saekochani

The thrill of the catch—having an epiphany during an odd case, and grabbing hold of a diagnosis others were so far from discovering, made you feel invincible, and all the trials and tribulations thus well worth it in the end, however. You were saving lives. How many others can say the same about their occupation? Most otherwise work in trade or retail or from cushy corner offices. Which isn't to say that they're not all vital bees in the buzzing hive which is the world, but they're no Michael Robinavitch or Dana Evans or Jack Abbot.

Local rockstars to you they are. Or...were.

That began before long, too: burnout. Your days turning into a monotonous, psychologically draining cycle. No more do you walk out the Pitt's doors and it feels like you're coming back through them again, greeted not by smiles and welcoming sentiments, but by screaming, ungrateful patients who just keep dying.

Covid leveled your world and ripped the rose-colored glasses from your eyes that you once wore so happily. It ingrained such trauma within you that you didn't know where to put it.

There was no time for therapy.

Not that you probably would've gone had there been—making such an appointment was like accepting defeat; admitting that something had gone wrong with you.

That your brain was sick.

You power through the nightmares; the fleeting reminders of things you'd rather forget when a machine beeps a certain way, or an item of PPE flashes in your peripheral as a co-worker pulls it on. It'll move through you eventually, you tell yourself; work its way out of your system just like a virus or a nasty cold.

It won't last forever.

Or...you'd thought as much, anyway.

Lately, for the last few months, things have gotten exceptionally hard. You're both sleeping and not. When you get home, it's all you really want to do. As of late, you forgo dinner in favor of it. The scale in your bathroom reflects this change.

Runway models should really invest in giving healthcare a go for awhile instead of diet pills, you think. It'd work faster.

When you do rest, however, it's fitfully. You toss and turn, toss and turn. No more does your head hit the pillow and it seems like your alarm is screaming at you to get out of bed to get back to it.

You're withdrawn at work. Talking expends energy. Effort, even. Not that you want to conserve it. You just don't much like people anymore.

They've changed. At once they were so friendly. Human beings you liked talking to. Now, you'd rather drink bleach than carry on any sort of conversation at length. The same kind of goes for patients. You've thus been faltering in your bedside manner, and little handout review sheets reflect it. Something new enacted by those at the top of the hospital.

There's no thanks for the good you do, only chastisement for the bad. Bad, bad, bad. That's what you are.

You think maybe others can see it: this grotesque thing that's broken inside of you. You can't fix it. Not when you're not wholly sure what it is. Just...a part that can't be reached, you suppose. It's okay, though, if people don't want you around. You've never been terribly good with them, you think. Always saying the wrong thing, or making the moment needlessly awkward by inserting yourself where you clearly were never wanted.

It's better now—you pulling away. Retreating. Retracting.

They're happier, it seems, with you removed from their everyday.

The thoughts begin as mere daydreams in time, since you find yourself with little else to do in the quieter moments: pills, razors, rope, a speedometer climbing well past ninety. You toy with them like a Rubik's Cube—turning them this way and that, figuring which best suits you.

It becomes sort of exhilarating, really—knowing that there's such an incredibly easy way out of it all. And that it's always there, awaiting you. Like a friend. Something you can both lean and rely on.

You like that fact.

That peaceful feeling becomes...very hard to escape once it's implanted itself within your mind like a hard to pull root from a noxious weed. As in, impossible.

It haunts your steps in the hall, sits with you in the staff lounge, visits with you at home... It even comes with you to the toilet, it's so prevalent.

You could always take a bottle of pills from work. Ones that would just let you drift off to sleep. Peaceful and painless. No better option, in your opinion.

You tuck the thought away for possible later use.

You throw yourself fully into your work and turn on blinders to anything outside of it. You let yourself become a machine—merely doing as you are bid without quarrel. It seems to please people when you go along with them; are at their beck and call and always of agreement with their opinions and assumptions. It's strange how different social hierarchy becomes when you've set aside any personality of your own.

But you're not perfect. Sometimes your mind becomes fuzzy. You think maybe it's atrophying. And that equates to the occasional mistake.

Abbot dislikes when you give a patient double the dosage of a medication of what he instructed you to. It made them a little sick—some vomiting and a seizure—but they survived. Meanwhile, he'd pulled you aside and you stared while occasionally blinking as he told you why what you did was so dangerous.

Bad, bad, bad.

At one time, he'd liked you. Gave you extra attention and often let his hands rest on your shoulders or lower back. One time he caressed your cheek, which had made it warm pleasantly in response. Now that you're no longer his shining star, though—having burnt out so long ago—you think he'd rather you weren't around.

You should do something about that fact.

"We cannot afford mistakes like that, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that opens us up to?" He questions. Pressing one finger to the other, he supplies you an answer so you don't have to come up with one. You're glad for that.

You don't think you could if you tried.

"Lawsuits, a revocation of your medical license, an inquiry by the Medical Board..." He trails off after counting off so many digits.

You nod. "I understand, Doctor Abbot," the girl devoid of light and life says. "It won't happen again. I promise."

He gives a smile and a nod, pats you on the shoulder—a gesture which you flinch away from since you really dislike being touched lately for some reason—and tells you that that's exactly what he wants to hear before walking away from you.

You should just kill yourself.

It's what you think anytime you screw up now. Drop and break a glass at home? Suicide. Get berated by a superior at work? Suicide. Take too long to go after a light has turned green and a driver behind you honks their horn? Suicide.

Such a burden you've become. Maybe you've always been? You're not sure. You hope not, but if so, you wouldn't be surprised.

You start making preparations before your big, metaphorical trip.

Typing away on a computer, you drown out the hubbub of your surroundings—choosing to instead focus solely on the digital chart before you. When your eyes begin to grow a bit blurry, however, you glance up and idly watch as individuals in blue and black and grey scrubs come and go.

You pick Doctor Robby to observe for a bit.

You'd adored him at one time. For awhile, actually. You liked how tall he was, and his neatly trimmed beard. His Carhart pants and how he commanded authority while still being gentle in instruction. The timbre of his voice reverberating through your ear canal when he stood close as you tended to patients sent chills up your spine. It was like finely ground coffee: dark, but nevertheless smooth and tempting.

When he started calling you by various pet names around the Pitt, you'd stupidly humored yourself by believing that perhaps he felt similarly—had a hidden crush, same as you. You'd become almost certain of it one night when he gave you a ride home because your car wouldn't turn over due to a corroded battery.

Your heart had rhythmically thumped away between your breasts as you watched his hands turn the steering wheel—half hoping he'd take you home with him like a stray.

He never did.

Now, he doesn't so much as give you a second glance.

Maybe it makes you a narcissist to have assumed there was a mutual attraction. Not everyone wants you. In fact, no one does. If only you'd figured it out sooner, you would've saved yourself so much trouble in chasing after those who only wanted to get far away from you.

You lower your head then turn to the left where Santos sits with a recorder, dictating her own patient's chart. You wait until there's a pause, then speak—take your first steps in making your plan a reality.

"Hey, Trinity?" You ask quietly.

Swiveling around in your direction from atop an office chair, she toys with her recorder. "Yeah?"

"Do you like records?"

Her brows furrow. "Yeeeah. Why?"

You shrug indifferently while typing a few more words. "I'm getting rid of my collection. I thought that maybe you'd like to have them."

Her brows raise in surprise. "I mean, how much are you asking?"

You shake your head while hitting the space bar. "No charge."

She scooches closer—sure that this is too good to be true. "Wait. Are you actually serious? I mean, vinyl is like stupid expensive right now. You wanna just give yours away? To me?"

You nod. "I don't listen to them anymore." Picking up your phone, you wave it haphazardly before tossing it down with a thud. "If I want to listen to music now, I just stream it."

You look at her over your shoulder. "They're just collecting dust. You can have them all. Do whatever you like with them. Keep them, sell them, gift them." You shrug. "Makes no difference to me."

She beams at the prospect of furthering her collection, and for entirely free, at that. "Yeah, hundred percent I want them."

You save the chart you've just completed. "They're in my trunk. I'll get them to you once our shift is through."

For the next two weeks, you continue on with offloading your life onto others. You give Samira your clothes in multiple garbage bags. Mel your books, McKay some decorative figures you kept on your bookshelves for her son, Javadi your jewelry and accessories, and the nurse's station your stationary in all its organized glory.

When Dana tries showing concern—asking as to why you're doing this, sarcastically asking if you're moving—you shrug it off and tell her it's just a bit of spring cleaning.

She frowns, knowing that it's the tail-end of summer.

Once your apartment is nearly devoid of any sign that you once lived in it, you cry from joy.

You're so close now. Just a few more loose ends, and you'll be ready to go.

Abbot is the first to go out of his way to speak to you. He deems it good—great, even—that you're in a better mood today. He's heard...troubling news. Spring cleaning, you'd called it to Dana. But sometimes people just choose to declutter their lives, right? Especially in this line of work, it's way too easy to let your living space become an absolute wreck because you can't be bothered to expend the energy to clean it up on a regular basis.

Makes it easier the less you've got to deal with. And when you practically live in scrubs... Well, who needs dress clothes, right?

Bumping his shoulder against yours, and sending your fingers flying across the keyboard you stand at, you begin backspacing to fix your typos.

He doesn't like those.

"You seem better today," he remarks. "That's good. Got some big plans after work or somethin'?" He asks curiously.

You smile with warmth. If you were the sun—which, here in the Pitt, at one time you were—he could stand within the light your rays provide for forever. "I do," you say quietly, with cheer.

He raises a brow and his lips tug into a smirk. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

You shrug. "It's a surprise."

He leans in close. "Not for me, is it?" He whispers.

You turn to him, and he nearly stumbles back. The tone of your voice and your general demeanor... They don't match the vacant look in your eyes whatsoever. They don't... They don't even look like they're yours.

"You're a good doctor, Jack," you say while gently resting a hand against his upper arm. "I don't think I've ever told you how grateful I am that I was given a chance to learn from you. PTMC is really lucky to have you here."

His brows furrow and the smile slips from his face. "Sweetheart, you're starting to freak me out here."

Couldn't even do that right, you think. Just further confirmation that you're indeed making the right choice. "I'm sorry," you say while stepping away. "It won't happen again. Have a nice evening, Dr. Abbot."

You give Mel an unexpected hug before she's due to head home for the day. She stumbles back, hesitates for a moment, then returns it with a feeble embrace. "Becca is really fortunate to have such a caring sister. It makes me happy you two have one another," you tell her with a squeeze.

She steps back while flushing and nervously adjusting her glasses. "Y-Yeah. Me too."

You part from her with a nod, and let her go on her way.

Later on, you catch Mohan at her locker and lean against your own. Yours, which can been completely cleaned out, minus your stethoscope. They'll open it eventually. You left a note to please give the item to someone who needs it. Or just...keep it in the inventory as an extra incase another's becomes faulty.

"I know Robby has been kind of hard on you lately," you say quietly.

She doesn't speak.

"But you have so much talent with patients. You take their feelings into consideration. A lot of providers let this job get the better of them and their care suffers for it." You gently grip her wrist. "Don't let him turn you into someone you're not."

Just as she turns to say something, you've gone.

Dennis has just slung his backpack over his shoulder when you jog to catch up to him by the ambulance bay's doors. "Hey," you say, settling a hand atop his shoulder.

He turns with a surprised look on his face.

"I wanted you to know that I think what you're doing for Amy and her baby is really...sweet. Commendable." You drop your hand and smile. "Are you happy?"

He grins and glances down to his shoes while nodding. "Yeah. I-I am. I think she is, too."

You turn your head to the right and watch as a truck pulls up outside. "Don't let her go, Dennis." You look back to him. "Family is important. Make sure you don't let this place become the only one you have."

He raises a brow and makes to step forward—to question what's going on—until you take a few steps back. "I gotta go, but you two drive safe. Okay?"

"I'll see ya tomorrow, kid," Dana calls from behind you.

Slowly turning round to face her, you look at Emma who's seated just to her side. "You've got a good teacher here," you say while nodding to the older blonde. "So you listen to her and soak up everything you can. Having Dana as your guide here in the Pitt is invaluable."

Emma nods with a toothy smile. "I will."

Your eyes flit back to Dana. "See you around," you whisper.

By the end of your shift, things feel different. For the first time in maybe years, you feel content. At peace. Could it mean that things are...worth a second try? You'd not even considered that such a thought would cross your mind.

But there it sits, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

Exiting through the sliding doors of the ambulance bay, you step out from beneath the overhead coverage that extends outward and stare up at the stars. You'd meant to be dancing amongst them tonight, but...plans can always change.

You look to the right, and find Robby strapping a bag to the rear luggage wrack of his motorcycle. Maybe... Maybe he can help? He'll know what to do, because you know this moment won't last. You have to reach out and ask for him to hold your hand through this while you've still got the mental fortitude at your disposal to do so.

