so strong that the contact is almost painful that it makes you whine, and he knows to let you have a second for yourself. 

sometimes, an orgasm hits you so strongly that a simple kiss feels unbearable. you cried the first time it happened with john, and the poor guy was so worried he had hurt you that he panicked and got into doctor mode. you still laugh about it years later. 

john stretches and gets up, makes his way to the kitchen and comes back gulping down a tall glass of water, also carrying a twin one for you in his other hand that he sets in your nightstand. 

he finds you laying face up, staring at the ceiling like it is the most interesting view in the world. john tests to see if you are back on earth with a kiss on your forehead and a whispered “are you ok?”, to which you nod “yes” back. 

he doesn’t give you much time for anything else, only a “john, i’m still sen–sensitive. holy fuck!” after he makes himself comfortable between your legs, grabs your thighs and licks a strip up your cunt. john eats you out, better yet, cleans you up like his life depends on it. it is maddening, it is dirty and pin pricks are starting to stab your skin again. 

“john, baby, i can’t cum again.” you sob and push him away. 

he rises with the most proud look on his face you have ever seen, and a mixture of both of your spents on his chin. 

“what has gotten into you today?” you giggle. 

no, seriously. you have gotten two earth shattering orgasms and an out of body experience and it is not even fucking five-thirty yet. 

“honestly,” john says and lays back on his side, this time pulling you in to lay your head on his chest. “i was also dreaming we were having mind blowing sex on a beach. thought it was some divine signal or whatever.”

you burst out laughing. “to fuck me until i pass out?”

he shrugs and says “i don’t know.” in that mumbly voice he does sometimes. “you haven’t drank your water.”

“i will.” you yawn. 

“what do you want for breakfast?” john queries. 

“i could go for that cream cheese salmon bagel from down the street.” you yawn again and continue “but right now, i think we should go back to sleep.”

Robby liked to watch you. Jack said it was creepy, but you didn’t mind.

You were full of color, from the way you dressed, to the way you decorated, to your personality. It was pleasing to the eye and soul alike, like every word, smile, and movement you made left a bright rainbow streaking in its wake. You were delicate, like a flower, in your motions, but strong in your convictions.

You smelled good, too. Somehow, though they were everywhere, your apartment never held the aroma of cats. Your skin smelled like apple body wash, your sheets like citrus dew, and the air like whatever seasonally appropriate concoction you had boiling on the stove. The combination of all three seemed to smell like sunshine itself.

And your energy. The ease with which you seemed to operate. Robby, the broken down, traumatized old doctor, hardly recognized himself when he was with you. It was like you took half the weight he carried around, but somehow, it didn’t bog you down at all. You were like a mythical metal, taking in only that which made you stronger. And according to you, every experience had its merit.

The days Robby started with you were good ones. The days without, felt sour. Simply observing you in your natural habitat, getting ready, washing up, tidying, purring to your cats, was lifegiving to him. More fulfilling than any hobby he’d tried to force himself into before, at the bequest of a quickly ghosted therapist. 

If he could do it with you, Robby was eager to do anything, no matter how mundane. It took the laundry from your arms to fold, took the sponge from your hand to scrub, took your feet into his lap to massage. Happily.

These were just some of the reasons Robby listed in his forty-five minute long rant explaining why moving in together would be a wonderful idea.

He didn’t just want moments in the sun. He wanted to live in the sun. Lounge to his heart’s content.

“I mean, I already spend most nights at your place anyways,” he said. “I have a key. And your neighbors know me. Eloise has totally come around to me.”

You laid over his lap. It was a balmy summer day in August, and the rain currently pounding the pavement below was the first reprieve from the stifling heat you’d had in days. The moment the clouds overtook the sky, and the first few drops tapped against the window, Robby hardened in his resolve to finally speak the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for months.

Rain reminded him of you. It had rained on your first date. Rained the day he told you he loved you, blurted it out, despite how early it seemed. You’d smiled and said it right back. It was raining again, and more than anything in that moment, he wanted you to say yes.

He hadn’t exactly given you a chance yet, though. After “I think we should move in together,” he launched immediately into his explanation, without giving you a second to formulate a response. Now, the better part of an hour later, he was finally winding down from his passionate speech. You’d listened patiently, humming and nodding, wrapped around him.

He fiddled with your stripy shorts as he ran out of words.

