swedesfics

You believed him in that moment - two months ago, five hours into your excruciatingly painful shift and one whole year into your ED residency. Trembling shoulders, a quivering gaze, tear stained cheeks.

You hadn’t meant for it to be a whole thing. Even having to take a moment at work to decompress or have a mental breakdown felt like betrayal - to your team, to yourself, and most of all - your patients.

And then he appeared. Like a fucking mirage, or a daydream, and you felt small. Like a child being found cowering in a corner. He recognized it instantly, like the well trained veteran, doctor, lived in human he is. To him, whether standing on the roof of the hospital and contemplating the past 24 hours, or a break room cry - felt very normal. Sometimes, it’s needed. He’s been there. And he hadn’t seen you fall apart at all.

Your resilience was becoming worrisome.

Jack observed you heavily from the moment you arrived. He knew it was going to be a…problem. For him personally, not for you. Obviously younger, and obviously beautiful in a way that made the pit of his stomach ache when you laughed or crinkled your nose is disgust or gave Santos a hard time for constantly being interrupted from her charting- he packed you in a neat little box inside of his head and told himself no, absolutely not.

A year of admiring from afar, of keeping himself at a distance that read: mentor, encouraging but firm attending, a teacher, someone to guide you. Someone almost old enough to be your father. God, was he that guy now?

And then he found you there in the break room, knees to chest with your head against the white dry wall and a silent cry that soaked your cheeks and your neck and the light grey shirt you wear underneath your scrubs.

You’d heard the door shut, and lock. And when you looked up through bleary eyes your heart sank to your ass - because this is exactly what the universe would do to you at a time like that. Of course Jack fucking Abbot would walk in, it couldn’t be Robby, or Samira, or Mel. Of course not.

A sound between a croak and a whimper left your throat out of sheer humiliation. Your body saying, oh great, perfect. You made a futile attempt to get up and off the floor, but he was down at your level before your hand could slip against the wall and bring you back to the ground. Knees aching against the cold floor.

“Hey hey, slow down kid.” His voice was hushed, calming and direct. Steady.

Your fists balled, and the back of your knuckles dug into your eye sockets to wipe the tears away. You felt juvenile, and utterly stunned by the gentle tug of calloused hands around your wrist, drawing your own hands away from your face. He was hot to the touch.

“What we do isn’t easy, it’s not meant to be and that’s why we’re the ones who have to do it.” His hands still held your wrist, and he could feel your pulse thrumming a mile a minute.

You tried your best to not focus on how disheveled you surely appeared, or how much you were shaking. Or the reverberation of his voice moving through you from the close proximity and the gentle hush of his tone. But through all of the terrible, wretched emotions moving through you, it was there in the back of your consciousness.

“Then why am I falling apart like this? I’ve been doing so good.” You cried, wiping away the wetness seeping from your eyes.

He felt that ache in his stomach move to his chest, right behind his ribcage, threatening to break his taught resilience. He cocked his head, hazel eyes gentle, and moved to grip your hands instead - squeezing them softly between his. They encompassed both of yours easily.

“Because you don’t give yourself a moment to feel like a human being, and you troop through all of it over and over again until something small happens, or big, and then it all comes crashing down all at once.”

He felt, in that moment, that he was speaking to both you and himself, it came spilling out so naturally because he knew exactly what you were doing to yourself and the emotional toll it inevitably took. The familiarity he felt with you was almost cosmic.

Your breathing slowed, and your heart started to feel like it wasn’t going to burst through your shirt at any second - staring into him, the warmth radiating in not only his demeanor but his physical self - you were almost completely soothed.

“Wow, you’re good.” You laughed. Laughed, and elation filled his veins, his mind, his spirit. “I think I can cancel my next therapy session.”

You both smiled, and a quiet acknowledgment filled the space between you two. The urge to reach out and fiddle with your hair, wipe the remaining wetness from your cheeks, it almost overtook him. He stiffened, patted your steady hands with one of his own.

“If you need anything, anything at all, you call me. I’ll be there.”

He meant it. Despite the fact that maybe it was unethical given his complicated sense of fondness for his resident.

You try to hide the surprise that you feel written on your face, and you try to prevent your expression from becoming anymore reverent.

“Give me your phone.”

And you do. He squints like an old man when he types his name into your phone.

‘Jack’ is the contact name.

Four days later, and you do need something. And maybe it’s because after that day in the break room - something shifted. Something big and ugly and deep seated. Something insatiable like desire, and something tender like adoration.

Of course Jack is attractive - he’s also older, much older, and your attending, and you’re co workers, and- You want to be in his presence, want him to be in yours. And that’s not healthy.

So naturally, when your kitchen sink pipe starts leaking and semi flooding your cupboard underneath, well - he said if you needed anything, anything at all.

One thumb hovers over the contact, and the other is in your mouth being gnawed on. You’re just going to ask for advice, an at home remedy because a plumber isn’t an option when you’ve got student loans to pay back. And truthfully, you don’t have anyone else in your life who might know about kitchen pipes failing.

Okay, sure- Robby, but your ethical dilemma and inappropriate crush isn’t on Robby. And you’re sleep deprived, overworked, stressed for numerous reasons- maybe it makes it easier to rationalize it. The worst that could happen is that he ignores the call, or tells you he’s never fixed a pipe a day in his life - but when your thumb hits the call button, you know you’re wrong. You can feel it.

“You okay? What’s going on?”

You feel your insides burning up, a searing heat beginning to pool in your cheeks. His immediate concern, the gruffness of his voice like he’s just woken up.

“I’m sorry, I uh- oh my god are you sleeping? I totally should’ve thought about that before I called.”

You palm your forehead, squint your eyes shut and force yourself not to just hang up and quite literally pretend this never happened. How could you not have taken that into consideration? How could you -

“It’s my one day off every two years, it’s fine” his voice is lighthearted enough, he’s joking, no sign of your call being a disruption - your chest doesn’t feel like it’s being squeezed from the inside out as much.

“you didn’t answer my question, are you okay?”

The worry in his tone is back, shuffling sounds on the other side put images of him in his bed, in his home, surrounded by his things. Bad idea.

“Yeah I’m fine, I just…this is stupid. My kitchen sink, it’s leaking, badly. I just, uhm, needed some advice on what I could do to fix it?”

Hearing the words actually come out of your mouth makes you wince. You want to scream, bash your head against a wall, run around your quaint apartment and slip on the linoleum so that you have a reason to not come into work tomorrow and face him after calling him for a fucking pipe. Fuck.

A shaky breath comes through the line, you wonder if you’re imagining the airy chuckle.

“Well, is it clogged? Is it leaking from the bottom and from the drain?”

More heat floods your body, your veins. He’s genuine, through and through, curious and ready to help. Of course he is. Of course. You almost fix your goofy smile until you realize he can’t see it.

“Uhhh, both - so it’s leaking from the big pipe underneath, not draining at all and it’s bubbling from the drain.”