Crossing your arms, you walk over to him. "Hey, Robby?"

Tightening a bungee cord into place, he raises a brow. "Hm?"

"Could I talk to you about something? It's—"

He sighs with irritation and runs a tired hand down his face. "I was really hoping to get going. Guess I didn't move fast enough." He turns to you with crossed arms as well, matching your stance. "Can this not wait until morning?"

Your eyes flit between his.

So much happens in that moment.

Your resolve shatters into irreparable shards which slice through any hope you'd had but a moment ago, and a confirmation is granted to you. Confirmation that you chose right all along.

What's meant to be will be.

And with the small orange bottle in your pocket, you'll make it so.

It's okay now.

You force a reassuring smile and shake your head. "Sure. It wasn't important. It doesn't matter." You take a step back. "I'm sorry for bothering you. Have a nice night. And—and drive safe, ok?"

He barely pays you any mind as he mounts his motorcycle and drives away.

Waiting for your Uber to arrive, you continue studying the stars. They just...look like they'd take such good care of you, y'know? Never would they let you fall or falter. They act as one.

But, so, too, are they already dead.

You suppose that's rather fitting.

"You need a ride?"

Glancing to your left, you find Frank watching you with a curious look on his face.

You shake your head. "No, thank you, I have an Uber coming."

He nods. "Car in the shop?"

You shrug and look away. You donated it to a local charity yesterday, actually. You'd been rather surprised to find out such things existed. They repurpose them for homeless youth and single mothers and the like. It'll go to someone in need.

That makes you happy.

Your phone dings that your driver is 5 minutes away.

Standing, you pad over to Frank. "I'm really proud of you for going to rehab, Langdon."

He tucks his phone away into his pocket. "Yeah, well, Robby didn't exactly give me another choice."

You chew your lip. "It was the right thing. For you...and your children." Meeting his eyes, you crook your head to the side. "They need their dad. Your sobriety is a big deal. You should be proud of it, too."

His brows furrow.

"This hospital needs you here. I'm glad you came back."

Tires crunch against asphalt, and a white SUV pulls up.

When you start toward it, Frank takes a small step forward. "Are—are you okay?"

After popping open the back passenger door, you look at him over your shoulder. "I am. I know what I have to do now."

He thinks to reach out for you. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

You swing a leg inside. "Goodbye, Frank."

With that, you shut the door behind you.

An empty plastic bottle crinkles quietly between your shaking hands.

On the floor, a pill bottle lies on its side. It's contents currently dissolving in your stomach acid.

Looking around the nearly empty space you occupy, you tell yourself that you can't go back. There's nothing left. Even out in the hall sits yet another box of odds and ends you didn't know what else to do with. So you merely drew on the front of it 'FREE' with a smiley face and sat it next to your apartment door.

Someone will rifle through it and take what they like; give the things inside a second home.

Leaning back against the headboard behind you, you swallow thickly as hot tears practically singe your cheeks. The truth you don't want to admit now is that you're scared. You don't want to die like this: alone, and in what has now become a strange place.

What if no one comes in the next few days? You don't want them to find your body bloated and rotting; infested with flies and maggots that crawl inside your mouth and ears.

Fighting against how your head swims when you turn it, you reach for your phone. You grip it as hard as you can and jerk your unsteady limb back to you. Plopping the device onto the mattress you're seated upon, it takes four tries before you manage to punch in the correct pin code.

You dial 3 numbers, then wait.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Pleeease," you slur. "I changed my mind."

"—Female. Unconscious. Pulse is bradycardic and thready," the EMT informs Abbot and his team as he rounds the back of the van. "She told 911 about a half hour ago that she swallowed a bottle of Prozac."

Popping open the door, he turns back to Abbot and shoves the empty bottle into his hands. "She must've stole them, seeing as a man's name is on the bottle. We found it on the floor of her apartment. I figured you all would want it when you try to treat her."

Helping his partner get the gurney out of the van, the bottom wheels fall and clatter to the ground before locking into place.

"Oh my God," McKay exclaims before clamping both her hands over her mouth.

Having come back around to morning time, the rest of the day shift will soon be arriving.

Meanwhile, Abbot knows he can't leave now.

He'll work a 24 hour fucking shift if he has to.

When the other EMT exits the rig, he looks between the crowd of unmoving bodies. "You all know her or something?"

"She fucking works here," Toomarian replies before stumbling back.

Jack shakes his head, then begins firing on all cylinders as his body jumps into motion. "McKay, Shen, you two are with me. Henderson, get your ass inside and tell Handzo that I need a room cleared. We're going to intubate and then perform a gastric lavage."

He glances around. "I said now! Move your asses!" He shouts.

Standing outside, Robby watches as your body lifts off the hospital bed you've been transferred to. With numb, shaking fingers tangled painfully in his hair, he yanks tightly against the strands. Jack glances to the monitor, shakes his head, then commands McKay to try again.

"Please," he cries through clenched teeth. "Fuck," he curses. "It's all my fucking fault."

When he came in for his shift, your room was the first one he bothered peeking into, and it stopped him cold in his tracks before he barked at Whitaker to help him suit up so he could help.

A gesture which didn't last long when he backed into a tray of sterile instruments once inside, and thus sent them scattering across the floor. Panicking, he tried picking them up as a series of apologies spilled from his lips. Aimed toward you, Jack, or the team which was trying to save you, he's unsure. In the end, he sliced his hand open with a ten blade. As blood oozed from the wound, Jack shouted for him to get out. To have someone stitch him up while he otherwise kept his focus strictly on you.

"No, I-I have to s-stay. I can do it. We have to fucking save her, Jack."

Jack had leveled him with a glare. "I am going to do every goddamn thing I can to ensure that she doesn't slip away from us, but you have got to leave this room. You're breaking my concentration. It's already hard enough!"

Forcing her way inside, Dana shoved against his chest to guide him out of the room. Stumbling backward, Robby pointed at Jack. "You fucking bring her back. You bring her back to us or I'll never forgive you!"

Now, here he stands in the middle of a fast-moving ED with over a dozen stitches in a hand that's wrapped in gauze, praying to a God who stopped listening long ago to take him instead if it meant sparing you.

It's all his fault.

You had tried to talk to him. Had given living one last try. And he couldn't be bothered to spare five minutes.

The lump in his throat becomes too much to breathe or swallow over.

Robby starts choking on his own saliva.

His heart squeezes painfully in his chest and his knees buckle out from under him.

Falling to the floor, Dana runs to his side. "Hey, Rob, Robby, look at me. What's goin' on, big guy?"

He clutches at his chest. "MI," he pants.

"I need a gurney over here!"

A panic attack.

He'd hoped for worse, because then it would mean God had actually obliged his only request.

Sitting in a hospital bed with his head held hopelessly between his hands, he refuses to face the room that lies across the way. Peds.

So much horror its walls have bore witness to.

But also love and care.

Like the day of PittFest. Another moment which saw Robby at his lowest; collapsed in on himself like a dying star. You were the one who pulled him out of the darkness, though.

Caressing his face between careful hands, you swiped tears from his cheeks while telling him that you understood—had been where he sat so many times (why didn't he see it then?)—but still nevertheless needed him that day. That you both had essential work to do which you wanted him at your side for, and after is when he could break. In your arms, if that's what he required.

Did he kiss you then? Or was that an imagined dream he drew up in his muddled head?

Shoving off the bed he occupies with a huff, Robby does exactly that: gets to work. It's what you would want. And the only way he won't fall apart again. Because if he continues sitting there thinking up worst case scenarios, he'll never make it out of here alive.

The whole department has spent the day on-edge. Jack has assured them that the worst has passed, but until... Unless you woke up, you weren't totally out of the woods.

Practically everyone sticks around until well after their shifts are through—waiting with bated breath—to see if you'll open your eyes.

For what it's worth, piles of your things begin arriving in droves when people realize you hadn't just been cleaning out your apartment like you said.

You'd been preparing never to come back.

For the absolute worst of reasons.

They each take turns visiting with you. Apologizing. Or just telling stories.

Besides Robby and Abbot, Frank takes it the hardest. He was the last person you spoke to. He tells Jack over and over and over again that he should've stood in front of the fucking car if it meant making you stay. That he knew—he knew—in his gut what you had planned.

Mel has bumped into patients and coworkers alike so many times while passing by your room that 'sorry' has become her word of the day.

Dana stays quiet. She merely watches from beneath the board, awaiting the opening of your pretty eyes again.

Javadi quietly asks Jack when—not if—you wake up, he'll have you put on an involuntary psyche hold. He tells her that psyche will be called for a consult, but what happens from there will be out of his hands. All he knows is that he has to make sure this never happens again.

When his chin begins to wobble as he smooths hair from your brow is when she takes her leave.

When his shift nears 20 hours, Jack finally takes a seat at your bedside. Holding your limp hand between each of his, he presses it to his lips. "You have people waiting for you," he murmurs. "I am waiting for you. Robby is. Sweetheart," he cups your cheek and your head lulls to the side. "I love you."

He begins to cry. "Why the fuck I didn't say it sooner I—" He shakes his head. "I thought it'd be unprofessional. You were my subordinate." He lowers his head. "Goddamn coward." Lifting his head again, he kisses your fingertips. "I'm saying it now. I mean, how could I not fall for you?"

A knock sounds from the door.

Robby.

Pushing open the glass entrance, he steps inside. "Still nothing?" He asks quietly.

Jack shakes his head. "Not yet. But she'll wake up soon. She has to."

Seating himself on the side of your bed, Robby cups your cool cheek in his palm. "You came to me. You needed me and I wasn't there." He runs the pad of his thumb along the curve of your jaw. "But I am now. I will spend as much time as I have to fixing this; making it up to you."

Leaning down, he hesitates, then presses a soft kiss to your lips.

But that only works in the stories...

"Rest of my life if I have to."

Jack falls asleep slumped over in his chair—his head resting beside you and his fingers firmly intertwined between your own. Robby took up position at your side in bed. Holding you close to him with his hoody draped over your chest, he tucked you just beneath his chin before drifting off.

As long as your heart still beats, they've each something to hold onto.

Your awakening is sluggish; gradual. Pulling yourself from the primordial sludge which deigned to hold you meant fighting a battle you weren't sure you could win.

But when you stir quietly, and feel warm bodies on either side of you, accompanied by the sound of quiet snoring, you know you've come out the other side victorious.

"Welcome back," drawls a thickly accented, feminine voice from across the way. "Had a lot of people worried, kid."

The rumbling chest you're pressed against quiets, then shifts. Pressing your head back against the soft pillow beneath it, you stare up at Robby's tear-stricken face. He doesn't speak. He merely smiles before cupping your cheek in his palm and pressing his lips to yours.

You're far too exhausted to think on it.

You'd thought he didn't care. What else have you been wrong about as of late?

Your right hand suddenly released, Jack stands, then seats himself on your bedside. "We're going to take care of you. Alright? I promise."

Leaning down, he kisses you next.

Dana turns back to the nurse's station.

You had colorful scrubs. Yes, Jack couldn't stand the fact that your scrubs were the classic black with unicorns on them. Or sometimes blue cartoon whales. Hell, you even had color-coordinated green sneakers with the green four-leaf clovers dotting your black for St. Patrick's Day.

Jack kept to his black. The only variation he had was if the shirt underneath was long or short-sleeved, and that completely depended on Pittsburgh's weather. He hadn't thought about

He got jealous when kids with broken arms and bloody noses would gasp and touch your scrubs while you distracted them from whatever Perlah was doing. Jack never got that, the ease from kids or the attention from you.

You also made sure that you wore the most colorful clips in your hair. The plastic always gleamed and caught his eye, like a raven looking at something shiny. He wasn't the only one, though.

It had become your trademark. So much so that you had brought little colorful hair ties for everyone to wear. All color corrdinated on which color suited everyone.

You said it would, "Liven up everyone." After putting one on Dana, who huffed, but kept it on, "Why not at least pretend we're happy so the patients don't catch on."

Soon, everyone in the ED had a hair tie for themselves.

Everyone, except him.

He remembered it clear as day. He had just grabbed bagels from this new coffee place that had opened by his house. He strolled in a bit later than he normally did and was greeted by a long line of people in the ED's staff lounge.

Going inside, he spotted you at the table, multiple packets of those colorful hairties open and spread across the table. You implored everyone to take one, handing them out yourself.

Jack awkwardly stood there, grabbing one half of his bagel from the bag and putting the other one in the fridge. He watched, eyes trained on your smile and your scrubs—red dinosaurs today—not saying a word.

There were a couple of times when your eyes brushed up to meet his, but your eyebrows furrowed for half a second before dipping back to the person in front of you.

By the end of the line, you had barely any hair ties left. You had started cleaning up the packets, pulling up the plastic to throw away. And then promptly left the room without offering one.