“Are you done?” you asked gently.

“Yes,” he said, pink in the face.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s move in together.”

Robby pictured himself, should he have been so lucky for you to say yes, jumping to his feet with you in his arms, spinning you around, drowning you in frantic kisses. But when he heard those words from your lips, so long awaited, he collapsed under the comfortable blanket of relief and joy. All he could bring himself to do was sink into your hold, squishing his face into your warm neck. He laid on top of you, tangled in you, for hours into the night after that. You held him tight, playing with his hair, unable to stop your smiling so long as you could feel Robby’s against your skin.

The next day, you woke up bright and early to get a head start on classroom set up. As an experienced teacher, you weren’t naive enough to leave all the work until the last possible month. The school printers would have issues with all the tech people out on vacation and unable to fix them. Storage offered was often iffy, and in your second year teaching, you came in August first ready to set up, only to find that a leak had destroyed half of your decorations and supplies.

You never made that mistake again.

Robby insisted on accompanying you whenever he wasn’t working, helping to reach high places, and use his old handyman skills he gained helping his grandmother around her house. Indeed, your sticky lock hadn’t been bothering you for a while, and the top windows actually opened now.

That day, though, Robby seemed more interested in getting a jump on apartment hunting.

“You don’t like my apartment?” you asked, as he set up his laptop on your cluttered desk.

“I love your apartment,” he said, sliding on his glasses. “I hate your landlord.”

By lunch, you had cut out and laminated all twenty-six of your kid’s colorful nametags, and Robby had flagged several promising looking places to visit. It seemed simple. They were nice places. But none of them seemed quite right to Robby.

The first open house you attended, there were a pair of young huskies that howled bloody murder at the snap of a door closing, or the TV. The next, it was not enough natural light. The one after that, too much natural light.

“It’d be a workout just to get some simple privacy!” Robby argued, gesturing to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You? You were flexible, as always. You were no stranger to shitbox apartments, what with living on a teachers salary all your adult life. You knew how to brighten a place up, even the dankest, grayest places.

Where Robby saw cramped, you saw cozy. Where he saw old and dingy, you saw charming and vintage. Where he saw ugly, you saw potential. 

But it was going to be his house too, and you wanted him to be happy, just as much as he wanted you to be happy. You were quite content being dragged from showing to showing, while running out your lease with Robby by your side.

By the end of August, however, you had no choice but to start packing up. Robby kept insisting the right place would be just around the corner, and it wouldn’t serve you to renew the lease, which would expire in September. So you agreed to just move into his apartment until the “right place” decided to finally make an appearance.

And it did, about one week into the school year. You were bubble wrapping the last of your picture frames, when Robby returned from work looking much more excited than a man just off a twelve hour shift should have. He set down his things, toed off his shoes, and planted a big kiss on your lips.

“Hello,” you said.

“Hi,” he said, collapsing down next to you on the floor. “I’ve found the perfect place.”

You raised a brow.

“While you were at work?”

“Yep,” he said happily, scratching Lisa behind the ears. “An old teacher of mine is retiring, and he’s moving to Florida and selling his house. It’s an old brownstone downtown. It’s closer to the hospital and your school.”

You had to set down your tape. Living in a classic brownstone in the city had long since been a dream of yours, but you’d never be able to afford it. And in a prime spot like the one Robby was describing? It seemed too good to be true.

“That sounds… amazing,” you said truthfully.

“It is,” he said, beaming. “It will be. I promise.”

He hadn’t broken a promise yet, so you agreed to go see it that Saturday. Robby’s old teacher and his wife were very nice people, who seemed excited to move on to the next chapter in their story, away from the toxic highs and lows of medicine and the hustle and bustle of the city. The place was both everything you could have dreamed of, and your worst nightmare.

The large apartment you had in mind, which already seemed luxurious to you, was quickly blown away by the reality of the massive, three story rowhouse you explored. There was brick, and real hardwood floors, and big windows. The ensuite bathroom was ginormous, far bigger than anything you’d ever peed in before. Everything from the deck, to the open kitchen, to the ornate banisters filled you with both dread and excitement.

“It’s served us well for thirty years now,” said Mrs. Hinsen fondly. “Robby assured me it would be in the best of hands.”