More shuffling, heavy footsteps. You wonder what his home looks like. You hear a series of thunks and clunks, scuffling, sounds like he’s putting his boots on?

“Uh huh,”

breathy groans, he’s definitely putting shoes on. You can picture him placing the phone on his knee, pulling the footwear on and tying them quickly.

“sounds like you might have some rubber seals missing and a clogged pipe. You call a plumber, kid?”

It shouldn’t make you blush, shouldn’t make you feel wobbly in the knees and off center in your own space. Yet here you are, steadying yourself against your kitchen island.

“I, um, can’t afford one right now - something about thousands of dollars in medical school loans a month that leave little room for plumbers in the budget.”

You’re honest, even if it’s embarrassing for you. You feel, once again, extremely juvenile with him like this. Like at any moment he could laugh at you and not with you, tell you to call a father or a brother or someone else entirely.

He doesn’t.

“If you want, I can come take a look at it. Been sleepin’ all day, need to walk around a bit anyways.”

Surely he’s joking. But he’s not, you know that, you know Dr. Abbot and the lilt in his cadence when he’s giving someone a hard time. This isn’t that. And suddenly, with widened eyes and a quickening pulse, you realize that he’s dead serious.

“That wouldn’t be too much trouble? I mean really, if you have any ideas on what it might be I’ll just go and get the supplies-“

“No trouble at all, told you if you needed anything, you call me. I’m just fulfilling my duties. Remember?”

He’s got you there. You are scared shitless and riveted that your theory was correct. He is true to his word. Now you’ve got to put your big girl panties on and commit. Don’t shy away now.

But Jack Abbot in your apartment? Fuck.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right, sorry I’ll text you the address? My address.”

Of course your address, who else’s?

He actually chuckles this time, and the sound moves through you like his voice did in the break room. Settles in your muscles and bone marrow.

“No sorry’s, not with me,” His voice is so low, so soft. It’s hard not to have a visceral reaction.

“already have my boots on. I’ll be there in 10.”

15 minutes. That’s how close he lives to you, that he’s been to you this whole time. Two raps against your door, rough knuckles against old steel. Your ribcage could break with the pounding underneath.

You don’t expect it to make you feel so disoriented. You hope your poker face is better than usual, because seeing Dr. Abbot standing outside your home is like a sucker punch to the gut, almost more so than seeing him in regular clothing - as mundane as a black tee shirt and camo cargos are.

Maybe that’s why it makes your lower belly do flips. The humanness of it all. Not Dr. Abbot and yourself, but Jack. The person, the man.

“Hope I didn’t take too long, had to make a stop.”

This brings your attention the hardware store bag clutched in his right fist, and you instinctually step to the side to welcome him in. When he walks past you, the scent of his shampoo still clinging to greying curls and faint hints of cologne with a twinge of aftershave - it makes you dizzy.

He doesn’t even realize you’re staring. He’s too preoccupied. For a millisecond, he pauses, tries to keep his gaze as appropriate as possible instead of soberly roistering in the fact that you’re in baby blue sleeping shorts and a grey hoodie - presumably from college by the graduation date plastered across the front - that’s three sizes too big.

You look seraphic, a glorious and unreal gift.

Your home smells like you, and it covers him like a blanket. Several lamps light the small space he enters, no big lights. Nothing obtrusive. It’s soft, warm, decorated like you find safety in odd ball art pieces from the thrift store down the street, and fluffy throws that you’ve wrapped yourself in on the beige couch.

“I can pay you back for the supplies, you didn’t have to, really.”

It breaks him from his daze. He forgot where he was for a moment. Who he was. He hopes he wasn’t reveling for too long. Hopes he didn’t make it weird.

“You gotta stop saying stuff like that, no re payment necessary - might make the problem worse if I’m down there for more than 30 minutes anyways.”

His smile almost reaches his eyes, you notice the creases on his face anyways. Worn lines from a lived life, a hard life, a fulfilling life. Kissing his face crosses your mind - running your thumb down his cheek. You wipe a hand over your face for no other reason than to self soothe.

“I say add it to your resume anyways, veteran, ER surgeon, and most importantly resident plumber.”

You hope you sound lighthearted, that your humor isn’t indicative of your nervousness. Or stress, because truly, this pipe is a problem. Though you have much bigger ones. Like the broad shoulders you can’t stop staring at.

He glances towards the kitchen with a soft smile, hazel eyes kind and inquisitive. You nod, silently granting him permission to take a look at the problem area and trialing behind him.

He’s broad. You’ve stopped trying to stop yourself from admiring, maybe it’s because it’s your own home but the surrealism aspect has settled into a head rush that feels more real than anything. So yeah, you stare at his shoulders, and the thickness of his bicep when his arms move, or the shape of his waist and even the gait he walks with due to his prosthetic. It’s all incredibly endearing.

He gets himself down to the floor by his hands, sits down sideways to open the cabinets underneath the sink. He pulls something from his pocket.

A flashlight.

“I’m gonna put you to work,” he begins.

“Are you putting me on flashlight duty, Abbot?”

He snickers, and so do you. He reaches up to hand it to you, and you take it with a fake scowl.

“C’mon, you’re a team player - help an old man out.”

Your fingertips brush as you grab the light. Sappy. Cliche. Boring. And yet your flesh still feels like it’s lit aflame there.

And so you get on the floor, beside him but at an angle where being on flashlight duty would actually be beneficial and not blind him instead. You wince upon seeing the full extent of the leak, the soaked wood that will surely mildew if you don’t stop the leak and allow it to dry. The mess of plastic bags stuffed under the sink.

He pushes them out of the way, smiles to himself.

“If I hadn’t known any better, I’d think you were my mother will all of these Walmart bags, Jesus.”

“Rude, you just referred to yourself as an old man so making fun of my old lady tendencies isn’t fair.”

He gives you a sideways glance, smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips. His canines appear from behind pink flesh. How many mouths have kissed his, you wonder?

He starts taking supplies out of the hardware store bag, pulling tools you hadn’t even seen from his jeans. Readily prepared.

“Lots of things aren’t fair, like your landlord not coming to fix this sooner - got years worth of damage in here - shine it to the left,”

You do as he asks, and he makes a clicking sound with his tongue against the side of his mouth.

“Bad news sweetheart,”

The flashlight trembles. That’s embarrassing. But that’s one that you didn’t expect to hear. It came out so effortlessly that you don’t even think he’s fully aware.

And he isn’t. Not until he sees the far away look in your eyes, or feels the startling heat radiating from your body due to your proximity, or the way his chest has started tightening because he did not mean to say it out loud. Too late now.

“I won’t be able to fix it, don’t have the tools with me right now, but I can do what I can to lessen the severity of the leak. Might be able to save your granny bags.”

Your laugh hits him like far too many drinks, like the sun after months of rain and chronic overcast. You drop the flashlight into your lap. Bare legs and skin that looks unbelievably pliable to the touch. Reel it in.