Jack Abbot was the only one in that entire ED who didn't have a fucking hair tie on his wrist.

Even motherfucking "Park the Shark" got one. Your sunshine demeanor even extended to the grumpy attending of orthopedic surgery

What a nightmare.

So yeah, maybe being jealous of you personally putting on each hairtie and putting them on everyone's wrist wasn't healthy, but it was normal, right? He was being excluded! If he wanted to, he could make a big fuss out of it, but he was a mature, normal, emergency department attending with military background, a missing leg, and a dead wife.

Completely normal, so he would never complain about a hairtie.

His jealousy even extended to your personal life. Yes, he was so pathetic that he was thinking about you at home when you were probably miles away doing something better. How you had it all.

Jack learned about this the hard way. For once, you both were muttering something nice and meaningful to each other. You leaned over his right forearm, pointing at the iPad in both your hands.

"But I think I agree with you," You said, biting your soft bottom lip, "I think putting him on acetaminophen is way better than anything else. At least, before we find out what's wrong with him."

Jack had nodded along, pointing to the scrawl in the digital chart, "And look here; says he's got some sort of infection on the left medial porition of his thigh. Gotta be the cause of this pain."

"Maybe..." You hummed out, "But let's get labs on it, maybe try to do a—"

Out of nowhere, your name was called out. You and Jack both lifted your heads and looked around. No nurse was looking at you or any other resident, attending, or med student walking toward you.

Instead, there was a man, rushing through the ambulance bay doors, face dripping with sweat. His t-shirt was black and completely soaked through, like he had been running through sprinklers.

And in his arms... was a little girl.

Clutching onto him like her life depended on it.

Before Jack could comment, you had left him behind. Everything in your hands, your stethoscope, your pen, everything, was dropped to the floor with a clatter. If anyone wasn't looking, they were looking now as you ran to the duo, yelling and asking what was wrong, and clawing at the girl.

You screamed for a bed, hands hovering over her body as if trying to feel for the injury by your hands alone.

That was the day Jack learned you were married and had a nine-year-old daughter.

How did he not catch it? He didn't even notice you wore a small, thin gold band on your left finger. He watched you all the time, but now, was this the time he wasn't paying attention?

Jack felt utterly stupid. He felt even stupider when he would sit in his bed now, knowing he was thinking about a married woman. His late wife, on her deathbed, told him to look for love again, to live his life and not be stuck on her. But her ghost would be throttling him if she knew what depraved thoughts were rattling inside his head.

He was jealous of how much your husband calmed your worries, how you smiled small to him and hugged him tight. How your daughter clung to you the entire time after Lena told you to stay by her side. How you held her hand as—ironically—Jack was the one who told your little family she had only fractured her leg.

And worst of all, when you held your husband's hand and sighed in relief.

It made it worse when he thought about where this all had started. Simple, really. You had been lifting supplies during Pittfest. Of course, Jack could be the only man who had fallen deeply infatuated with a woman during a mass casualty event.

Simply wanting to speed things up, Jack took all of it from your hands and, with you, worked to distribute as many supplies as possible. He followed you like a puppy, while you did all the talking and handing everything off. By the time you and he had finished, gowns soaked in blood, you had taken his hand in yours and beamed up at him.

"Jack Abbot, you might be the greatest possible man in all the world right now."

Then, your fingers squeezed his, and you rushed to the nearest patient who needed you.

That was the first and last time you had smiled at him.

After that, things just soured. You had tried to be kind to him, but he couldn't take it. He wasn't used to it. He could have the best banter, the best conversations, the best jokes with everyone else, but for some reason, he faltered at you.

With everyone else, he could meet their gaze perfectly fine, even leaning in to catch it. But with you? He shifted his eyes away so that you couldn't catch how his pupils had blown out at the sight of you.

It could be because this was the first time since the death of his wife that his heart had started to race. It could be the fact that before you looked at him, he let himself come back to an empty home that was a tomb for his wife, because he couldn't move any of her stuff, even years later.

It could be that it felt like a betrayal. Not only to her, but to his own morals. He was a good man. His parents called him their "Golden Jackie," and his in-laws had given their full approval when he asked for their daughter's hand in marriage.

But what now? Now, he was a fifty-year-old man unable to talk to the woman who had been so nice, yet now couldn't bear to talk to him, all because he was inexperienced and anxious. Now, he was an old man staring daggers at your husband like he stole you from him, like he had any stake in you in the first place.

Now, he was a loser touching himself in the shower at the thought of you, seated on the marble seating and gripping the handlebars while his other fist jerked him off. Now, he was the fool who thought about you smiling and looking into his eyes, while he came in his fist with a groan, after being the hardest he had been in almost a decade.

Now, he knew he was damned for hell. Because you were married and he was not, and you were living the life he wanted.

A life he wanted with his late wife.

A life he wanted with you.

Those feelings continued into the surgery he was performing right now. A delicate one. Being him, he had decided now would be the best time to try a new technique he saw in an article in China.

Shen and Ellis surrounded him, working alongside him with short commands and indications. They worked well, like a good machine.

Except Jack's hands were the ones who were shaking. It was so noticeable when he picked up the scalpel, the light that reflected off it quivered against his scrubs. Why was he so nervous? What was shaking him up so badly?

What was wrong with him?

Was it because today was a shitty day, where the coffee shop he got those bagels from decided to not open today? Was it because today, when he walked in, Robby was going through his own shit, and Jack had to bring him back to earth? Was it because today, he treated a woman who had the same kind of cancer as his late wife, and she had four months to live?

"Hey, Shen, hey Parker. What do we have here?"

Well, they all went away when he heard your voice.

Turning his head, he saw you squirt hand sanitizer on your hand, rubbing it in well before dressing up. Your gown covered your black and pink scrubs. Next came your hair cap and glasses. He watched your gold band slip into a glove before you came to his side.

"Doctor Abbot," you said, coming beside him and peering at his work, "I think this is a new technique I haven't seen before. Care to share?"

He huffed out a shaky noise, cutting deeper into flesh, "Something new from China."

"Ah, I see."

"They've started developing a way to try and get to the lungs without leaving a huge, unnecessary scar. That way, it's also easier for the OR to manage. If only I could..." He tried to squeeze his fingers into the incision, but couldn't make it past the first band of flesh.

Jack cursed, shaking his head. Maybe he had to try another way, maybe he had to look at it from another angle. He tried to recount the steps, but they were all getting jumbled in his head.

His wife.

This cut.

You.

His wife

This cut

You.

His wife.

You.

His wife

You.

You.

You.

You—

"Why don't I help?" Your voice, soft and sweet, floated up to his ear. When he looked down at you, you were... you were smiling.

You were smiling at him.

You leaned in, opening your hand and asking Shen for another scalpel. With a soft push of your hips, you moved him out of the way. You sliced a bit more, opening it up. Jack held his breath the entire time.

"I heard about this one." You mused, putting the blade back into the tray, before looking back at him, "I'd been meaning to try this one. Would you like to be my second?"

For once, he didn't falter, "I'd love to."

He knew the next step. This time, it was big enough to stick his pointer and middle finger into the wound, palm up. Blood squelched around his gloved knuckles as he went through, trying to find the source...

When your own hand slipped over his, your own two fingers joined him into the wound.

Jack's nostrils flared, as he felt the hot muscles and fat around his hand, but the even more calming presence of your gloved fingers above his.

"What... what're you doing?" He asked, afraid to break the moment.

"Adding our own twist. Think outside the box. The reason why those cases struggle with the surgery is that they make the incision way too small. Sure, that's the whole point, but you can't have it all. We can, however, make it just big enough to grab what we need."

He was sick, then, finding happiness in the fact that you and his hand were connected once more, this time in blood, and as you and his four fingers disappeared and appeared over and over

Jack chose to let that feeling calm him, push away everything wrong with today. He also chose to let that feeling push away Shen and Parker's glances at the scene.

Afterwards, when the surgery was successful, and the patient was taken upstairs, was when he was only able to find a clock after throwing everything away in the waste bins. Seven-fifty A.M.

That meant his shift was over. He had no other patients to report back on—technically, that was Shen's patient, so charting was all on him—so he quietly said he goodbyes to everyone, choosing not to linger like he usually did, and made his way into the lockers.

Of course, you were there too. You were slipping on your jacket, your backpack still inside your locker. Your hair was down, pulled up by your colorful hair tie.

You noticed him standing close by, punching in the code. You waved to him, "Slipping out while you can."

"Could say the same to you."

You chuckled, "Well, my kid isn't exactly really fond of not having any breakfast. And I promised her I'd take her to IHOP, so I guess work doesn't stop for me."

Jack shook his head, getting his backpack, "What's your order?"

You told him, shutting your locker and leaning against it. Your head was resting on it as well, "But I still steal some pancake bites from my daughter. She loves feeding me even though I tell her I'm full."

"Sounds like a kid."

"The best kid."

"And your husband? What does he like?"

For the first time, Jack saw you visibly frown at him, cocking your head to the side and squinting as if he were the one who had something heinous. It shocked him physically, so much so that he had to take a step back.

You matched his step, though, coming closer into his space and trying to see if his face was hiding something.

Only when you didn't find anything, did you speak:

"What husband are you talking about?"

Jack felt like he was getting fooled. He glanced around like someone else might be in on it. "I mean—I just thought—no, not thought, more like saw—a man. With your daughter. Remember back two months ago when she fractured her leg, and he carried her in? I thought that was your husband! You looked so comfortable. I thought it was a babysitter or brother until you hugged and held hands and she called him daddy. Well, maybe the "daddy" part should've told me sooner, but anyways, you still got the ring on your finger so—"

But he couldn't finish because your cackles had drowned out the entire locker area. You were doubled over, clutching your belly and holding onto the lockers for support.

Jack could only stand there dumbfounded as you wiped tears, fighting your breath to speak, "God, Jack, you're—god, you're something else! Me, a husband?! Jack Abbot, that's my ex-husband. Oh god, I have to tell him this, he's gonna lose his mind—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jack waved his hands like he was directing traffic, "But you have a ring! See! I see it right there!"

You looked down to where Jack was pointing, the golden band. You snorted once more before slipping it off and tossing it at him.

"It's a fake, Jack!" You laughed again. You were right. It was plastic, cheap, and shiny. The inside was smudged off to show the stainless steel, "I've had too many incidents in my residence of guys hitting on me. I decided a fake, second ring would help. That way, my real ring would be fine, while my peace of mind would also be protected. Guess the habit just... carried on."

Jack could only stare dumbfounded, his hand now curled up tight around the fake ring. This stupid little thing had been the bane of all these thoughts.

If he had opened his mouth, is he had some damn courage, then maybe he would've known ages ago. He would've been able to put himself out there to talk to you.

His late wife let him, but the only thing holding him back was...

"Are you free this weekend?"

You blinked, the sudden whiplash now shocking you. "Excuse me."

"I asked: are you—"

"I heard you the first time," you interrupted, "It's just... Jack, the way you're phrasing this sounds a lot like a—"

"I want you to tie up my hair." Jack said, with sudden gusto, "You gave everyone else hair ties, except me. A-and my hair's been getting longer, so maybe we could go to my usual bagel shop and get some food, and you could teach me how to tie up my hair."

"The only reason I didn't give you any hair ties was because you scared me!"

"Really?! Me?! I joke with everyone!"

"Yeah, you do, and you're fucking hilarious. But when it comes to me... You kinda just stare. And I know you're a military vet, Jack. Having you stare me down isn't exactly calming on my psyche."

Jack chuckled. "Well then, no more staring. I'll be fun and honest, how about that?"

"Promise?"

"Of course."

"For the bagel, meet up or you not staring?"

"Both."

You were already backing away from him and the conversation, "Then you have my number, Jack, you know where to call me. No need to get jealous anymore, now you can have all the colors you want."

Jack grinned stupidly at that.

Yeah, Jack had no more damn reason for this jealousy.

Not anymore.

Gosh, Jack, you're such a loser, you don't care if the woman you're chasing is married or not... ugh, come on and let's finger this wound together.

Rob Lucci

(Note: this man… I’m not normal about him)

Rob Lucci is a man of focus.

He doesn’t melt, doesn’t break, doesn’t bend.

A machine, if you must.

He was overlooking some reports concerning updates of the Underworld; feet landed on top of the table, his hat and tie slung over the chair. Even Hattori was nudging on some seeds by the table. He had that usual look on his face.

The: half-bored-half-scowling-cus-I’m-broody-and-stoic- look.

And that’s when you came in—he doesn’t glance, doesn’t look your way but he knows it’s you just from the steps.

“I’m working, so unless it’s important—“

You leech onto him in an embrace.

He freezes. Not blinking.

You dig your face into his neck. Burying. Nuzzling. Kissing him. Only then does he take his gaze to you. Letting go of the reports.