“Yes, it’s very important to Sarah that it goes to someone who won’t go modernizing,” said Dr. Hinsen. “Someone who’ll care for the wood, and preserve the molding, and such.”

And you wanted to explode, because of course you wouldn’t think of tarnishing such a beauty as this. After the tour, the couple left you to discuss. Robby was watching you apprehensively.

“Tell me this isn’t perfect,” he said, watching your wide, sparkly eyes rove around the room.

“It’s perfect,” you said. “But Mikey — five bedrooms. Three stories. A deck. A fireplace. A laundry room.” He nodded. “We can’t afford this.”

“Yes, yes we can,” he said, grabbing your waist gently. “They said they’d let it go at a better price for me. And I’ve spent years saving up for something just like this.”

You bit your lip.

“You can afford it,” you said, smoothing the collar of his shirt. “But I —”

“So let me,” he interrupted. “Just let me take care of you. Please?”

You let out a breathy laugh.

“Robby, this is — this isn’t like buying me lunch, or the fancy whiteboard markers,” you said. “This is a house.”

“It’s our future,” he said softly. “Besides, if teachers were paid what they deserved, you’d be able to buy a house ten times bigger than this.”

You shook your head, but you were already tearing up. Robby rubbed his thumbs back and forth on your hips. It was a lot. It was bigger and better than anything you could have imagined. But maybe, for the first time, you didn’t have to work yourself to the bone. Because Michael was watching you with his big brown eyes, brimming with happiness, begging to do this for you.

Before you could change your mind, you were nodding.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

That time, Robby did spin you around and jump for joy.

And so began the process of moving in. You realized that you had much more stuff than you thought, but it still wasn’t enough to fill the new place. You got a lot of cardio running up and down the many sets of stairs, at your old apartment, Robby’s old apartment, and the three floors of your new house. You ordered runners for the stairs, rugs to fit spaces much bigger than your old ones could, and a real dining table with matching chairs.

The cats settled in pretty quickly, chasing each other through the halls, and looking out the windows for hours at a time. You could tell they were still getting acclimated to having this much space, and you were too. You had a bedroom, a cat room, and a craft room, and still had two more empty ones to spare.

You liked being able to decorate a front stoop that was really all yours, and you pictured sitting out with a bowl of candy on the fast approaching night of Halloween. Robby screened in the back deck so the cats could get fresh air like they’d never had before. Harry, in particular, loved it. You’d find him out there any time, night or day.

It was a dream. You pictured yourself hosting Thanksgiving dinner, and birthday parties. Your book club would finally have a steady meeting place. And yes, maybe one of the spare bedrooms would be converted to a nursery, one day.

The first really chilly October day of the season found Robby grumbling, sniffling, and sent home early with a cold. Even still, it sent a thrill through his congested chest that home meant this.

The leaves crunched underfoot as he dragged them up the steps, past the pumpkin display you set up, and through the unlocked front door. Through his clogged up nose, he was hit with the unmistakable scent of something rich and savory cooking on the stove. The lights were on, and he could hear you humming along with a Nat King Cole record. He could picture you even before you were in his sight, swaying as you stirred.

“Moony?” he called out, kicking off his boots haphazardly.

There was a clang, a pattering, and you appeared around the corner. You were wearing your usual beaming grin, along with a frilly apron, a pair of star strewn pajama pants, his hoodie, and your worn slippers.

“You’re home!”

You hopped over to bestow upon him a hug and a sweet kiss. He glanced at the clock, and saw that it was four in the afternoon. You started undressing him, taking his bag, then his sweater, then his scrub top.

“Yeah, what are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you had the spelling tests to grade?”

“I do,” you said simply, hanging up his things and steering him further inside. “I brought them home. I didn’t want you to come home and crash without eating anything.”

“How —”

“Dana called me when she decided to send you home,” you said simply.

“Meddler,” he mumbled halfheartedly.

“She cares about you,” you said. “I’m making you a stew. Go shower, I already set out comfy clothes on the bed.”

“Wait,” he said, “how was your day?”

“Good, I’ll tell you once you’re showered and full. Pip pip! Off like a bunny!”

He let the steam loosen up some of the gunk in his head, then slipped into his fleecy clothes. With the day’s stress washed off, the exhaustion was settling in. Not the frantic, nagging exhaustion being at work gave him, but the safe, warm, cozy exhaustion you brought. It was nice, because deep in his bones he knew he was safe, and this was where he would rest.