“I appreciate you so much Jack - I’ll get it fixed eventually, really I will. It’s just been tough s’all.”

He wonders if you did it on purpose. Trying to get back at him for getting you so discombobulated. You’ve never called him by his name before, his first anyways.

I appreciate you so much. Fuck, it gets him And now he’s the one flustered, blushing at the tips of his ears and the aged apples of his cheeks. His chest would be splotched with red if you could see it.

He also doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s one hundred percent calling a plumber for you now that he knows where you live - and is getting this issue taken care of.

“I get it, I’ve been in your shoes before, very nice by the way it looks like you skinned a chinchilla,”

You feign shock and betrayal, clutching your chest while you glance down at your slippers. He smirks, and continues.

“But I’m more than happy to help in whatever way I can. How’s your head, hmm?”

You forget for a split second that you had a momentary relapse in sanity at work four days ago. You’re still caught up in him noticing your house slippers. You really should’ve put actual clothes on.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. I had a therapy session the other day and uh…got a lot off of my chest. It helped, tremendously, but so did you.”

You’re getting brave. But not brave enough to acknowledge the fact that your knees are touching his thick thighs, that you’re so close you can properly admire every line, every wrinkle, or freckle that adorns his face. He’s so handsome, and it’s not a surprise. But getting to slow down and really look, it does something terrible to you. Something you know you can’t come back from.

He shakes his head.

“I didn’t do much, kid. It takes strength to pull yourself out of something like that. You did that part yourself.”

You pull at the skin beside your nail beds, glance down at your lap. You’ve never been good at hearing stuff like this.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He could kiss you right now. He truly could. He feels it like it already happened, wishes he could taste all the frustration and pain and doubt you have within yourself and swallow it whole. Keep it inside of him forever so that you’d never have to feel it again.

“Can I ask you a question?”

You meet his eyes and you see it then. And he knows he’s breaking, he knew this would happen. Being here, in your apartment and here with you and the entirely fucked up domesticity of it.

You hold his gaze, and see so much swimming inside of his blown out pupils and grey irises that you have no choice but to pique your own curiosity. It’s a beckoning, one you can’t refuse because your subconscious won’t let you.

“Well yeah, yes of course.”

He takes a shuttering breath.

“You’re close with Robby, I mean he hasn’t shut up about his favorite resident who came from the VA with Mel since you started,”

You’re burning up. Bordering on a fever. You’ve got teeth sunk into the inside of your bottom lip, and he hates himself for making you nervous. Not you. He hates it because in some ways, it’s relieving.

He’s not the only one being so deeply fucked by the feelings swarming the air, buzzing in his ear.

“so why me? And no, no it’s not a burden, me helping you out. Not at all but, your hands are shaking. Tell me why.”

He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t pry at your emotions in the way that he’s doing, he knows it. And it’s even more fucked up that he could be fucking everything up for your work life.

What on earth are you doing to him?

You don’t look at the floor, or your hands. You stare back, like he should know all of your dirty secrets by now, like he’s smart enough to figure it out. Your head tilts, and your eyes get low and your voice becomes hushed. Like everyone in the world is listening.

“I can’t. Jack, I can’t.”

His features soften, he’s melting into your sad expression, keening at your soft voice. You palm your forehead again like you’re checking for a fever, a sickness. He shifts towards you absentmindedly.

“Don’t be scared. It’s just us, It’s not a death sentence.”

Is he talking to you, or himself?

You begin to stand up. And he’s petrified. Genuinely, to the core, horrified that he just fucked everything up. What a fucking idiot.

You pace around your kitchen for a second, slippers scuffing against the floor because you don’t pick up your feet enough when you walk.

“It’s unprofessional, god, I can’t say it out loud, Jack. I just can’t.”

You don’t notice that he’s hobbled himself back up onto his feet, that when you turn around he’s leaning against the counter by his palms and hanging on to every word you say with rapt attention and jaw half slack.

You’re so used to saying his name now, second nature. It makes him lightheaded.

It’s unprofessional. You feel it too. If he believed in god he’d be praising him right now. And begging for unrelenting mercy.

“Come here.”

It comes out weak, like a man full of defeat welcoming his final blow.

You turn around, and like a moth experiencing an existential crisis drawn to an immortal flame, you move towards him. Until you’re so close if one of you moved even closer your noses would be touching. It doesn’t feel real.

“I’m here.” You almost whisper.

You never thought a single hand could change everything, all at once. But when he lifts it to touch the back of your cheek with his knuckles, your eyes close and you lean into the touch like you haven’t felt anything like it in years.

It’s done. He knows. You know.

It’s completely undeniable and there is absolutely no going back. A car without brakes. An avalanche. The rotation of the earth.

He looks pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned. He holds your face with an open palm now, his other joining the opposite side till he’s holding you gently by soft cheeks and barely restrained longing.

“It is unprofessional. It’s not right, maybe it is and I’m just too fucking old so I should know better - but I’m right there with you sweetheart. Right there with you.”

Fear is a concept, one that you’re so used to that it’s only natural you reach out to grip his shirt in your fists. That you move closer, closer, till the softness of your bare chest is pressed against his strong and sturdy one - separated only by your sweatshirt and his tee. The tops of your thighs meet the rough material of his pants, your mouths hovering.

You look like you might cry, or burst from excitement, or all of the above.

“Could lose your whole career, could lose mine.”

Your mouth looks so soft, so unbelievably inviting. He can’t believe he’s feeling you like this, pressed against him, warm and whole. You smell so sweet, knows you taste even better. He can’t think straight. Not even a little bit.

The corner of his lip twitches, smiles softly down at you with hearts in his eyes. You move your hands to his rough face, feeling his firm jaw and the scruff against your aching palms. You slide them across the sides of his neck, such warm skin, to his nape where your fingers become acquainted with short, soft curls.

“It would be an HR nightmare, Robby would know, but not the end honey, never that. Won’t let that happen to you.”

He swipes a thumb against your bottom lip, and you shiver against his form, fight the urge to take it into your mouth. Your eyes are all low now, that far a way look is back and he doesn’t know if it’s your pulse or his that is thumping thumping thumping.

“Please, please.”

You’re begging for something, everything, nothing all at once. But he sees it swimming in your eyes, in your body language. It’s like the entire field around you is pulsing and he hasn’t felt someone palpably desire him like this in a very long time.

It makes him feel like he’s starving.

“I gotta hear you say it, have to.”

Your mouths are almost touching now. You’re gripping his thick shoulders, reveling in the fact that you’re touching him like this, feeling the muscle underneath his shirt and the tensing, the twitching.

“Kiss me, please kiss me, Abbot.”

He can’t refuse you. Not when you ask so sweetly and he’s broken every imaginary rule he’s ever given himself.

He’s not sure why, but he leans and teases himself with the anticipation- hovers just for a second, as if grounding himself to the actual experience. Understanding how soft you look up close, how your brows are furrowed just like his snd your soft bottom lip is almost trembling.

He gives in, quickly.