“… is everything as it should—?”

“Rob,” your hand places on his cheek, tilting his face to you as you give him a kiss on the lips. Quick, gentle, before giving him another three pecks on his cheek. Meanwhilst, you manoeuvre into his lap.

“Hey.” He says — and you only crash your face back into his neck. Humming. Taking in his scent. Dark cologne and brandy. He hesitates placing his hands on you.

“What’s gotten into you.” He tries to catch your gaze but you’ve made yourself at home under his chin.

“Rob…”

“Hm?”

“Call me pretty.”

He blinks. Lips parting.

And then a hand goes to your face. Pulling your cheek.

“Owowowow—“

He let’s go.

“What was that for!?” You rub your cheek, giving him a frown.

“I had to check if you were the real deal.” He leans back and you hmph.

Burying your face back in his neck.

… he’s not saying you’re pretty. You decide to punish him. Just a little. You give his neck a lick. A kiss. A nibble. Just a small one.

Rob is a man of focus. Doesn’t break, doesn’t bend, doesn’t melt. But for the first time in a long, long time—he flinches. Tenses.

“Did something happen?” He says at last and you shake your head. “No. I just missed you Rob.” You say, nestling your face into him. You adjust your seat in his lap, so to angle yourself deeper, closer to him. “I missed you so much.”

He blinks, and carefully, carefully, he places his hands above your shoulder blades. Breathing as slowly as he can.

… right. Aha.

Sure. He’ll buy it.

His heart didn’t skip a beat. No. Absolutely not. Not Rob Lucci. And he’s not breaking, or bending or melting at all. Not at all — not even when he places his hand on the small of your back. pulling you closer. Kissing you back. (Lies)

Rob will let you rub yourself against him, like a cat marking her territory. He does not mind. No in fact, when your scent sticks to his shirt, he’ll hesitate putting it into the washer. But only hesitating.

Sir Crocodile

He was pissed.

Well. When isn’t Crocodile pissed?

Probably when he’s reading about rare mushrooms and where to gather them. Or when he overlooks his bananawani, like a proud father who can’t admit he has a soft spot for them.

Now, however — he isn’t smiling. Or laughing. Or smirking. No the man is scowling. Hard. The report paper crumbling in his hands as he sees Buggy’s spending habits finally starting to catch up to his schemes.

That’s when you tiptoe your way in to his office. He does not look your way, only takes a quick smoke before taking his cigar out his mouth. “Not now darling; I’m in the middle of work—“

You lock him in to an embrace without so much a word and he freezes.

He feels you nudging your face into his spine. Pulling him deeper from behind.

He glances over his shoulder. A sweat droplet slipping down his cheek. “… are you well? Did something happen—?” He turns to face you but you won’t let go.

You shake your head. Face buried in his chest. Arms still locked around his waist.

The report paper is suddenly all forgotten as it trickles down the floor. “You sure—?”

You press your face deeper into his chest.

He smells so good. Like something refined and expensive; you can’t get enough of it. Enough of him.

You look up from his waist and he tenses at the sight of your face. Flushed cheeks and eyes begging for more.

“I missed you; I want to be near you. Is that okay? Or are you too busy?” You don’t mean to sound whiny or pleading but whatever tone you’re using; it’s working.

He sets his work aside for you — steers you both down into his arm chair. Letting you nestle close into his chest, his skin.

You tug onto him like a little kitten mewling for its mother. You take in his scent, more and more and more, not once getting enough. You even earn a chuckle from him.

“You’re clingy today—what’s the change of heart?”

You withdraw only so you can stare at his handsome, smug face. You lean in and steal a kiss on the lips. Then on his cheek, jaw, nose and eye lid. You kiss everywhere and anywhere, ending it again on his lips.

His face is twitching as he tries his best to hold his composure.

“Jus’ missed you.”

“… I see.” He says, a smirk pulling on his lip. Tugging you closer.

He won’t be letting you go for a good while.

Trafalgar D. Water Law

Law just finished an operation.

Figuratively speaking; he’s dead.

All he wants is to catch a nap before sunrise — opening his bedroom door however, he’ll spot you sitting on his bed.

He blinks; watching you inch closer. Your steps slow, deliberate—as if prowling for a kill.

“Hey, what’s up—?”

You lunge your arms over his shoulders, tiptoeing as you bring him into an embrace.

He tenses. Immediately.

Even when you press yourself against him, even when you take in the scent of him and your hands travel up his shoulders, to his neck and into his hair.

Your voice goes dangerously close to his ear. “Law… you smell so good.”

He blinks. Seven times to be exact.

“… yeah…?”

“Mhm.” You pull away, smiling. Arms still slung over his shoulders.

The tips of his ear are shot red.

You’re smiling, and your cheeks are round but he decides to ask anyways. “Is everything alright?”

You nod, leaning in and stealing a peck on his lips, hands sliding down to his chest. You tug him, steering him to bed.

“Uhhhhhhh—“ is what leaves his mouth when you press him down onto his mattress and climb over him. Locking your body over his. Digging your face under his collarbones.

“Hey. Babe.” He looks up, now it isn’t just his ears being red, but his face too. “I… uh I—?”

You glance up from his chest. “Shhh. Just let me hug you and enjoy it while it lasts.

The Surgeon of Death folds like a piece of paper.

Yeah sure — whatever his pretty girl wants.

Law sinks back down onto his pillow. Letting out the biggest breath from his chest. Heart pounding a little bit too fast.

He’s gonna sleep good tonight alright.

Donquixote Doflamingo

Donquixote Doflamingo.

Controlled, flamboyant and charismatic. Enough to fool a King and his kingdom that is.

It was dead in the night. He had just tucked you in a few hours ago.

Now — he was overlooking some of Vergo’s reports, wine glass half empty as he hears you tiptoeing inside his office.

He glances to you, this time; he wore no glasses or a grin. His eyes were tired, his face quiet but when you enter with a blanket wrapped around yourself—you earn a small incredulous little smirk.

“Oh? Can’t sleep cariña?” He says putting down the reports as you inch near.

You don’t say anything as you approach him, only looming over him when you finally come close.

He doesn’t pull you in — just watching your pretty face. “Go on… Is there something you want—?”

You lift your blanket, wrapping it over him with you. You come close, leaning into his hair. Taking in the scent of him.

For a moment — Doflamingo just blinks.

Even as you come closer, pulling him to you with the blanket and nestling your face into his neck.

“You’re warm.” You say, and move into his lap. Only then does Doffy look up. Brows pulling. “… are you upset? Did something happen?”

You shake your head. Adjusting your seat on his crotch. “No, I jus’ wanna be near you. That’s all. Promise.”

Funnily enough — the way he lets you settle in, it’s almost a bit clumsy. His hands hover above your hips, he leans back as if to not invade your space and his shoulders are tense.

But when you rest your cheek on his chest only then does he soften up.

He lands his hands on top of your shoulder blades. Bringing you close. Face leaning down to your ear. Voice hot on your skin.

“What’s with the special treatment?” He grins, “trying to earn yourself a reward—?”

“Yes. I am.” You look up to him “I missed you. I want to feel you, be with you. That’s what I want.”

And it’s like you stole his breath away. He blinks, chest empty. Grin immediately gone and something vulnerable, something raw appears on his face.

For once — this charlatan is at loss for words.

The fact that you want him, even when you know his true nature—it brings such a soft ache in his chest that he can’t describe as anything but relief.

When you see that he can’t answer you only give him a sheepish smile. Kissing the corner of his lip.

“Don’t get all ahead of yourself — I’m just clingy for tonight.” You say, tugging onto him. Burying your face in his neck.

And he scoffs.

Embracing and kissing you back.

Roronoa Zoro

He was sharpening his sword when you trudged inside.

He gives you one sharp glance. “If you’re gonna nag about how I forgot to buy you snacks then—“

Your steps are fast, hard—plunging. And before he knows it, you’re grabbing onto his bicep.

He freezes. Whatever he was doing with his sword — long forgotten.

For a moment; there is just silence between you two.

You nudging your face into his arm.

Him malfunctioning from your sudden switch in behaviour.

He glances to you, almost motorically.

“Oi. What’s going on.”

You cling onto him harder. And when you kiss his bicep, only then does he flinch.

“H-hey, if this is some tactic to go get me run you errands, it’s not working—“

“Zoro,” you breathe, looking up to him.

And he turns pink.

Must you be so damn pretty lady?

He clicks his tongue, looking away.

Returning to sharpening his sword.

You tug onto him. “Zoro.”

He pretends you aren’t there.

“Zorooooo” you whine, pulling him and tugging his arm but he tries his best to ignore his heart pounding out of his chest.

“What is it.” He bites back when you lunge over his back. Your chest pressed onto his spine as you lean over his shoulders.

“Pay attention to meee~” you whine out and looks to you. Eye twitching.

“Did something happen? You’re awfully clingy.”

You make a face and he grumbles.

Damn it. Fine. You win. Whatever.

He turns to face you, and you immediately push your face between his pecs.

Arms slung over his shoulders. You take in the scent of him. He smells so good, you just want to bite him.

“Everything alright?” He says at last, carefully bringing you close and you shake your head. “I missed you. I just wanna be with you. That’s all.”

“You sure that’s all—?”

You bring your mouth to his neck. Kissing him. Nibbling him.

“You smell so good. I want to eat you.”

He blinks. And then closes his eye. Sighing. Admitting defeat.

He’ll let you cling yourself onto him, let you rub and kiss him. Heart pounding out of his chest.

And when this moment of yours is over; he’ll miss it more than a touch starved sailor at sea.

eats the foods you don’t like for you.

smurf cooks for the boys and their guests multiple times a day. usually it’s delicious and you eat it up with no arguing. but today, she places glasses full of some green goo she calls “healthy”.

yeah, no thank you.

you really try. eyes glancing between all the guys who drink it with no issue, maybe you’re just judging a book by it’s cover. with one sip, you come to the conclusion that you are not. no matter how healthy this drink is, it’s nasty as fuck. you swallow it down thickly, trying to keep your poker face on.

beside you, andrew is watching. and you’re not the best actor. he can read everything in your expression.

he takes the glass from you with no words exchanged, a hand on the back of your head as his way of saying, “it’s okay. i’ll finish it for you”.

he knows how you don’t like to waste food. and thankfully, he’s like a garbage chute.

smurf notices this habit, and sneers at you. it’s insulting to her that you don’t eat or drink every single thing she slaves in the kitchen to make you. and she hates it even more that andrew excuses it and covers for you.

while we’re on the topic, smurf does not like you.

it’s not like you’re new to their lives. you’ve been around for awhile. she knows you’re trustworthy.

but when push comes to shove, she knows that andrew is too attached to you. and one day, he will pick you over her.

you think it’s maybe some internal misogyny she has. she likes being the most important woman in her son’s lives. even going to the great lengths of distancing herself from her own daughter to do so.

everything you do to win her over is met with a fake smile and some bullshit condescending tone. you’ve gotten to the point where you just don’t even try anymore. it’s not worth it.

andrew loves you and thats all that matters.

he likes watching you.

people around you find it creepy. not really that surprising. most adults grow out of their staring problems. pope never did. especially when it came to you.

you can feel his eyes like a 20 pound weight on your shoulders at all times. if you’re in the same room, good chance he’s probably looking at you.

it used to make you feel a bit self conscious. slowly but surely you learned that it’s just his way of showing affection for you. he’s sort of like a cat in that way.

he likes when you find his gaze and reach over to pinch his cheek. anything to get an ounce of attention.

when it comes to jobs, he doesn’t care about you knowing about them. what he does not want is anything being traced back to you.

a lot of the time, he enjoys having your input. often you’ll sit in between his legs on the ground, him on the couch or a seat as they discuss whatever job they are talking about. you’re a whole lot smarter than his three brothers combined so hearing what you have to say about the heists they plan is a breath of fresh air. which he does not get too much of.

but if they such as imply your involvement in any of the jobs, he shuts that shit down real fuckin’ fast.

that’s one thing that slightly bothers you. you want in on these things sometimes. you don’t have a job because he takes care of you well enough that you don’t need one. but you want to feel useful. like you actually do something.

when you bring it up to him, he shakes his head. this is the only time where he yells. not really at you, but kind of at you. he can’t understand why you would want to be apart of what his family does.

if you cry, he softens up immediately, cradling your face in his hands. he apologizes for getting angry with you, but he does not apologize for protecting you.

he’s been to prison. spent too much time there and he never wants you to have to experience and see the things that he had to. you’re too perfect for that.

andrew does not play when it comes to you.

what he does like to do is spoil you rotten with what he gets from the jobs.

you gotta hide money somewhere. properties is a good way to do it. but andrew’s favorite way is to invest it into expensive jewelry he can dress you up in!

it’s always so awkward. he comes up to you with a pretty velvet box, holding it out like a cat would a dead rodent. he has that weird pursed lipped look on his face, waiting for you to take it and open it.

once you do, it’s always something glitzy. and you always show so much gratitude.