When he slouched back out to the living room, it was to find a steaming bowl of something delicious waiting for him on the coffee table, and the couch made up with bed pillows and blankets. You sat on the floor with your back to it, grading papers with concentration scrunching your face.

“Sit down, mister,” you said without looking up, jabbing a thumb behind you at the inviting set up. “And before you do anything, drink that entire glass of water.”

“Yes ma’am,” he croaked, collapsing readily, and grabbing the cup.

While he drank, Lisa wandered up to settle on his chest, purring. With protest, you scooched her down to his lap so you could replace the glass in Robby’s hands with the bowl. He still gave her some scratches in between bites.

“Good?” you asked, tucking the blanket up around him.

“Great,” he said. “Thank you, honey.”

You leaned back against his knee and kept grading, glancing backwards every so often to ensure he was still eating. It wasn’t until the bowl was completely empty that you set it aside, and pushed him back onto the stacked pillows.

“Get some rest,” you said, kissing his forehead.

“Hold on,” he said, clutching your hand with all his remaining strength. It wasn’t much, but you stayed perched next to him anyway. “You have to tell me about your day now.”

You smiled, and leaned against him. Your free hand went to his hair and began brushing it back in slow rhythmic motions.

“Alright,” you said, thinking. “Well, I think Tommy and Andre are finally friends again. They really let a silly tiff about a Kpop Demon Hunters pencil case go way too far. And I think the new book of the week is going to be The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear.”

By the time you had explained the plot of the book to him, both Robby and Lisa were fast asleep. You smiled fondly, pressed one last kiss to each of their heads, and turned back to your papers. With the roaring fire, Eloise lounging on top of the half-filled bookshelf, Harry trying to get a sniff of your dinner, and the love of your life safe and snoozing comfortably behind you, you were content.

You had to pinch yourself when you remembered that this was the norm. From now on, it would be you and your Mikey, Mikey and you, for all the years to come.

---

requests open!

robby masterlist

No one wanted to tell Pope.

J’s hands tremble as he stands by the backyard door, looking out into the pool. Nicky can hardly contain her own sobs as she also takes in the sight in front of her. “Is she alive?!” She asks between violent and harsh breaths. J is too busy staring at the puddle gathered around Y/N.

The liquid is dark, but due to the concrete absorbing it, he couldn’t tell if it was the pool water, or blood.

“J!” Nicky cries as he finally snaps.

“What?! Fuck! Nicky, what?!” He shouts, the panic setting in finally, pushing the horror to the pit of his stomach.

“Is she fucking alive?!” Nicky cries more, her tense body jerking as she stomps her foot aggressively. J looks back at Y/N’s soaked and limp form.

“She fucking better be…” He whispers, mostly to himself.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here..

When the car had first screeched to a halt outside the Cody residence, Y/N had seen the men hop out the car before J or Nicky could fully understand what was happening.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here.

Y/N had ordered the couple into a bedroom and told them to not make a sound.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here!

J and Nicky listened from the bedroom as Y/N refused to speak to them about a damn thing. The sounds quickly turning from aggressive to just plain violent, but anytime J tried to move, Nicky would grab a hold of him, quietly begging him to not leave her alone.

J paces a bit, building up the courage to go out there, to check on her until he hears it. A car. Freezing, he barely registers Nicky rushing to his side to grip his shirt. “Fuck!” She cries as the front door opens.

That’s the only thing that settles J. Whoever parked in the driveway was supposed to be here. Until he hears the voice of the mystery person.

“Go get your shoes, tot. I’m sure mommy’s waiting up..”

Pope.

Fuck.

Pope walks over to the kitchen, pausing as he sees the two teens shaking with tear stained cheeks. “What?” He asks, his jaw instantly tensing in a way it hadn’t before.

Why would it have been? He’d been out all day with his three year old daughter, Aria. A relaxing evening was spent, and now here he was, letting all that stress come right back into his system.

Y/N had only popped by the Cody residence tonight because she assumed Pope was here, not knowing her husband had actually left for ice cream with Aria and Deran about 20 minutes before she’d pulled up.

She wasn’t supposed to be here..

J can’t speak as he stares at his uncle. The man who terrified him to the bone, the man who he only ever really saw smile thanks to the woman who’s still lying limp outside. The man who he didn’t know had emotions until he saw him tear up at Aria’s first steps and words.