It’s not really a fight for dominance, the kiss. It’s two people with years of built up admiration for one another, who’d convinced themselves that this could never happen, finally done fighting the inevitable.

You taste so much, feel so much. His scruff against you, the hotness of his tongue as yours and his meet inside your mouths. He twists his head and works the bottom, then the top - slowly, sweetly, but determinedly. You both groan into the kiss.

He’s got his big hand on the back of your neck, almost massaging the area as his mouth works while the other barely ghosts past your shoulder - you feel the hesitation in his touch, the wanting to go lower, to feel you the way you’re openly feeling him.

“You can touch.” You breathe out fast. His own breath shakes.

“Yeah? You want me to?”

You can’t believe he’d ask such a silly question, but it’s Jack. Of course he would, and you nod your head fervently - hoping the pressing of your body against his convinces him that it’s okay. More than okay.

He ravishes your mouth again while eager, trained hands explore. He moves over your shoulders delicately, to your back where he sweeps two open palms down the space, squeezing a bit as he goes until he’s reaching soft hips. He groans into your mouth again, a soft, desperate sound. You’ve genuinely never felt the the type of arousal that builds between your legs now - it’s tight, tense, warm, pulsing. You squeeze them together.

He notices it. Makes his heart rate that much faster, his dick that much harder. Honestly you’ve been so swept up in the fact that you’ve got your attendings tongue in your mouth - Jacks tongue in your mouth, that you don’t notice till this very second.

It intensifies your aching by ten fold.

It’s clear as day, pressed against your lower stomach, straining against camo cargos. And you’ve been practically rutting yourself against it this whole time with your hot and heavy squirming. It feels even more real than it did before.

You don’t mean to do it. Genuinely, your body has a visceral reaction and you, well, you press yourself closer and rub against it.

“Ohh fuck.” He says the last word like your desire is foreign. Mostly, he can’t actually believe you just did that. To him. On him.

Yes, he’s making out with his resident in her apartment. Sure. But the fact that you’d want to touch him there? Do something about his cock being unbearably hard? It’s enough to make an old man weep. In the back of his mind, he didn’t think you’d want a man of his age. As cocky as he can be, it just didn’t fully click.

Boy was he wrong.

You seem to light up, whether you realize it or not, at his vocal reaction. Your pupils are even more blown out than before, your temperature has risen, he feels your pebbled nipples against him. God. He wants his mouth on them.

“Can I take you somewhere? The bedroom? Is that what you want honey?”

He moves hair out of your face as he says it, tilting his head, licking his lips and panting like a dog. He’s searching your eyes for an answer cause you’re so visibly aroused - devoured by youth and lust and adrenaline. He wants you to be sure. Sure like he is.

“My room is down the hall to the right,” you kiss his scruffy, sun kissed face, and he wants to take care of you forever. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

The last words have a whine to them, and the statement itself is enough for him to start seeing stars. He walks you backwards, kissing your face back, massaging your arms and palming at soft flesh. He’s in mild disbelief, although the brash part of him just confirms that every little suspicion he had was true.

Somehow he’s prevented you both from stumbling, you’re so enraptured in Jack that you don’t notice you’re in your room till he’s grabbing the backs of your thighs and hiking you onto the bed.

You’re surrounded by a bed spread that is undeniably you, your intimate space comes alive with you now in it - and him. God, it hits him like a freight train now. He’s mouthing at your neck, leaving trails of warm saliva in his lips wake.

And he keeps getting flashes of your face, the pretty blankets that surround you that you sleep with every night - it all smells so deeply, and so sweetly of you.

Your legs wrap around his waist, instinctively. You need him close, as close as possible is preferred.

You’re exploring him now, unable to resist now that he’s in your arms and between your legs and in your bed. You’re grabbing at him rather hastily - mapping the differences between taut, broad shoulders - the expansive breadth of his back and then the softer pliability of the area just above his hips.

You don’t realize you’ve done it until you’re doing it, slipping down over his belt buckle, palming his dick through his pants and grasping the length of his twitching shaft. The thick cargos do nothing to hide its full mast.

Your mouth forms a little o, just as a choked sound leaves his throat. He looks down for a split second, and twitches against you again.

“You’re big Jack.”

He chuckles, half amused and half shocked by how quickly you’ve reduced him to being lost in this lust filled haze. The words are one thing, your soft voice another, and your hands the entire world.

He ruts against you before sitting up, reaching over his shoulders and pulling his shirt off. He tosses it to the floor and you’re already ogling with intensity at his body so bare in front of you.

You should be embarrassed by how quickly your hands on are on, literally feeling him up. You drag them across his stomach, his firm chest and thick biceps - freckles create an entire constellation across his flesh that’s rough in some places from sun exposure, softer in the areas that are constantly covered.

He gives you your moment, lets you feel him freely. He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like this. An old man like him, by a beautiful girl who’s too young for him by every standard except your own. It’s doing something dangerous to him.

Rough hands slip under your sweatshirt, right at your soft hips where he kneads the flesh, thumbs circling.

“Can I take this off?”

His voice is more desperate than he’d like, more breathless than he expected. You sit up with a nod, throwing your arms in the air and while the garment slips over your head he smiles to himself, a genuine, adoration filled smile.

It’s his turn to stare. His chest is heaving up and down with the intensity of his heart beat, soft eyes taking you in as much as possible.

“You are so,” he leans down, mouthing at your jaw. “so,” then your jugular, and down to your collarbones, till his scruff is tickling the valley between your breasts. “beautiful. Wow.”

He drags his nose against your skin, moving to the left breast and you’re already arching against him, nipples hard and sensitive from arousal. He lets his breath ghost over it before he takes it into his warm mouth - humming with furrowed brows while his tongue swirls around the bud.

Two large hands knead the soft fat of your tits for leverage.

Your own take ransom in his hair, fingers lost in greying curls. His mouth leaves your tit with a pop, before he moves to the next one and repeats the same ministrations.

Your body is on overdrive at this point, you feel it everywhere so intensely it’s almost unbearable. You tug gently at his hair, and he looks up at you with low, intense eyes. You realize you’ve never gotten to see this look before, the lust, the adoration, an expression that only comes from someone wanting you, bad. From Jack Abbot? It’s too much.

“I need you inside of me, now. Please. Please.”

He hears the fervency in your voice, and desperate tears brewing in the waterline of your eyes.

He grasps your face, kisses it gently.

“I got you, I got you. Not going anywhere honey, I’ll give you what you need, yeah?”

His gaze is locked on yours while he sits up, starts undoing his belt and excitement builds in your belly along with the heat. He winces, and wobbles just a bit, and all at once you sit up with him, realization breaking through the urgency.

“Your leg Jack, I totally forgot, wait wait.”

He pauses, and something fills him that he’s tried to hide for a long time. It’s not exactly embarrassment, but he was willing to fight through the pain - to forget about it too, and now you’re looking up at him with so much tenderness it makes him want to run.

He doesn’t.