“popey!” you coo, holding up whatever piece he bought you this time. “it’s so pretty! put it on me! put it on me!”

he gets you so much junk you don’t even know where to put it all. you’ve got jewelry box after jewelry box just to store everything. and you’d never even consider getting rid of any of it. not at the chance of seeing that pathetic little pout on his pretty face.

speaking of pathetic … he’s pretty pathetic.

like. really fucking pathetic.

following you around like a lost puppy for your attention.

answers your calls before the first ring is even heard.

lets you drag him wherever you want. you move him around like a doll and he just .. lets you. has that dumb stare during it too.

drops to his knees in front of you very often. too often. he worships the ground you walk on. he always needs you to know that you’re above him in every sense of the word. loves when your fingers find their way into his curls too.

the way he looks up at you is just YUMMYYYY. sad eyes big and glassy with his mouth parted just a bit. you might as well be some demi-god to him.

every intimate moment with him you awaken that part of him x100.

we’ve already discussed how when he’s tongue deep in your pussy he’s sobbing his eyes out, usually unable to give it a rest. it’s not even pretty cries too. snotty and throaty. grooooosssss boy.

even when he’s pounding into you on top, his head is dropped into your shoulder, sniffling and crying about how good you feel and how he can’t possibly understand how you let him do this to you.

and when you’re on top, he can barely even look away. blinking is an annoyance because that nanosecond of staring at you bouncing on his cock and screaming his name is taken from him. he always keeps a hand on your hips. and if he wants to hold anything else, he always begs.

this munchkin looooooooves sleeping inside of you.

he tries to make it a nightly routine. you indulge him a lot. but sometimes, your pussy needs a break.

“not tonight, popey,” you hum, rolling onto your side. “we can tomorrow.. promise..”

he stares at you like you just said you were gonna shoot him and dump the body in the ocean. what is he? chopped liver?!

could you blame him though? it was just so warm and cozy in there. like a third home to him. and it made him inhumanely close to you. with his dick all nestled inside and his big beefy arms around your waist, hugging you against him, he could sleep for months in complete comfort.

the only issue is that you know how he is. most of the time, he just wakes up in the middle of the night hard as a rock and starts plowing into you from behind.

poor baby. he apologizes profusely which i guess makes up for it. he’s all, “‘m so sorry- fuck! baby- i’m sorry.. ahh- couldn’t help it.. go back to- mm- sleep.. go to sleep..”

nobody on the outside of you two would imagine it. he’s so fucking scary to everyone else. but for you? he’s a popsicle and you’re the beating summer sun.

(google doc link)

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You are ambushed the moment you walk through the house's patio; they are each introducing themselves, so you can finally piece together who everyone is from your eavesdropping. Jay and Deran are not really what you had imagined; though they seemed nice enough, Baz was to some degree. But Craig. Craig looks precisely how you pictured him, and he is already looking at you too hard in the sundress you picked out. You tried to play it safe and wear something you deemed respectable for the area, and now you were starting to worry that you had picked the wrong thing.

You were thinking too much and didn't notice him appear next to you. His smell overpowered your nose, that salty-sweet musk you've grown to miss when you're not around him. He places his hands on your mac and cheese to take it from you, politely, and his fingers brush against yours. He is staring. You turn to him, seeing his face this close in the light for the first time. It takes you an incredible effort to remain completely nonchalant, but god damn, this man is truly beautiful. You can see his face is smattered with freckles, and his eyes are a light hazel, visible only for a second before he tilts his head down and averts his gaze from yours. You want to see them again. You can feel the boys around you shift uncomfortably. Before anyone says anything, you say your first words to him," Hello," and a name, one you haven't uttered in a decade, your real name, something so deep and personal that you almost feel shame at saying it aloud to him when you haven't interacted for more than five minutes. Before that shame sits deep inside you, he shifts his eyes up towards your face again and says, "Andrew".

You start, confusion falling over your face for a swift moment, before you regain composure. Andrew? You realise, in this moment, this small, short moment between the two of you, that he has done the same thing. Not once have you heard this man referred to as Andrew.

As soon as you make this connection, a pit begins to form in your stomach; his smell overloads your nose and coats your mouth, his face, the sheer closeness of him, the intimacy of your names, and his low, husky voice start to feel too much. A breath gets caught in your throat, the blood pumping through you strains against the walls of your veins, and your mouth starts to feel like it has too many teeth.

"Pope, let's not scare the neighbour just yet," comes a voice. Smurf.

You finally let go of the mac and cheese. Your mouth returns to normality, and the moment is gone. You catch a glimpse of Craig and Deran exchanging a specific look. Before you turn to face Smurf, you don't know what you expected, but it wasn't what's in front of you now. She sounded both far too young and far too old to look the way she does. "Name's Janine, but everyone calls me Smurf. Why don't you help me set the table?' It felt more like a command than a question, but you followed suit regardless.

Once the table is set, it feels like everyone is talking to you at once. You answer the best you can. Right now, you're trying to understand the play here, listening to how the Codys talk to you. Before you know the best way to act. Normally, you would know everything you needed to at this point and would already be weaving a perfect story together to cover up the fact that maybe you aren't who you say you are. But everything about the place was overstimulating: the smells, the people, the intensity of every single interaction. You can practically taste the coke coming from Craig, Baz is clearly Smurf's favourite, and very much so his own favourite. Both Deran and Jay are quieter, but they both have this energy, something holding them back; they feel different to one another, and you can sense the walls they've built.

Still, nothing could have truly prepared you for the intensity of Andrew. His presence was proving to be more of a distraction than you thought it would be. The hole he was staring into your face from further up the table, his teeth clenching in response to any comment that felt flirtatious from Craig, the way he would suck his breath in when you would absentmindedly play with the neck of your beer bottle or dart your tongue out to wet your lips.

You were managing, and you could sense the game they were playing here, trying to fatten you up with the family finances, the food, the drinks, before Craig pounces on you. But you weren't playing into Craig; you have no interest in Craig. Your attention slips to Andrew from time to time. You shoot him glances, desperate to take in anything about his appearance, the way he has a permanent scowl on his face, but he would look away from you and return his gaze as soon as you turned to face someone else. It made you sad.

Smurf begins to notice your disinterest in Craig. To her credit, she does notice your interest in her other son. You're not exactly being as subtle as you would, but Pope's smell still envelops your nose, and your fingers burn wherever your hands met. You feel like a teenager, fresh into your life after death, ichy, borderline manic, and so damn thirsty.

"Would you like a drink, baby?" she asks you, like she can see into your thoughts. "There is some beer in the fridge, help yourself. Pope, show her where to go, would you?" Graig shoots Smurf a confused look, but she doesn't acknowledge it.

A silence hovers between you and Pope for a split second. You look at him, and he is looking down at the table, still not meeting your eyes.

"Pope." It wasn't a request.

"Yeah..yeah", he slowly rises from the table and says softly, "The kitchen is just through here."

He walks with his back straight, his hair slightly sticking up at the front, and he's wearing a blue sleeveless shirt that hugs his body. He looks almost adorable. You follow him into the kitchen, as you hear the patterings of Craig voicing his opinion, "Why would you leave her alone with Pope?" And her dismissive response.

He walks into the kitchen, and you follow close behind, walking around an island in the middle. He has pushed himself into the corner of the cabinets. "The beer is just in the fridge," he says, talking to the floor. You can hear his heart beating fast, and you get excited at the thought that he's nervous to be alone with you. You take a trepid step forward, his head tilted, and his eyes flicker up, peaking at you through his lashes. The feeling in your mouth returns; it's dry, and you want to grit your teeth to relieve some pressure in your gums. He is still not looking at you fully; he just glances at your face before looking down again. A smile forms on your face, and you step closer again, closing him in to the corner he's boxed himself in. You breathe him in and can taste his sweat in the air.

"I am parched, Andrew", you say softly, borderline predatory grin on your face. At the mention of his name, he snaps his head up to fully look at you, and you hear his breath hitch. He is so pleasing to look at; his mouth is almost in a pout, his knuckles are white, gripping the edge of the counter behind him. You stare at each other for a while, and you have the real chance to examine his face; you can see his eyes doing the same to yours. His pupils are blown, and you know yours are the same. You step ever so slightly forward into his space, and you can see his jaw clench and his eyes roll back into a blink briefly. His nostrils flare, and all you can smell is him; it's everywhere musky, sweaty, salty with that tiny hint of sweet, him, him, him, him, him.

He moves his hand onto your arm, and you can't help but lean into his warm touch. His arm trails up towards your shoulder, and he leans his head down closer to your face.

You can't help it; the teeth that sit in the space above your gums have retracted, and all you can think about is a taste. Just a sweet little taste. Please, please.

The next thing you know, you're in the basement of your house, the remaining stockpile of blood bags you had left, scattered all over the floor, your mouth is wet and cold, and your hands are slimy, and it is just. Not. Enough.

⛧──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────⛧

The moment you walk through to meet the Codys, Pope's brothers (specifically Baz and Craig) descend on you like dogs. Pope is at the back of the pack, as is his usual place when interacting with literally anyone since he got out of prison. They're introducing themselves, checking you out too hard. You're wearing a long sundress that hugs your body, and Pope instinctively gets angry at the thought of them ogling you. He sees that you are holding the mac and cheese you brought over to share with the Codys, and, to be polite or just to grab your attention, he moves closer to you to take it from you. His fingers brush over yours as he takes hold of the dish, and he stares into the side of your face as you chatter with his brothers. Pope is awed at the sigh of you this close and clear. It is sunny today, and the sun is behind you, giving you a glow around the side profile of your face. He knows he needs to stop staring; he knows he should move, but he is so enamoured of your face, he just can't. And then. You turn to look at him, and it becomes overwhelming. He looks at the ground, instinctively, but doesn't move his hand or say anything. Pope knows he's being weird, that he is making you uncomfortable; he can see it in the way his brothers shift their weight and exchange glances.

"Hello!" You say to him, and you introduce yourself to him. He hears the musical sound of your name, and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard, and Pope looks at you again. There you are, in front of him, looking at him in the eyes, and everything about you is just so inviting to him; there is a kindness in your eyes, and a slight upward quirk in your mouth and Pope cant bare the thought that you wont know if name, so he replies, "Andrew" and his voice is gruff, almost resistant to saying anything in the first place. Andrew sees something, though he's not quite sure what, cross your face and the sound of his name. And for what feels like an extraordinary amount of time, you just share a look: You are looking at him right in his eyes, and you look at him with an intensity he has not experienced before. He wants to turn to look down, worried you'd look too hard and discover something in his eyes, something that would mean you wouldn't look at him like that again, but he doesn't. He can see your nostrils flaring, the kind look in your eye disappear into dilated pupils, and your mouth stretch wider.

"Pope, let's not scare the neighbour just yet," Smurf's voice cuts through the moment, and you let go of the mac and cheese, and shame floods Pope at the loss of contact.

Pope spends the next 45 minutes in hell. All his brothers were paying too much attention to you, and he couldn't blame them. You are the most captivating person he has ever met; there is something so addictive about your presence. You handle everything that is thrown at you. Pope can't believe how well you fit into the family; it's like you've been family friends with everyone since you were kids. You say the right things, laugh at the right times, but reveal almost nothing about yourself in the process. Craig is practically throwing himself at you, and you don't even nibble on a single line he throws your way. You are polite and airy, but you do not flirt with anyone.

He does not speak; he just stares. He takes what he can from this moment and studies everything about you. The way you tilt your head back when you laugh, the way your hair falls on your face when you lean forward, the way the dress complements the colour of your skin so perfectly. The way your hands grip the beer you're holding, how sometimes your tongue licks the rim of the bottle when you look in his direction, is something he has filed away somewhere private and personal. How sometimes some nervousness peaks through your perfectly constructed personality, and you lick the corner of your lips to cope.

Most importantly, how often you look in his direction. Pope just can't deal with it, so he does not meet your gaze, dropping his eyes away from you, only to move them right back when you turn your attention to someone else.

Pope knows that Smurf is trying to study how best to treat you, how she can manipulate you into doing what she wants, and the thought makes him feel a little sick. He feels defensive on your behalf, but he knows it's mostly possessiveness. He saw you first; his family doesn't have the right to even think about using you to their own filthy needs.

Smurf says something he doesn't catch, and then “There is some beer in the fridge, help yourself. Pope, show her where to go, would you?" Pope knows it isn't a request; he knows she's using him to get to you, and he doesn't want to help her or put you in harm's way.

“Pope.”