“What?” Pope barks now, making Nicky jump a bit.

J feels his heart hammer against his chest. It’s in his ears, in his skull. It’s doing the talking for him. Pope finally looks beyond the two teens, his look of annoyance fading. Melting. Into one of pure horror.

J almost breaks. For so long, he thought of Pope as the devil.

Who knew the devil could get scared?

There’s no words exchanged as Pope runs out to the pool area. Deran walks into the kitchen, holding Aria only to be blocked by a shaking Nicky.

“Sh-She shouldn’t… see this.” She stammers as she takes a pouty Aria from Deran. J watches from the sliding glass door as Pope shakes an unconscious Y/N.

“Baby? B-Baby?” Pope whispers as he urgently checks his pulse and puts his head to her chest. He hears the heartbeat of his lover, but maybe that’s his own.

“Baby?!” He shouts, voice raw and authoritative as he tries to open her eyes. “Don’t fucking do this to me!” He struggles against his own panic to get the words out.

“Don’t fucking… Y/N!” He snaps as he begins CPR.

“Fuck..” Deran breathes out in shock as he watches his brother lose it.

“W-What do we do?” J asks finally, fidgeting with his phone, as if waiting for the word to call.

Deran doesn’t answer as he watches Pope start compressions.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking.. Leave me. Don’t you fucking leave me! Baby..” Pope pants out roughly as he focuses on just this. He can do this, just this, forever. He has no choice in the matter. He does this.. Or he dies too.

There was no in-between here. He would be with her, because his end was her. His beginning was her.

Pope had known Y/N since high school. She wasn’t extremely popular, but to a young Pope Cody, she was a goddess. Funny, smart, caring. The first time they ever interacted was when Pope was getting arrested for stealing computers from the high school. The cops had him to the ground and Y/N had rushed over to tell them to not be so rough.

‘You don’t even know if he did it! Innocent till proven, right?!’

Pope had done it.

But her fierce and blind support had made him smirk all the way to the police station.

That was just Y/N. That’s how she’s always been. Loyal and supportive and constantly seeing the door. That’s why she had her own clinic, that’s why people in OceanSide love her, that’s what made her an amazing wife and mother. It was her heart.

The heart Pope was now desperately pumping at..

“Don’t leave me..” Pope mutters desperately, angry hot tears rolling down his face as he finishes the 30. He desperately leans down, his lips touching the soft and cold ones of his lover. He almost breaks.

It almost hits him that that’s not how her lips felt this morning.

But he pushes it back down. All the way down, just so he can focus. As he pulls away, a loud cough comes from Y/N, water spurting up from her now trembling lips, the cold setting in from being drowned repeatedly in the pool.

Pope is quick to lay her on her side, brushing her hair away from her face more. He shakily touches the bruise on her left cheek. She hisses as he finally breaks, taking off his jacket to put around her. He hurriedly uses his pocket knife to cut the tape off her wrists, as if wanting that last piece of evidence away from them both.

The evidence that showed he wasn’t there to protect her..

He lays on his side just to hold her to his chest as her hands shakily find his shirt to grip on to while she lets reality sink back in. She begins to quietly sob, digging her head into his hard chest as she realizes all that could’ve slipped from her.

“They’re okay?” She finally breathes. Pope doesn’t answer, busy kissing the top of her head repeatedly.

“Andy, are the kids okay?!” She whispers, voice hoarse and thick with tears as he nods, lips pressed hard against her forehead as if needing to feel her skin against him.

To assure himself that she’s still here..

*

*

*

Her eyes burned.

Her lungs burned.

Her nose burned.

And then in all one moment, the yank to her hair makes it all disappear.

She coughs roughly as she’s made to look at Manny. “Look at my fucking face. Do I look like a man you can fuck with?! Hm?!” He snaps as he grips her jaw, making her wince.

“You tell me about a safe that only has 25K in it?! You think I’m here for 25..” He trails off, anger getting the better of him as he backhands her. The force sends her to the ground, Manny’s men letting her fall. Her hands behind her back meant she couldn’t even try to catch her fall.

The stone around the pool had scarped her knees already, and the process of being dunked in and out of the pool made her disoriented and cold. Not to mention the constant hits she’d been endearing since they dragged her out here.