You grab his broad shoulders, attempting to push him on the bed where you were just lying. He sees that you want to take care of him, that unbearably kind heart aching to make sure he’s okay. He complies, for you - reluctantly, despite the fear. Despite the judgment he knows you aren’t giving him but can’t help but to prepare for. Just another reason he doesn’t deserve you. You read it all over his expression, and you kiss him as sweetly as he’s been kissing you as he gets on his back.

Having you on top of him isn’t anything to complain about in the slightest, even if he wanted to fuck you into the mattress until you can’t walk. But if this is what you need, god, he’ll give it to you as many times as you want. That eagerness is back, your fingers grasping the undone belt and pulling it through the loops. It’s discarded with your shirts on the floor.

You unbutton his pants and he lifts his hips so you can shimmy them off of him, and you can’t hide your expression when you see the outline of his cock straining against his black briefs, you swear that despite the dark color you can see precum seeping through the fabric. You want your mouth on it, but you need him inside of you so bad.

His hands reach out, tugging at the flimsy shorts you have on along with the panties underneath until you’re halfway out of them and then leaning over him so that he can pull them over the swell of your ass and off your legs.

He can’t stop staring. You’re stunning everywhere, it’s a little unfair. He doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve you. He sees everything - wants to suckle on your clit and taste you in his mouth. He saves that thought for next time. God he hopes there is a next time.

His briefs are next, your face saying all the things your mouth can’t at the moment. You lean down to kiss his stomach, his navel and the trail of hair there. He looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. He looks back down at you while you pull them off - feels your breath against his sensitive tip. He swears he sees a little bit of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your pretty mouth.

You’re both stunned. His dick slaps against his stomach, and it’s pretty. You don’t know what you expected, but of course Jack would have a pretty cock.

It’s thick, the tip the same shade of his lips, greying hair neat and trimmed at the base. It sits perfectly between his two thick thighs, and you both touch each other at the same moment.

You’d giggle if you weren’t so wet, he can feel it leaking on his lap, your essence.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” one hands grips your ass, smooths over the swell and down the back of your thighs. The other is between your legs, two thick fingers slipping between your lips and gathering all that wetness to smear it over your swollen clit. Your jaw is slack with shock and arousal.

“You’re leaking for me? Need me that bad, sweetheart?”

He’s astounded, truly. Shameful, maybe, that he’s pictured how you look down there. Knew you’d have a neat layer of hair, the shape it would be, the color. Knew you’d felt soft and sweet and sticky.

You take his manhood in your hands, and it’s so hot, so heavy in your palm. You scooch closer, till your ass is resting against his balls and your mound is right against his shaft. He grunts, hips jerking to feel that slickness against him.

It all feels utterly surreal.

“I wanna feel it like this Jack, m’on the shot and you’re the first person I’ve slept with in like a year and-“

You’re scrambling, he stops it with a soothing hand behind your neck - bringing you down to his mouth. He soars your tongue for a moment before he reassures you.

“I’m clean honey, I trust you. If you want it raw I’ll give it to you, don’t have to beg me. Ever. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

It’s so honest, it’s almost painful.

He reaches between your bodies and grasps himself, pauses to take your hands and place them on his shoulders. He drags himself through your folds, soaking himself with you in the process. The sounds you’re making are forever catalogued in his brain - etched in there like runes.

He’s caught between your face and the expressions you’re making, and the leaking between your legs. He’s sure you can feel his heart beat through his chest.

“Up a little, that’s it,” he instructs. “gonna go in slow, ohhh fuck, sink down on me just like that. Fuuuuck.”

You whimper and grip at his shoulders, in disbelief you’re hearing him so undone like this, feeling him as he slides in you halfway. The stretch is delicious, makes your eyes water. He’s so hot inside of you, the perfect fit - sliding inside of you little by little while your soft walls squeeze and pulse around him.

You kiss him haphazardly until you’ve taken him to the hilt, pubic mound against pubic mound. You’re both panting into each others mouths, you can feel him throbbing in tandem with yourself - he’s nuzzled perfectly against your cervix. It’s too much.

And then he’s pressing his feet into the mattress, two hands on your ass for leverage, while he pulls himself back out halfway and drives himself back in - stealing the moan in your throat and leaving a fucked out hiccup in its wake.

“Oh god, feels so good Jack, ohhhh.”

You hide your face in his shoulder, knees on either side on his waist. He holds your head against him, makes sure your hips are positioned so that he can really fuck you like this.

And he does.

He knows you need it bad, and honestly he needs it worse. So his pace is somewhere between rough and rushed, but more so an example of his body giving in to yours, of you giving into him.

“You like it like this, hmm? Taking me all the way baby, I’m all the way in there.”

His voice is shaky, but he needs this to be good for you, needs to make you fall apart. The sounds are already absurdly lewd. You’re so wet now that you’re smeared along the length of him that the glide is easy.

“Love it like this, harder, please. Fuck me harder.”

You’re gonna be the end of him completely. But who is he, if not for you? So he fucks you harder.

If your tits weren’t pressed against his chest they’d be bouncing against him like the rest of you, soft and pliable. Even the sound of his balls slapping against you gets to him - he feels the warmth leaking all over him, against your thighs and his.

You feel so full. Of him. Completely. You try your hardest not to suck any marks against his throat, your squeaks and sounds evidence of how he’s making you feel even if your body wasn’t responding the way it is.

And the feeling of him inside of you is a sensation you hope you don’t have to miss for too long after this. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the mushroom tip of his cock prodding your insides over and over again.

Your hips begin to match his pace, and you sit up just enough to look down at his face. It causes you to squeeze around him so hard, he almost can’t fuck you as hard as he is. You touch his face, thighs trembling and your thumb ghosts across his lips.

He takes it into his mouth, eyes connecting with yours, and if your jaw could drop anymore it would. It’s a frenzy of sorts, the way you’re fucking. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips curled and chest and neck splotched red from both exertion and arousal.

You plant two hands on his strong chest, meeting him with each thrust. He peers down between your bodies and a string of expletives leaves his tongue. He kisses your palm as it departs.

“Shit, baby look at you. You’ve thought about this huh? Thought about how good I’d fuck you, yeah?”

You whine at this, lost in the sensation.

“Answer me, use your words. I need to hear you.”

You’re dizzy, perspiring and trying to find the strength to talk. He reaches a hand down to rub at your clit, circling and circling the hardened bud while he fucks himself into you.

“Y-y-yes,” each word is interrupted by a thrust. You keep going. “touched myself all- oh godddd, touched myself all the time thinking about it. Please don’t stop.”

He chokes a little bit, hips stuttering. He feels himself getting dangerously close to the edge.

“Oh baby, made yourself cum t-thinking about me?”

It’s selfish of him trying to get these answers while he’s balls deep inside of your heat, but he can’t help it. He needs to know, needs to hear the words roll off your tongue.

You nod, looking down at his big hand and how your wetness is pooling in his palm. How you can see him disappearing with each hard thrust.