“Yeah, yeah, He stood up, keeping his eyes on the table, “The kitchen is just through here”, he can feel you following behind him, he moves into the corner of the cabinets to give you as much space as possible, looking down and passively waving his hand toward the fridge. He doesn't want to appear threatening; he doesn't want you to see him and feel afraid; he wants you to like him.

You take a small step in his direction, and Pope's heart hammers against his chest. Against better judgment, he slowly lifts his head to peer at you. You are staring at him, Pope can feel his cheeks heating more than they already were, and he can't bring himself to look any more; his head tilts away from you again.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat, and you move towards him so he has nowhere to go, cramped into the corner of the counter. Your voice, sultry and soft: “I am parched, Andrew.” At the mention of his name, Pope snaps his head up to look at you; his own breath catches in his throat. He takes the time to look at you, he basks in the intimacy of this moment, and Pope can't look away from your face, your lips, your eyes, pupils blown to hell. You smell like mint and beer, with something really deep he can't put his finger on. He takes a deep breath, wanting to remember the smell, be buried in it. There is nowhere for Pope to move, but you continue to invade his space, slowly. There is an expression on your face that he can't read, but your mouth has shifted into a wide grin. Pope feels himself shiver, his teeth chatter, and his cock strains hard against his jeans; his hands are sore from the strength of his grip. You are so close he can feel your breath on his cheek, he watches your face intently, your eyes flick over his own, landing on his nape. The heat of your breath tickles his neck, and you lean so close to him that he can't help but reach out and touch you. He places his hand against your arm, surprised by the coldness of your skin, as you lean into him, and he traces it towards your shoulder. You haven’t removed your gaze. He wants you, he wants to feel your lips on his, he wants to taste your mouth. He leans his head down to meet your face, and moves his hand to pull your chin towards him, and finally, he barely grazes his lips to yours.

A low sound, a mix between a groan and a whimper, slips from your mouth, and the next moment, you're gone from Pope's space.

He blanks for a moment, confused by the loss of contact. You are on the other side of the kitchen, and your face looks pained. Your mouth opens to say something, but Pope speaks first, “I’m sorry I-“ on instinct, terrified he’s done something bad.

But you’re gone, you’re out the door, you almost take it off the wall. Pope steps forward to follow you, but you’re already past the garage. “What did you do, bro?” He hears, but he’s following, his steps slow and steady. The gate is closed, but there is no sign of you. He stands there, arms hanging at his sides. Baz and Craig come up behind him. “What happened?” “She RAN out of here, bro”. To which Pope says nothing; he just grabs his jacket and leaves.

Pope doesn’t see you for the next few weeks. And he tries. He goes to all the spots he’s seen you before, he stays up late and tries to watch you through the window, and he even goes out of desperation, steps into your property and snoops through your windows, but you are nowhere to be found. Every time his family bring it up, Pope shuts down. He does what he’s told, when he’s told, but he barely speaks a word that doesn’t need to be said. They talk about new jobs and allowances, and Craig goes on benders. Everyone is resistant to Jay, but Smurf is insistent that he stay. He still has to sleep at the motel, and Baz tries to tell him to be careful because a few more people have been going missing in that area lately, but Pope doesn’t care. Everyone is walking on eggshells around him, and it drives Pope crazy. He sleeps less than usual, buries himself in the destruction and building of the fountain, and wanders around outside at night. After a week of that, Smurf starts cooking his favourite meals, practically force-feeding him even when he’s not hungry.

He thinks about you every day. He replays that moment in his mind, trying to see what he did wrong, where he made you uncomfortable. He can think of everything and nothing. You moved to him, you came onto him, you invaded HIS space. He didn’t make the first move; he followed your lead. He caves once, and grips his dick hard at the memory of your smell, of the heat radiating off your body. The glint in your eye and your constant eye contact. The sight of you in the sundress.

He pumped his cock, slow, imagining it was you holding him firm, and he almost brought himself to the edge, but guilt and a tiny hope that you would do the honours of making him come over you in person made him stop.

The next time he saw you, you looked better than you ever had before. You were practically glowing. Pope wanted to say something to you, but two separate men had come over to you in the time since he first noticed you. Who hits on women in the grocery store? It made Pope angry, so angry. He wanted to take those men out the back and hit them until they stopped thinking about you, but he wouldn’t. Instead, he waited and watched, making sure you were safe. He didn’t want to talk to you, for fear you would outright reject him. So he tails you home, he watches you carry your bags in, multiple in both hands, one trip, truly impressive. When you walk into your house and lock the door, Pope can finally breathe easy. His girl next door is finally home.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You are clearly not in your right mind. You can hardly remember the last moments in the Codys' house with Pope. All you can think about is your hunger, the dark need that growls in the back of your throat. The deep cold in your stomach. Looking at the piles of empty blood bags on the floor only makes it worse. As soon as you realise you have nothing left, you lose all sense, barely clean up, and leave the house. You walk maybe five blocks, it could be 10, before you find yourself walking down some random alley, with three guys chirping at you…Was it three? Maybe it was four. They are goading each other, crowding you, pulling at your hair and clothes. You start laughing pretty quick into this whole bravado bullshit. It takes about eight minutes to completely dismantle the group of men harassing you. One forceful push sends one man into the wall, with a wet crack, and he’s on the floor, unmoving. Another comes at you in response, but you grab at his throat and slam him into the ground. You’re on one, maybe he was running away? Or perhaps towards you. Your arms are around his head and your feet around his back, and oh, yes, finally. Hot, wet relief pours into your mouth, and oh god, it's just so, so good. You hear one man running away, like full sprinting, and all it takes is for you to remove your mouth from the neck of whoever you’re attached to.

“Stop, don't move, stay there”, he complies to the command, but the effort of having to do it forces you straight back onto the man's throat again. You’re on one drink your fill, more than your fill, with the amount of men lying around you, overfeed yourself until you're euphoric. Did you kill one? You can’t remember; you only remember eating, commanding them to forget the last hour, feeding some more, then providing them with some blood in return, to clear up the condition you left them in faster than it would without it.

The next time you’re fully aware, it's a few days later, you’re not so young into your vampirism that you have left a complete disaster in your wake, but the damage you have done is not the last.

The beast has been unleashed, and your hunger cannot be satiated by blood bags alone, especially with the tense temptation next door. It isn’t enough; the need for fresh blood is overpowering, and you spend the next week refining the act of feeding.

The first time you do this, you put on one of the sluttiest outfits you currently own, a short black dress that lifts your chest nicely, a long, tight pair of knee-high boots, and something so fluffy it could hardly be considered a jacket.

You don't think too much about which part of Oceanside is best to do this; you just go somewhere you remember seeing sleezy men harass women outside bars once, when you followed Andrew to the motel he was sleeping at.

You go to a dark corner of some random bar and listen intently to the conversations of the patrons. You zone in and out of conversations, itchy and restless, desperate to pick out some loser who will throw themself at you. It doesn’t take too long until you hear some guy, not taking no for an answer, harassing some poor girl who doesn't want anything to do with him.

“Come on, babe, let me buy you a drink!” You can hear his voice, high and weasel-like; he has put himself between her and the bar. “Thank you, but I’m actually waiting for someone.” The woman replies, her disinterest clear in her voice. “Yeah, but you can hang with me until then, yeah?” God, his voice is annoying. “I appreciate that, but they’re gonna be here like, any moment.”

“Well, I don't see anyone here, just you and me, so let me buy you a drink.” This time

It didn’t feel like a request, and you can see the discomfort in her body language, the way she covers herself up when he leers at her.

You know you should have waited a little longer, but you were struggling enough as it was; if you'd been any worse off, you would have just grabbed the first person you saw and taken them right there in the road. You move towards him, near the edge of the bar and push yourself into the space next to him and ‘accidentally’ push hard into his back. He turns to confront you, but his anger dissipates when he sees you looking up at him, “Oh, I'm so sorry, I’m so clumsy”, you say, pretending to slur your words a little.

“Don't worry about it, you’re a pretty little thing ain’t you?” You force a giggle in response, and you check over his shoulder to see the girl move elsewhere in the bar. “Aren’t you just the sweetest. Thank you so much, you’re not so bad yourself.” His grin widens at the bullshit spewing out of your mouth. You move your hand up to his thigh and rest it there. “Can I get you a drink, young lady?”

“I actually think I would rather just go back to yours” You grin widely at this statement and flutter your eyelashes. You hear the man's heartbeat speed up, and see his mouth open slightly at your forwardness. “Oh, yeah, I think we can do that”.

Hook, line, and sinker, baby.

You spend the next week feeding at your leisure, and you only go back home once or twice. You are afraid to see Andrew again, worried about your last encounter and if you did anything untoward to him. You shouldn’t have gone over there without being fed properly, but you couldn’t predict the temptation he would have over you. Being in his presence was harder than it should have been, but something about him had an iron grip on you, more than just his beauty; it was the way he carried himself. As though he carried some guilt for being different, or for something to do with his line of work. You wanted to get to know him, but you needed time before seeing him again, before trying to have a conversation with the man without trying to eat him.

By the end of the second week, you had mellowed out some, and drinking fresh blood had made you stronger, faster, and more in control. You only needed to feed once or twice a week with fresh blood, which dramatically cut back on blood bags consumption. You felt great. You are ready to go back home, looking forward to carrying on your paintings and getting into the swing of ‘human’ life again.

You notice that he’s following you around the grocery store as soon as he sees you there. It wasn’t intentional; you both happened to be there at the same time. You had let the food in your fridge go bad and desperately needed fresh food. You most definitely knew he was there before he noticed you; it was his scent that hit you first, then his slow, steady heartbeat. You saw him looking at cereal, his posture straight, the staple shirt type he always wore tight against his chest. He was mumbling to himself when some guy came up to talk to you. You were polite but uninterested, maintaining conversation for a short time, trying to get a peek at Andrew, when you heard him exhale, and his heartbeat quickened. You knew that it was because of you, after he muttered something under his breath about choosing to hit on someone at the grocery store. From there, it was his turn to follow you around the store. You were amused at this; you missed his presence, the way he followed you discreetly. If you didn’t have an advantage, you were sure you wouldn’t know he was there.

He followed you the whole way home, tailing you in his big truck, keeping a safe distance. He pulled in further up the road than you did, staying in his car, watching you walk into your door with your shopping. A smile remained on your face the whole time, and you aren’t sure if he got the cereal he was looking at.

That night, you undress slowly in front of your window, just as a treat for him, and you can hear his slow, shallow breaths in response.

And at the Pitt, you don’t have room for softness.

Jack Abbot notices everything about you. The way you triage with incredible efficiency. The way you steady shaking hands without making a show of it. The way you don’t flinch when someone yells.

He’s never noticed you squint.

Until today.

It happens mid-shift. A trauma rolls in, fast and loud and chaotic, and you’re at the bedside for nearly an hour straight. The air is dry. You blink too much. Your vision starts to blur at the edges. By the time you step out into the hall, your eyes are burning so badly you can barely keep them open.

You duck into the staff bathroom, hands braced on the sink.

“Not now,” you mutter.

The contacts have shifted and one is definitely torn. You recognize that scratchy, wrong sensation immediately. After washing your hands, you take them out carefully, blinking against the sting. The relief is instant—but so is the realization that hits you a second later.

You don’t have spares.

“Great,” you sigh, staring at your blurry reflection.

For a second, you consider just powering through it—squinting your way through the rest of the shift and pretending the sting in your eyes isn’t driving you insane. But you know better. You won’t last an hour like this, and the last thing you need is to misread a chart or medication label because you were too stubborn to grab your backup.

Which means leaving the safety of the bathroom.

You dry your hands slowly, take one last look at your unfocused reflection, and step back into the hallway. Without your contacts, everything feels slightly off-kilter—the lights too bright, the edges of people and gurneys a little too soft. 

You keep your gaze down as you walk toward the lockers, hoping no one stops you on the way.

When you get to the lockers it is mercifully empty. You crouch in front of your locker, fingers fumbling with the zipper of your bag until you find the hard case tucked into the side pocket. In it, wrapped in an old cleaning cloth, are your glasses.

You hesitate again before unfolding them.

They’re simple, with thin metal frames, a little too big for your face, the kind that make your eyes look wider and a touch more exposed. You slide them on and blink a few times as the world snaps back into sharp focus. The clarity is immediate, almost jarring.

There’s a small mirror on the inside of one of the lockers. You glance at yourself, head tilting slightly as you take in the difference. 

You look… different but not worse. Just less guarded somehow, like a layer you didn’t realize you were wearing has been peeled back.

You exhale slowly, straighten your shoulders, and throw the ruined contacts into a nearby trash bin, slide the glasses on, and step back into the chaos of the floor.

It takes exactly thirty seconds.

“Oh my God,” one of the nurses says dramatically. “You wear glasses?”

A couple of heads snap up from charts. Someone actually leans closer, squinting at you like they’re trying to confirm it’s really you.