“Get her back up!” Manny orders his men. The two guys quickly yank her back up by her clothes as she silently prays they stick to just hitting her..

“Look at me..” Manny says quietly as he bends over to be eye level with Y/N. She struggles a bit, the ache to her neck and head making it hard to move.

“Ay!” Manny quickly swats her mouth. “I said look at me!” He orders. “You better focus on my words..” He says as she looks up at him.

“I want my fucking money. And I want it now. And if you don’t know where it is.. You better let the men know.” He says as he grabs her by the neck.

“And you better hope they can get it back to me. Because I always make my money back..” Manny says before eyeing her, a sick smirk growing on his face. “And I know people who’ll pay a pretty dime for you..” He says slowly as she shuts her eyes, stiffening her cries. She didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, but the fear was becoming overwhelming..

“Put her ass back in the water!” Manny orders, making her cry against the tape on her mouth as she’s dragged back to the pool edge..

“Ah!”

She’s drenched in sweat..

It’s quiet in the house, too quiet for her liking. The big gulps of air do nothing to slow her racing heart as she really takes in her surroundings.

The bedroom. Her bedroom. The room she shares with her husband, but he’s nowhere to be found right now. She snuffles slightly as she sits in the bed, recalling the rest of the night.

Pope had taken her and Aria home. She had weakly and shakily washed herself up, her shower only interrupted by a silent Pope. No words were shared as he got into the shower with her. It was a somber moment that both needed as she washed the trauma off of her..

They then got into bed, still not speaking. Y/N was much too tired to actually talk.

And now here she sat, in bed alone.

With a soft wince, Y/N moves from the bed and gets up slowly. She takes her time leaving the room and walking down the hallway. She peeks into her daughter’s room, sighing in relief as she sees her resting easy. She then heads downstairs.

Pope is sat out on the front porch with a double barrel shotgun right next to him. His posture is straight and his demeanor is one of a man on guard. Y/N frowns softly as she watches through the front door window before quietly opening the door. He makes no move at that sound. But he feels her presence.

“Where did you get that?” Y/N whispers as she leans against the doorframe now, arms wrapped around herself.

“It’s mine..” He whispers, voice rough and low as he doesn’t turn to look at her.

“Andy. Guns aren’t allowed in this house. You know that.” She says after a moment, voice soft as she somewhat shakes her head.

No response.

“What are you even doing out here? It’s 2am..” She continues.

“Watching.” Pope mutters after another long moment of silence. Y/N frowns.

“No. Come back inside. And.. Put that away..” She tries gently as Pope stays where he is. Y/N frowns at that.

“Go to sleep, Y/N…” He whispers finally. She shakes her head more.

“Andy, I’m serious. Put that in your car, it’s not coming into the house, and come inside..” She tries again, eyes welling up, but her voice is a bit firmer now as Pope stays still.

“Go. To. Sleep, Y/N.” He says again, this time ordering her as his eyes stare out into the vast darkness of nighttime in their neighborhood.

“No!” Y/N snaps finally. “I can’t!” She says, letting the tears fall now.

He finally turns to look at her. “I can’t sleep! I can’t go! because my husband is outside with a gun like he’s waiting to blow someone’s head off!” She fusses as he frowns deeply.

It’s as if her tears have broken him from his trance, making him slowly stand up now. “I can’t just go back inside because you’re! Not! Holding me!” She rants as she lets a sob wreck her body, holding herself tightly as Pope looks down in shame.

He silently wraps his arms around her, letting her fall into his arms. She sniffles as she nuzzles against his neck, arms wrapping around him like a child holding their teddy bear.

“I’m making arrangements. For you and Aria. For tomorrow.” He says, his voice against the top of her head giving soft vibrations through her hair. Y/N pauses as she pulls back a bit to look at him.

“What?” You whisper.

“I can’t have you here..” Pope whispers back as he shakes his head. “I can’t have my world touch you again. I…” He shakes his head fast as if once was enough. As if the idea of this ever happening again just guts him from the inside out..

“No.” Y/N whispers.

“Y/N, I’m not asking.” Pope tries as Y/N pulls away fully now.

“And I’m not listening.” She states firmly. Pope stares into the jagged jaws of her stubbornness that at one point he found extremely sexy.

Now, he sees the fault in it..