“All the time Jack. Wanted you since I saw you.”

He decides that he doesn’t care if it makes him sore later, he needs to be on top of you, needs to hold you and feel you tremble underneath him. The flip is a quick show of his strength, and he managed to stay inside of you as he does it. Your head hits the pillow and he scoops the back of your thighs underneath his biceps - pushes your knees up to your chest.

The angle has you crying out, clawing at his thick forearms, those tears brewing in your eyes again and threatening to fall over your cheeks.

This angle has you feeling even more than before, and you can truly watch how he fucks you. It’s so nasty, so real, right here in front of you.

“S-so deep.” You stutter. He kisses your knees, your thighs, scruff scratching your skin. You feel a warmth in your belly that feels so good it’s almost scary, vulnerable in the spreading of your legs and the exposure. A thin veil of sweat coats him, and he uses his thumb to circle your clit again.

“I know baby, I know. Gonna make you cum around me, okay? Gonna take care of you.”

And you believe him. You’ve never felt it coming this fast, but it’s brewing. Spreading slowly throughout your body. Looking at him makes it worse, he’s so lost from pleasure, just like you are. But more so, he’s determined, experienced, you can tell just by the way he’s rubbing you and how he’s rolling his hips into you with a slight curve so that you feel him everywhere.

You can’t talk anymore. He knows that, he sees it and feels it. Your pussy is weeping for him, and the slickness has developed a translucent white film from your arousals mixing. He’s getting you so close. Selfishly he hopes no man will ever make you feel like this. Just him. His. All his.

He doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud, till you’re saying it back.

“All yours Jack, m’all yours.”

It’s all you can manage, and it’s enough. It’s all he needed to hear.

“All mine, hmm? Awe baby, shh I got you. That’s it, doing so good - just like that huh?”

He’s closer now, has slipped between your thighs and let them clasp around his waist so that you’re bringing him as close to your body as possible. He’s still rubbing your clit, kissing you softly while he strokes you deep, right where you need it. Barely moving in and out fully. Those tears of pleasure have fallen, he kisses them away, holds your face.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he pants softly, sweetly. “So good, I know honey. Let me make you cum. I feel it, you gonna cum for me sweetheart?”

He nods with you as affirmation, keeping the pace. He sees your eyes rolling back, that jaw falling open a little bit more than before, your body tensing more and more and more.

“Let go for me, I’m right here. You can let go, ohhhh yeah just like that. Cum for me, cum for me.”

It’s so intense you don’t know what to do with yourself. It starts in your stomach, spreads through your limbs and between your legs. Everything feels so tight and you pull him down so you can muffle your cries in his shoulder as your orgasm viciously rides over you.

“Oh god ohgodohgod.”

You’re spasming around his dick so intensely it almost hurts, bucking your hips up to meet his slow, hard thrusts - and he holds you tightly while you jerk against him, makes sure you’re not going anywhere. He feels your wetness increase by tenfold.

“Please cum in me, please Jack, fuck I need it.”

That undoes it for him. He gives you what you want, having to remove a hand from your face to grip the sheets beside your head, muffles his groan in the mattress while his balls tighten and his own orgasm hits him.

He stills and pushes himself impossibly deeper, your name is all he can really say, like a mantra or a prayer, while his release spurts in thick ropes inside of you - his own body twitches while it’s happening, he can’t think, can’t speak. It’s like his hips have a mind of their own, rutting all that cum into you while his half hard cock is drained, your pussy still milking him with the aftershocks of your release.

“Jack, Jack.” You pant softly, nails still embedded in his back, legs still ensnaring him inside of you.

It’s got to be three whole minutes that you lay like this. Breathing heavy, tears drying, body coming down from the vigor of what you’ve both just done and how leg shakingly intense your orgasms were. You feel him soften inside of you, feel your legs fully giving out and unable to grip him anymore.

You see his face in front of you with one blink. He’s moving hair out of your face, wiping your mouth the back of his hand. He’s staring at your hazy expression, hopes he hangs on to the memory forever. He’s gonna start getting worried if your breathing down slow down - you looked utterly fucked. He’s positive he does too, but he can’t bring himself to feel bashful about it. He did that.

“Hey, you still with me?”

You almost forget how his voice sounds when it’s not wracked his desire. You never thought that would ever happen. A stupid, lopsided smile spreads across your face, and it’s like the fucking break of dawn. His heart skips a beat.

It’s wicked, and perfect, what you’re doing to him.

“Barely, Doctor Abbot.”

He chortles, buries his face in your neck. You feel his grin against your skin, and your fingers brush through his disheveled hair.

“Don’t say that, might make me hard again.”

You tug his face back up, feigning shock.

“Oh my god, Doctor Abbot does it for you?”

He kisses you, then. So passionately you could almost cry. Again. He pulls away, rubs his nose against yours, and his stare is all consuming. He cups your cheek, kisses you again and again and again.

“No, sweetheart. You do it for me. You’re it for me. You know that?”

You’re breathless for 100th time in one day.

“Yeah? Well you’re it for me old man.”

John had been the one to let him in, amusement written all over his face. You never knew why, but it was like that brother of yours could smell trouble from a mile away. He wasn’t the brightest, and often didn’t know what the plan was, although he happily went along with it, but he always knew when something was about to go ‘bang’. Maybe it was just his love for bombs. Either way, John had let him in and Arthur had started pouring the drinks straight away. Not a great start. Tommy was still working, so the four of you were now sitting in the little front room at Watery Lane. And you could cut the tension with a knife. “What was your name again?” Arthur asked the boy. “You know his name,“ you sighed. “He’s been a friend of Finn’s since they were six years old.” “I forget.” Said boy cleared his throat to answer, but before he actually could, Arthur interrupted him, “Never mind, I won’t remember it anyway.” Strike one. Thank God Tommy finally came in. He stood in the doorway and looked around the room, eyes lingering on you for a second, and then staring down the boy who had dared to knock on his front door. “Well?” he finally said. “Tom, this is…” Thomas pointed a finger to silence you and softly, menacingly, said, “You will not be speaking, Y/N, at all. I want to hear it all from him.”

You sat back down quietly. Tommy lit a slow cigarette. The room had turned to ice. “Speak, boy.” For a second, the boy made eye contact with you. Immediately, Tommy held up a hand in warning, and he got it. So, he bravely looked your brother in the eye instead and said, “My name is Jeremiah Roth, Mr. Shelby. I’m a friend of your sister.” “Are you now…” “I thought he was Finn’s friend.” Arthur grumbled. John gestured around vaguely, “Maybe he has lots of friends, Arthur.” “Not in here he doesn’t…” “I do!” Jeremiah interjected, even though you’d tried your best to warn him with your eyes. Tommy raised his eyebrows and nodded, “There, you see? He has lots of friends. He’s friendly, right, Jeremiah? You’re friendly?” Less certain now, he answered, “I think I am…” “So friendly even, that you decided to come to our house and interrupt us during our work.” “I don’t mean to interrupt anything…” behind your brother’s back you had started gesturing wildly for him to move the fuck along and get to the point, because you knew exactly what was going to happen if he didn’t. Tommy sighed theatrically, “Yet here you are.” “I’ll get to the point,” Jeremiah said. You gave him a double thumbs up and an encouraging smile, “I’ve known Y/N for almost 10 years now and I like her very much. I think she likes me too.” Within seconds, Arthur was up and John just about managed to stop him from lifting the boy clean out of his shoes.