Shen swivels in his chair, openly staring. “Wait, hold on. Since when have you been hiding these? This is a betrayal.”

“A betrayal?” You repeat flatly.

“Yes,” he insists. “We work twelve-hour shifts together. I thought we told each other things.”

You roll your eyes. “Can we focus on the patients instead of my face?”

“Sorry,” another nurse chimes in. “You just look… adorable.”

Adorable.

You groan. “If anyone says the word adorable again, I’m transferring departments.”

Ellis smirks at your irritation. “Noted. Adorable is off the table. We’ll workshop alternatives.”

There’s laughter. A few exaggerated double takes. Nothing malicious—just the kind of teasing that happens when something shifts in a place that rarely changes.

You try to brush past them, pretending none of this is getting to you, but the teasing follows like a wave. It isn’t cruel. It’s just new and impossible to ignore. And in a place where everything is routine and muscle memory, new stands out.

You adjust the bridge of your glasses self-consciously, wishing your face didn’t feel like it’s under a spotlight.

And then you feel it.

That shift in the air that has nothing to do with Shen or Ellis or any nurse.

You glance up almost immediately.

Jack is standing at the end of the nurses’ station with a chart half-lowered in his hand. He isn’t laughing or smirking or joining in. He’s just staring, his eyes fixed on you like he’s trying to recalibrate something he thought he understood.

His eyes drag over your face like he’s trying to recalibrate something. Like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“What?” You ask when you get closer, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jack doesn’t answer right away. He blinks, slow and deliberate, as if surfacing from somewhere else. “It’s just…” he trails off quietly. “I—”

His jaw flexes. You’ve seen that look before—usually right before he says something sharp or carefully controlled—but this isn’t sharp. It isn’t controlled, but instead stunned.

“You look…”

Your stomach flips despite yourself. 

“Different?” You offer, a hint of defensiveness creeping in.

His gaze softens, and the shift in it makes your pulse stutter. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Different.” A small pause stretches between you before he adds, lower, “Good different.”

The hallway noise seems to dim at the edges. Someone wolf-whistles from behind you. “Oh, he likes it.”

You feel heat climb all the way up your neck. “Can we not do this right now?”

But Jack doesn’t break eye contact, and that’s what makes it unbearable. 

Later, when the rush finally ebbs into something manageable, you find a computer at the end of the nurses’ station and start charting. The department hums around you—monitors beeping, phones ringing, Shen arguing with pharmacy over speaker—but it’s background noise now. 

Your glasses have stopped feeling foreign on your face, though you’re still hyper-aware of them every time you glance down at the screen.

You don’t notice Jack approach until the chair beside you scrapes softly against the floor.

He pulls out the chair beside you and sits—not across from you or at the next computer, but right next to you.

“You don’t wear them often,” he says after a moment, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry past the two of you.

You keep your eyes on the screen, pretending your pulse doesn’t immediately spike. “No. Contacts are easier.”

“For who?” He asks mildly.

“For me.” You huff a quiet laugh. “I get less comments about my sight—or lack thereof—this way.”

He hums at that, but he doesn’t look away. You can feel his gaze tracing over your profile, lingering at the bridge of your nose, the way the thin frames rest against your cheeks. It makes your fingers stumble over the keyboard.

“They suit you,” he says finally.

You snort softly, trying to deflect the sudden tightness in your chest. “That’s not what everyone else thinks.”

“I don’t care what everyone else thinks.”

The words land heavier than they should. You glance up at him, and immediately wish you hadn’t. He’s closer than you realized, one arm resting along the back of your chair, his knee angled slightly toward yours.

“I like seeing your eyes like this,” he continues, voice quieter now, steadier. “They look bigger.”

Your heart stumbles. “They’re the same eyes,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, holding your gaze. “But now I get to see them clearly.”

You swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is, of how easily someone could glance over and notice the way he’s looking at you.

Your glasses slide slightly down your nose when you look back at the screen.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches up. There’s a split second where his hand hovers, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You don’t. His fingers gently nudge the frames back into place, the touch light and careful.

It’s brief, but it lingers.

“You should wear them more,” he says quietly.

“So the entire department can keep bullying me?” You let out a small, shaky laugh. 

He almost smiles, something warm flickering in his eyes. “Let them,” he replies. “Gives me an excuse to stare.”

“You stare anyway,” you murmur before you can stop yourself, pulse ringing in your ears.

He doesn’t look embarrassed or caught. Just nods once, slow and certain.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I do.”

And the way he says it makes you think maybe the contacts weren’t the only thing that shifted today.

it felt like ages since everything had started, yet it had been less than a year since your first appearance in twisted wonderland. a world so different from your own, and despite everything you’ve been through, this may of been your hardest challenge. not because you were facing yet another overblot, nor because you were being put in a deathly situation. no, rather this was one that was the hardest because of the fact that you were sure you’d be able to survive the touches of eight very different and equally powerful men all at once. it may actually of been easier to take them in a physical fight, yet the words that slipped past your lips were contrary to your negative thoughts, encouraged by the warm fluttering of your cunt. “I’d be willing to try.”

you wished you could of covered your whole being as all their eyes were fixated on you. you had gotten confessions from each of them individually and had put it off, but they wanted their answer already. there was only so long you could ignore it. they weren’t stupid, they knew that each one of the others had likely done the same—confessed. it was a coincidence they all ended up at ramshackle at the same time, or so it seemed, but at some point the arguments between them ended up nearly breaking a hole through the wall as it felt like thunder was beginning to storm in the distance. you had tried to deescalate things, yet it soon evolved from unproductive insults directed towards one another to you being the centerpiece, a proposal of just finding out right now who really would be the best fit for you.

you thought maybe they’d take you on a date each, yet you knew deep down from their lustful expressions it would never be that innocent. the moment you responded, you signed off on this death wish and embraced what would unfold. if you didn’t want to make a decision before, you’d finally be able to do one after this, all of you reasoned. sexual compatibility was a part of a relationship, and each of the men were determined to be the one that convinced you to choose them. even the normally peaceful ones like trey and cater were motivated, and the ever shut-in idia had his competitive streak mode on, it was really going to happen. “just do me a favor and be gentle… i’ve never had this many people at once.” you request, casting your gaze to the floor as embarrassment eats you alive. you couldn’t see it, but there were a few wide eyes or surprised smiles that the men gave. they were originally going to do it individually, one after the other, but if you were suggesting a free for all, that’s how they liked it. this was night raven college, a fight like this was something everyone took seriously, especially with the prize being something each of them were so individually interested in.

you had expected them to have some sort of order to it, yet you should of known better as leona makes the first move in waltzing up to you, flicking his tail as he pulls off your shirt from behind you. your nipples harden at the feeling of the cold air hitting them, leona’s fingers giving them a tweeze as one of your eyes squeezes shut, letting out a moan followed by fingers pushing into your mouth. he had a smug grin, being the one who made the first move and attempt at claiming you as his own, palming at your breasts as his erection rubbed against your ass. “leona!” your muffle cries don’t go unheard, the other men feeling their jealousy begin to claw at them as they too, join in the fray. you feel leona’s fingers disappear from your mouth as they’re yanked by vil, his own cock pressing into your side as he tilts your head to his direction, giving you a firm and heated kiss.

his tongue pushes in and prods about, distracting you from what the other men are doing, attention focused solely on him as he deepens it. he tasted sweet, his gloss staining your own lips as he pulls away, leaving you in a blurry daze to recover before your attention is pulled into another direction, this time by malleus. he was not one to lose, his own jealousy clearly taking control as the thundering storms grew louder in the background, your wet panties discarded somewhere as he pushes leona aside, the two going elbow to elbow in an attempt to fight over touching your body. malleus presses a kiss to your lips, as though attempting to rid you of vil’s taste entirely. his fingers rub at your breasts while his nails occasionally scratch leona’s hands, but never directly your flesh. “mmng..!” you moan into his mouth with pleasure, feeling hot breath fanning at your cunt as a tongue laps at it. your hands subconsciously reach down, grabbing the hair of the other fae knelt between your legs, his cold fingers spreading your thighs apart for him.

your mind buzzes, delirious with the pleasure as your eyes momentarily meet rook’s, his hand stroking his cock with his boxers pulled down, his girthy dick leaking with pre as he watches, a flushed expression on his face as he marvels at the beauty unfolding. you don’t have time to call out or do anything with him, though, not when your hands are guided to cater’s aching cock and your lips wrap around trey’s. despite the two being the oh responsible and mature third years of heartslabyul, they were far from innocent and not the type to just sit back and stay docile in this scenario. instead they seem to have teamed up, keeping you focused on them as you began stroking cater, his precum acting as a lubricant as you begin stroking at his shaft, feeling his tip press against your chest, dirtying it all the while trey completely fills your mouth, his thick cock making your cheeks bulge slightly from the size.

you don’t even see as idia pockets away your discarded panties, giving them a smell before shoving them into his jacket, making sure it was safe and secure for a later use. your pussy clenches as your legs squirm and squeeze around lilia’s head, his tongue delving deeper into you as you moan, trey’s dick hitting the back of your throat as you try your best to take it, hands never once stopping their movements as one of them is pulled away and directed towards another, rook’s, now ending up with you double fisting both cocks in one hand each. your breasts are covered in marks from being groped and tweezed, malleus’ mouth latched onto one of your nipples, suckling on it like it was his last meal, making your eyes roll.

leona’s teeth sink between the crevice of your neck, leaving bright hickeys in its wake before he pauses for a moment to spit on his fingers. his fingers trail downward, prodding at your ass causing your eyes to go wide at the feeling, unsure if your ass was prepared for the invasion as he pushes in, pumping them in and out, not at all matching lilia’s rhythm. his fingers are rough and calloused unlike lilia’s smooth tongue, roughly stretching your ass to prepare for him as you feel yourself choking against trey’s cock, overwhelmed by pleasure. you knew at the start you probably wouldn’t survive, but it hadn’t even really begun yet. you technically only had one cock in you so far, and you started this all out fight so you knew it would be awhile.

“cum.. gonna cu…!” you slur on trey’s cock as the full treatment was sending you over the edge. lilia’s tongue was so deep, your body spasming while your strength completely leaves you, the men supporting your entire weight as you cum and squirt all over lilia’s face, the stimulation hitting you hard. he doesn’t stop, instead eating you clean out, not letting a single drop go to waste. your body shudders as trey let you have a minute to breathe and catch yourself before guiding you back to his cock, the pulsating and twitching giving you a sign that he was close. you speed up your rubbing and stroking, intent on making all three men cum together at once, squeezing your eyes shut as you aim their dicks at your face, taking trey as deep down as you can as he bursts, his cum stuffing your cheeks and spewing down the back of your throat, pumping the cocks in your hand as hot ropes of cum coat your face from both rook and cater.

your throat felt sore as you swallowed it all, sticking out your tongue as he pulled out, a string of saliva connecting you to his cock. it was hard to see your expression as cum covered your face, by your own volition, but you were in ecstasy. you feel your body positioned, between vil and leona as they both take a place at your prepped holes, your nails digging into idia’s hands as he holds yours, guiding your head down to his leaking tip. it looked to be covered in cum already, his fingers trembling as his signature grin widens, his delight growing as he watches you get stuffed at both ends. leona’s slick cock pushed into your ass, stretching it in a way you’d never felt, wanting to squeeze at and claw at him with every fiber you had, but you couldn’t even focus as vil’s equally intimidating dick pushed into your sopping cunt, slipping deeper and deeper until you were squeezing him hard. leona’s cock in your ass was already making you clench, but you weren’t sure if you could relax.

“aagh.. more!” yet again you betray yourself, pleading for more. their cocks were hitting such sweet spots inside of you, making you drool and whimper as idia’s cock kisses your lips, encouraging you to lick and suck on it, your fingers going to clasp around his slender hips yet found themselves wrapped around malleus’ cocks, the top and bottom one, encouraging you to give him a handjob as well. Idia’s and malleus’ hands both press against your head on opposite sides as leona gives you ass a smack to remind you of just where he was, and how he was stretching your ass so wonderfully full as he pulls out and all the way in, causing you to choke down on idia’s cock. thankfully, idia isn’t that large that you’re full on crying and gagging, but you still feel a few tears form at the corner of your eyes as you’re fucked into his cock. vil wasn’t one to let leona, or anyone, steal his spotlight though. his cock pulled all the way out and thrusted all the way into you, causing you to moan and squeal as both men begin pounding you in their own way.

vil was not too fast, taking his time, but there was a type of strength behind each of his thrusts. you never once forgot that he was a tall and strong man, and this moreso solidified that. his makeup was slightly smudged, only slightly as he grunted under his breath while his fingers massaged circles around your hips. leona was the opposite, rough and fast as he reached deep into your ass and gave you an out of body experience—like you were seeing stars swirling above head. he was hitting so deep inside of you and making you feel like mush, both the men snarkily commenting about each others’ performance as you continue to pump malleus’ cocks, your tired arms squeezing and pumping with all you got as cum dripped from your stained cheeks onto the floor, idia’s cock buried in your sore throat.