“No.” She repeats. “I.. I have a life here, Andrew. I-I have a business, I have friends, I have family. Aria has family here. Her preschool is here.” She lists. “No!” She says yet again.

“I had to pump your chest today!” Pope finally lashes out. Y/N frowns as she sees behind the darkness of his brown eyes is fear. Pure fear and shame. As if he had done this..

“I had to be tenacious, and then mourn you! Over and over! Again and again!” Pope continues on, fighting back the tears, but his voice trembles slightly.

“I imagined life without you, while I gave you mouth to mouth, and it was black. Because there is nothing. There is no life without you, Y/N.” He continues. “And I wasn’t there! I couldn’t..” His voice breaks finally, fully, giving way to the pressure of holding back his cries of heartache.

“I never thought… I always thought it’s worth it..” His voice is painful as the tears slip down his cheeks. “Everything I do.. All the dark shit. It’s.. It was supposed to be worth it. Because no one would touch you. And it didn’t matter, I didn’t.. I wasn’t strong enough..” He breaks, feeling as small as when he was a kid being tossed into closets and left to fend for himself.

Y/N frowns as she slowly moves to cup his face. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t..” He slowly drops to his knees to fully grip Y/N’s hips, his head pressing into her stomach as she strokes his hair.

Slowly, Y/N tilts Pope’s head back so he looks up at her. He lets her, his eyes beautiful even in this state..

“I knew.” She whispers. “The risks of being with you. I knew.” She nods. “But I’m still with you. Because I love you.” She says as he shuts his eyes. “And I knew the risk of tonight. Of making J and Nicky hide. And I still did it. And I’d do it again. Because I love your family..” She shakes her head.

“I’m a big girl, Andrew. I know what I’ve signed up for..” She says quietly as he sighs shakily. “And I’m not leaving it for any reason.” She adds certainly as Pope takes a deep breath, looking up at her with pure adoration. He silently grabs her hand to kiss and smell her palm, fully taking in her presence as he mutters quiet apologies the entire time…

*

*

*

The next morning, Y/N is woken up by small lips pressing against her left cheek. She smiles softly as she fully becomes alert. She knows those lips anywhere.

Aria..

Opening her eyes, she smiles softly at her three year old who is now worriedly brushing her hair back. “Mommy’s boo-boo..” Aria says as she carefully rubs Y/N’s cheek.

Y/N sits up more, body stiff, but she doesn’t let it show as she pulls Aria into her lap. “Mm.. Yeah, mommy has an ouchie. I’m so silly. I fell down..” Y/N lies smoothly as Aria gasps sharply, an overly dramatic gasp that makes Y/N chuckle a bit as Aria covers her mouth too. Her daughter was such a good actress..

“Uh-Oh..” Aria says before moving to excessively blow on the bruise on Y/N’s cheek. It makes her chuckle a bit. It’s something Y/N does anytime she or Pope gets hurt. Lightly blow on the hurt area to ‘make the pain go away’. Her daughter’s aggressive blowing seemed to do the trick too..

Pope walks into the bedroom at that moment with a tray of food in his grasp. Y/N smiles softly at the sight of her husband, home at 9am, something that’s rare nowadays..

“Mm… Look at that food..” Y/N says as Aria also cheers, getting distracted from playing nurse. Pope gets in bed, leaning over to kiss Y/N tenderly on the lips, never one to care about morning breath when it came to her..

“Morning..” Y/N whispers as Pope watches her. There’s a silent question in that greeting. One that asks ‘are you still trynna get rid of Aria and I?’

“Morning…” Pope whispers back, giving his answer. ‘Not a chance in hell’..

Y/N smiles, letting Aria feed her a piece of strawberry. “Let’s eat up. I’m thinking we take a little trip to… The cabin.” Pope says. Y/N’s eyes widen in excitement, smiling happily as she swallows the strawberry.

“The cabin?!” Y/N asks.

“For the weekend..” He nods certainly before watching her softly. “Smurf called. Said she was.. Gonna handle everything. I need to focus on my family right now..” Pope says gently as Y/N smiles, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Mm… Last time we were at the cabin..” Y/N pauses to think before realizing. Pope smirks as he silently eyes Aria to confirm her thought process. Three years ago…

“Oh… No…” Y/N laughs as she slowly shakes her head at him to show that they will not be repeating history…

Pope only smirks before letting Aria feed him a banana slice…