“Settle down, brother,” Tommy said, seemingly unmoved. But you recognized how his eyes had slightly darkened. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”   Jeremiah opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, a fourth brother entered the room. Finn’s eyes lit up in surprise when he saw his friend, “What are you doing here, Jem?” “He wants to marry Y/N,” John blurted out. You let your head fall into your hands, waiting for the explosion to happen. For a moment, nothing happened at all. Arthur had turned a slightly darker shade of purple, but all was quiet. “What?” John asked no one in particular, “I’m just saying it. We all know it…” And then it kicked off. Finn lunged forwards and punched his friend in the face. Jeremiah fell back and took one of the little tables with him. John tried to stop Finn, but he clearly wasn’t making much of an effort. Arthur, meanwhile, grabbed hold of a book and flung it at the boy’s head. Then he went at him with the bottle, but luckily tommy took that from his hands. It was a chaos of fighting cats, with only you and Tommy standing to the side, looking at it. “So, how would you say this is going, Y/N? Eh?” “Not great.” Tommy nodded and lit yet another cigarette. Then he sent you a quick strict look and said, “Don’t think I don’t know this was your idea.” You gulped and decided not to reply. Because of course this was your idea. You liked Jeremiah, you may even loved him, you weren’t entirely sure, but he wasn’t the bravest man in Small Heath. Which was fine with you, because if you wanted brave, loud, violent or bold men, you had many to choose from. No, you liked Jeremiah because of his kindness, his clumsiness, his nervousness around big groups of people, and his wordless affection for you. Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise of Tommy banging his fist down onto the table and shouting out, “Enough!” John immediately grabbed Finn by the collar and threw him out of the room, saying, “Thanks for coming, Finn. Well done. Now let the grown-ups handle this.” Finn tried to shout out something threatening to his friend about sneaking around with his sister, but John quickly closed the door, so his words faded away.

Tommy sat down again and waited for his brothers to do the same, “Let’s start this again, eh?” “Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” Jeremiah said, as he tried to dab away some of the blood off his chin, “As I was saying, I like your sister.”

Frantically, you tried to get him to look at you. You waved your arms about and when he did finally look, you mouthed the word respect at him a few times. He finally got it, nodded a little too obvious and added, “And of course I respect you all.” You shook your head. This wasn’t going to be easy. Again, you mouthed the right words and pointed feverishly at yourself: respect ME! “Ah! Yes,” he nodded again, “And of course I respect me most of all.” You slumped down in your chair. Half a smile started forming on John’s face, as he looked from you to him.   Again, you tried, as clearly as you could and without John noticing. It became a strange dance almost, with a lot of stopping and starting again. Pointing from him to yourself, to the brothers, and to your ring finger. Tommy narrowed his eyes, Arthur downed another glass and John almost giggled. “What I mean to say… is that I respect Y/N. A lot.” Finally. “Which is why I’m here.” You started gesturing again, referring to the next bit you had told him to say. But suddenly John spun around and caught you mid-mime. He barked a laugh, “Have you two been rehearsing this? Because, fucking hell Y/N, should’ve spend a bit more time on this one.” “No, I haven’t,” you tried feebly. “You respect her.” Tommy waved a hand, “I’m so very glad to hear it.” His patience was running out. “And you want to marry her.” Arthur started, obviously trying with every inch of his might to sound calm and reasonable, “You want to marry our sixteen-year-old sister.” His patience had run out a long time ago.

“Yes, well it doesn’t have to be right away,” Jeremiah offered. And you slammed a hand against your forehead to show him: wrong move! So, he added, “I mean, we’re both still young.” “Mr. Roth,” Thomas interrupted him, and he leaned forwards and waved his cigarette around as he spoke, “I’ll be frank with you, alright? I’m sure you’re a lovely boy, but that is all you are: a boy. And the only reason I won’t shoot you right here and now, is because I think you’re just a fucking idiot. I’ll forgive you for that. I’m also going to assume my sister put you up to this. I’ll deal with her later. But I will tell you this: she is far too young to get married yet. She will be ready, when I say she’s ready, alright?” “We haven’t even thought about a dowry for her yet,” John added, unhelpfully. And you couldn’t help yourself, “What would I be worth then, John?” “Y/N…” Tommy warned. You sat up, “No, I want to know! A horse?” “You’re worth more than one horse,” Arthur weighed in on the conversation, “You’re a bloody Shelby.” “Three horses?” John shrugged, “I don’t know, I haven’t…” “What about a car?” Jeremiah asked, smiling brightly. He never was too good and gauging the mood and taking social cues.

“A car is a lot, Jeremiah,” you laughed. He smiled back at you, and innocently added, “Well, I’m not really sure how these things work, Y/N. Maybe for a virgin?” And that’s when Tommy lost it too. He jumped up, with his other brothers hot on his heel, grabbed the much-confused boy and in one swift motion, practically hoisted him up into the air. “Wait!” you shouted out, “Tom, wait. Please. I know he’s an idiot, but I swear it’s just that. He doesn’t mean any harm!” “And you want to marry this idiot?” John asked, chewing on his toothpick, obviously, but calmly, contemplating homicide. You looked at Tommy, who hardly seemed to move at all. Somehow, that was even scarier.

“Why our sister?” Tommy grumbled lowly. “I thought it would be good for her too,” Jeremiah tried, “With her reputation and all.” Arthur actually sounded like an animal, “What fucking reputation?” “Because she’s a Shelby?” You couldn’t wait any longer. He was going to get himself killed, “Jeremiah, shut the fuck up. Please. Whatever you think might be a good idea to say, do no say that! You’re making it worse.” John looked at him. He didn’t think it was funny anymore, “You’re calling my sister wild?”

Jeremiah just hung there, suspended in the air.  His voice had gotten very thin, “I don’t mean she’s wild wild. I mean she’s friendly, you know?” “Oh, friendly again, is it.” And that was it. With one swift motion, Thomas threw Jeremiah out the front door and closed it again. “Wedding’s off, Y/N,” Arthur said, almost cheerful. You sat back down and sighed. None of this had gone according to plan. Maybe you could try again in a couple of years, together, when you’d prepped him better. “Why would you want to marry him?” John asked again, genuinely interested. “You could have anyone. Why him?” “I like him.” Tommy ran a hand through his hair and simply said, “Well, luckily for him, so do I. But you’re not marrying anyone for now and that’s final. Alright?” You nodded. Somehow, this still felt like a victory, even though your brothers seemed exhausted after the encounter. Like it had taken years off their lives. So, you decided to ease their discomfort a little, “You don’t have to worry, Tommy.” “Worry about what, eh?” He took a long drag. You shrugged, “I mean… I’m not that friendly…” John snickered in the background, but Tommy frowned, “What?” “I’m still a virgin.” Arthur had just downed his whiskey and, unfortunately, choked.