Idia was nowhere near lasting as trey was, stammering and blabbering about how sexy this was as his cum filled your mouth with a sweet taste, presumably from his bad diet. his hair was bright pink as he pulled out with a pop, your tongue licking at and cleaning what you could at his softening length, watching him return to shirking back down after the rush of adrenaline dwindled. he seemed to be reaching into the pocket of his jacket as lilia took his place, yet you weren’t going to back down, opening your mouth to welcome the next cock. he was surprisingly bigger than idia, despite the ignihyde dorm leader being one of the taller people there, but you could never judge a book by its cover, especially with lilia’s earlier technique.

as you bob on lilia, malleus cocks grow harder and only seem to get bigger the more you stroke at him. you knew he was a dragon fae but this shouldn’t be something that existed within the realm of possibilities. both were huge and littered in scales, his cum splashing against your chest every so often as you rubbed them faster, telling yourself that you’d never get this chance again so no way you were backing down just like that. not when the pleasure was at an all time high, leona’s teeth biting into you as his cum finally shoots and fills up your ass, leaving an imprint of his hand on your reddened ass as vil comes up your used cunt as well, finally allowing himself to now that leona had. his cum was hot and slightly watery, bits trickling down your wobbly thighs as they’re supported by another set of hands, trey and rook.

“merveilleux!” rook groaned, far more vocal than the other two from before as his flush cheeks press against your neck, planting his own kisses as he pumps his cock, guiding it to your cunt. from behind, trey had taken to support you, feeling your thighs for a long time as he slowly pushed his way into your ass. it didn’t hurt, in fact, you were desperate for friction by now. your hips buckle as you encourage the two men to fuck into you already. you were desperate for more, no longer scared of being broken, or of the outcome. whatever happens happens, and until the dam breaks you were going to enjoy it, lilia’s cock stuffing your mouth as you give malleus a few more strokes, pointing the cocks between your chest and face, having both areas stained with thick globs of his cum. his cocks were still hard as could be, yet lilia encouraged him to take a quick break, soon following after him as his cum fills your mouth, wiping your face off to clean you a little before giving you a break.

sandwiched between the vices, your ankles are hooked on rook’s shoulders as he drills his cock deeper into you than before, trey’s hands now obviously caressing and touching at the flesh of your dirtied thighs with delight as he rams into your ass, reminding you that he was more than a sweet upperclassman of his dorm. “fuck.. there, please ah!” you scream in pleasure as your nipples press against rook’s own chest, feeling him give them a pinch as his eyes squeeze shut, showing you the vulnerability of his heightened pleasure. words of praise sung from his lips as he encouraged both you and trey to all cum together, to let out your passion, and you do. you follow his instructions, your pussy clenching and body spasming as your next orgasm washes through you, eyes rolled all the way back as both men cum, filling your holes up, all the cum inside of you mixing together and you could swear you could feel every single bit of it every time you moved.

it isn’t long of a break you get, cater taking front and center in your poor pussy, with him taking a seat on the lounge sofa, placing you on top of him as he helps you ride his cock. he was sure you were tired of your previous position, so he’d be the one to help you out there and let you rest a little bit. it was like some kind of spell or enchantment was lifting you effortlessly up and down as you were sure cater wasn’t, his hands posing his phone as he smushed his cheek against you, your fucked out body on display. “smile for cay-cay, ‘kay?” he tells you, as you give him a fucked out blissful smile knowing that he would only use it as his own material and not do anything else.

idia soon returned with his cock hard again, laughing a little at the sight of you so overstimulated and cockdrunk, prodding at your ass as he made his way behind you. he wasn’t one to be counted out, and although he wasn’t the greatest with his magic he was with his creations, pulling out a small vibe and attaching it to your clit, to which cater whistled at. pushing his cock in, he easily slipped into your ass, so wet and stretched that he couldn’t help but coo in awe. he’d never expected he’d get such a chance, his teeth flashing as he hesitantly left a hickey on you, feeling as though there was no way he got this lucky. he didn’t even want to come today, he was just told through a text that he traced back to be cater that he’d really want to come to ramshackle today, or else he’d miss something huge involving you. he was just happy to be included in this plan, sure that you were unaware of what cater and all the other men had planned as you were bouncing on the diamond card soldier’s hard dick.

“mm.. hah!” you were a panting mess, the vibrator sending waves of pleasure through your clit as you squirmed and clenched, body thrusting itself onto cater’s wet cock so eagerly, tongue lolled out as he gives you a kiss, telling you that you were doing a good job. it was like a blur as the vibrator’s sensations got even more powerful, a scream erupting from you as your orgasm comes out, exhausted body collapsing as the spell wears off, your body refusing to move anymore even with its assist. seeing your beautiful expression, cater bit his lip, cum coming out quicker than he hoped as idia followed suit, pulling the vibrator off of you. he would of love to seen you keep it on, but this toy was covered in your cum and he was going to keep it for himself, no way would he let anyone else have it, along with that underwear of yours’ from earlier. he just had to get some merch to go with the live concert, after all.

although you were spent, there were two more men who had patiently waited. after all, to them something like that was barely anything in the grand scheme of life. “khehehe, look at you, you look ready to fall asleep.” lilia laughed as he helps shift you to be on his lap, his hard cock pushing against your ass. it was the last stretch, and you were determined to cross that finish line as you spread your legs, encouraging malleus to come closer. you weren’t sure he would fit even with all that prep, but lilia assured you that he would. the audience were fixated, wondering if you really would survive.

it was lucky that lilia said fae had a special spell for sex, since there have been a few humans who couldn’t handle fae before. you didn’t want to know how they perfected it, yet you were thankful as the stretching spell helped reduce the pain as malleus pushed not one, but two of his cocks into your pussy at once. you’ve had countless dicks this evening, but this took the cake. three fae cocks in you at once, saliva trickling down as you were clearly fucked out in bliss, no longer able to even think. your toes curled as your breath hitched, the dragon cocks filling you to new heights, the biggest one of the day. they were extremely girthy, pulsing and throbbing with need as malleus begun pounding into you with lilia following from behind, thrusting up into you and holding you with ease, as expected of the fae. the two held you in a daze, babbling nonsense as the cocks hit your sweet spots repeatedly.

malleus licked and kissed at your body, playing with your breasts and giving you affection as he praised you for taking him. lilia was a bit rougher, playfully leaving marks on you as he bit and sucked your nipples, the squelching and smacking of skin on skin echoing throughout the room. you had done well to survive so long, you told yourself. you no longer had that senseless pride, you were done, releasing your voice and moaning loud and hard. you were fucked into bliss, and you didn’t care anymore about even bothering to cross that finish line with a pep in your step. you were barely crawling there now, not even able to move as you let the two men fuck you stupid.

it feels like hours go by, not one or two, but three orgasms ripping through you by the time both malleus and lilia have cum once, their rhythms never falling out of sync, and never once hesitating. malleus’ cocks, true to their sight, ended up filling you with so much cum that it was leaking and leaking out, with no way to actually stop. lilia’s cum filled your ass and dripped out, your body too worn out and covered in cum to even hold any more. your entire body as limp as you made it, eyes fluttering shut as your breathing labors, completely forgetting why the men had even done this in the first place.

“uhm perfect, you awake?” cater asks as you fall into sleep, the men looking at once another before looking at you. you still hadn’t decided yet who was the one you’d choose as your partner, the men arguing amongst themselves over who had pleasured you best. well, if you still couldn’t decide upon waking up, there would just have to be another free for all.

tagging: @masquerade-of-misery @hanafubukki @blessingofthestars. we’re finally done. that’s wonderful, i’m going to have a huge nap. unless… well it is november next month after all. and we all did vote that we have new characters to add on, too. let’s just hope this november is a few months or years long.

     “Hey! I’m right here!” Came the offended shout from Luffy. “That’s my point!” From beside him, Nami sighed, though she didn’t exactly disagree. It wasn’t that anyone thought Luffy was bad. It was just…well…

     You turned another page. Luffy, meanwhile, was hanging upside down from the mast. “...How are they married?” Usopp muttered again. As if summoned by the question itself, Luffy dropped-literally- landing beside you with a heavy thud that shook the deck slightly. “Hey!” He beamed. You didn’t startle. Didn’t even look up right away. Instead, you finished your sentence, closed the book quietly, and only then tilted your head toward him. “Hello, darling.”

     The word came naturally. Easily, like it belonged there. Luffy grinned wider, if that was even possible, and immediately leaned into you- half draped over your shoulder, half invading your space with absolutely no awareness of personal boundaries. You adjusted slightly to accommodate him without complaint, one hand lifting to smooth down his hair where it had gone wild from whatever he’d been doing.

     “Whatcha doing?” He asked, peering at your book upside down. “Reading.”

     “Oh.” He paused. “...Is it about food?” You smiled faintly. “No.”

     “Okay.” He didn’t move. Didn’t leave. Just stayed there, pressed into you like that was the most natural thing in the world. And it was. Across the deck, Usopp stared. “I don’t get it,” he said again, weaker this time.

     It only got worse from there. Or better. It depended on who you asked. Luffy was loud about it; always had been. “Look! That’s my wife!” He said it to strangers. Marines. Random civilians. Anyone who would listen- and plenty who wouldn’t. You never corrected him; never shushed him. Sometimes, you’d just rest your hand lightly against his arm, expression calm, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because to you- it was.

     “You’re too good for him.” The comment came from a passing group at port, not quiet enough to be missed. Luffy didn’t react, he was busy trying to convince a vendor to give him free food. You, however, did pause. Slowly, you turned your head. Your gaze settled on the speaker- cool, unreadable, just sharp enough to make them falter. “...Am I?” You asked softly. They hesitated. “I mean- look at you, and then-” You didn’t let them finish. Your attention drifted back to Luffy, who had somehow already managed to get food and was now waving it at you triumphantly.

     Your expression softened a fraction. “He’s honest.” You spoke. The person blinked. You rose to your feet, smooth and unhurried, crossing the short distance toward him. “And he’s kind,” you added, reaching out to adjust his hat where it had slipped sideways. Luffy beamed. “And he has never once made me feel like I had to be anything but myself.” That was the end of the conversation.

     Later, back on the ship, the chaos hadn’t died down. It never did. But something shifted. Not for the crew; for him. Luffy sat unusually still-by his standards, at least- watching as you moved across the deck. Someone called your name, you answered. Someone else laughed, you smiled. And then- you faltered. It was small, so small no one else would have noticed. A pause in your step, a breath that didn’t quite settle right. Luffy, of course, noticed.

     He was beside you before you even fully stopped. “Hey,” he said, quieter than usual. You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “...Yes?” He tilted his head, studying you with a focus that felt almost too sharp for someone like him. “You’re tired.” It wasn’t a question. You hesitated, then smiled lightly. “I’m fine.” Luffy frowned. “No, you’re not.” It was simple. Certain. You exhaled softly. “...It’s nothing,” you said. Luffy didn’t move, didn’t push. He just reached out, taking your hand in his without hesitation. It was warm and steady. Grounding. “C’mere,” he said gently.

     Before you could argue, he tugged you along, pulling you away from the noise, the crew, the constant movement of the ship. Somewhere quieter-softer. The air felt different away from the others. Still loud, in its own way- the sea never stopped- but calmer all the same. You leaned back against the railing, exhaling softly. Luffy stood in front of you, watching. Not smiling this time. Just…there. “...You don’t have to do that all the time,” he said. You blinked at him. “Do what?”

     “Be okay.”

     The words hit harder than they should have. You looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly- very slightly- you relaxed. Your shoulders lowered. Your expression softened, losing that polished edge you carried so easily in front of others. “...I know,” you said quietly. Luffy grinned again, softer now. He stepped closer, resting his forehead briefly against yours like it was instinct. “I like you the most,” he said. Just like that. No buildup. No hesitation. Your breath caught- just for a second. Then you smiled. “I would hope so,” you murmured. He laughed. And just like that, the moment shifted again- light, easy, his hand still holding yours like it had never left.

     Back on the deck, Usopp rubbed a hand over his face. “They’re weird.” He declared. “They’re perfect,” Nami corrected. Luffy’s voice rang out across the ship a second later- “HEYYY! LOOK AT MY WIFE!” You sighed softly, smiling to yourself.

     Later, when the ship had finally settled and the noise faded into something softer, you found him again. Or rather, he found you. Luffy dropped down beside you without warning, leaning into your side like he always did, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re pretty,” he said. You huffed out a quiet laugh. “You’ve mentioned.”