*****

Masterlist

you jolted violently, whipping around with wide eyes. zagreus stood before you, his hands raised. “sorry- didn’t mean to scare you.” he quickly uttered. “you just looked… tense, is all.” his mismatched eyes slowly drifted to the broom, where cracks had formed from your iron grip. you blinked, slowly setting the broom against the wall with a sheepish look. “just… having a bit of a mid-life crisis? well, a godly one.” you sighed, shaking your head.

the prince raised a brow, “i don’t mean to pry, but i wouldn’t mind listening.” your brows perked up in surprise, a small smile forming on your lips. “thank you zagreus. do you mind also covering for me? i really don’t feel like getting told off today…” zagreus nodded in agreement, “of course. perhaps my room would be best for privacy?” you followed after the male with no further questions, trying to decipher where it would be best to start. 

the two of you sat atop zagreus’ bed, the mattress bouncing ever so slightly to accommodate for the new weight. the silence didn’t feel as unnerving as before, thanks to the prince of hell’s presence. you were glad you had found a confidant and amazing friend in him.

“well… to start, i guess i…” you paused, inhaling then exhaling to organize your thoughts. “i have feelings for meg, romantically.” zagreus blinked in surprise, looking down at you. “i don’t know what to do next, zag. she’s practically unreachable. any time i see her, i want to approach her but i’m just so…” “nervous?” zagreus finished for you. “yes, nervous. that.” you fell back onto the bed with a grunt, staring up at the ceiling in disdain. the bed shifted as zagreus laid beside you, his head propped up by his hand. 

“if you don’t mind me asking, zag, how did you approach than?” a nervous chuckle left the male, the flame-colored wreath atop his head shifting ever so slightly as he moved to look at the headboard. “i don’t mean to sound… generic, but all i really did was be myself.” he began. “aside from the fact that we’re childhood friends, all i really did was figure out what he liked, what he didn’t like. then, i just went from there.” at his words, you went silent. 

if you started from there, perhaps you would have a chance to find out more on meg. you looked to zagerus with a faint smile, “thank you, zag. and don’t worry about sounding too generic, you… you’ve helped more than you know.” you nodded firmly, watching a smile grow on zagreus’ face. “you’re welcome, i’m glad i could be of assistance… but really, that quick?” he questioned, a brow raised as he moved to sit up once you did.

“yeah, i want to find meg, see if… i can muster up the courage to talk to her.” zagreus placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “that’s a great start, but remember not to get ahead of yourself. things like this take time and patience.” he warned. “right. time and patience.” you huffed, standing to head out of his room. the prince trailed after you, the two of you heading into the dining hall. unfortunately, nyx was nowhere to be seen, so you couldn’t greet the primordial goddess on the way.

a few shades lingered about the mess hall, some seated at tables and chattering amongst each other on how they died and the works. not too far, deusa was humming to herself as she gently dusted at a ledge. “deusa,” zagreus called from behind you, the gorgon jumping with a chirp-like hiss as she turned around. “p-prince zagreus!” she squeaked, also calling your name shortly after. “done with your chores already? maybe i should learn a thing or two from you…” the snake huffed in defeat, her eyes flitting over to zagreus. “oh- i also washed your sheets with the detergent you like! i-um… hope you enjoy it, prince zagreus.” she rambled. shortly after, the gorgon floated upwards, disappearing to carry on with her duties around the house of hades. “yes, thank you deusa. i’ll… be seeing you then.” the two of you moved on, the prince gently nudging you at the sight of a specific fury nursing a drink.

she stood alone, her whip holstered. on her face she wore a small scowl. “ah, must not be in the best of moods because of earlier…” zagreus winced, looking to you with worry written on his face. you shook your head, “nothing i can’t handle zag, besides, there’s a warrant on your head, not mine.” you jested lightly, earning a soft chuckle from the male. “true that. well, it’s best you go alone then. i’ll watch from afar.”

your heart hammered in your chest as you looked to meg, the fury sensing your stare shortly after. with narrowed eyes, she locked onto zagreus. you watched her face twist into a sneer, “tch.” she scoffed, setting her cup down. eventually, she looked to you. you could only hope she couldn’t hear your racing heart. “zagreus and the new godling. to what do i owe the displeasure?” 

you and zagreus shared a look, the prince giving a small nod. “zageus was… just on his way, and i wanted to check in on you.” you told the fury, stepping forward to stand before her. meg raised a brow, “to… check in on me?” she repeated slowly, a hint of confusion laced in her voice. behind you, zagreus departs with a few pats on your back and he mouths a ‘good luck’ to you.

“yeah- er, yes. you looked like you were in a bad mood so…” you trailed off, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. your gaze slowly drifted to the ground. meg eyed you up and down for a moment, a long sigh leaving the woman as she turned to take another sip from her drink. “i’m… fine. zagreus just- eugh, the nerve of that prince irks me.” she seethed, shaking her head. you chuckled softly, waving to the shade behind the counter for a drink of your own.

“that sounds like a light way of putting it.” you murmured, thanking the shade-chef with a nod. the sweet taste of nectar soothed you, meg watching as you drank the gold-colored liquid. “well, i’m all ears for whatever you’d like to talk about.” you told her now, looking at the fury with a kind smile. she blinked a few times before nodding, “thanks…” meg murmured. she stared at her drink for a moment before glancing back over to you.

perhaps you wouldn’t be as bad as she thought you would be.

the man seems a lil avoidant, like he’s just wary of people in general so i'm not so sure how well he’d respond to hearing from a third party that you had a crush on him, whether that be a close friend of yours or an unfamiliar group of fellow rebels. he’d immediately feel like expectations were being pushed onto him and people were anticipating him to react in a certain way. he doesn’t like that, it feels like someone's yanked open the curtains that were obscuring him from the bright light of perception? so even though he returns your feelings for sure, he’s not going to react well to that kind of direct address/situation and would most likely pull away from you in an attempt to take back the control he feels he’s lost.

in the end i think if one of you were to make a move to further the relationship, it would have to be him because he doesn’t like feeling caught off guard or put on the spot. even then, he’s definitely not confessing the true extent of his fondness for you (even though it totally consumes him, this is a man that feels deeply, just look at those eyes babe). 

cassian is someone who expresses their love through actions and deeds, not so much words, at least not immediately, that’s a little too vulnerable for him at the moment.

let's be honest, his version of getting the message across to you is patting you on the shoulder and telling you “that’s really good” as he oversees your group’s blaster training. like the affection is there and you totally get free passes where others don’t, but overall there’s really nothing concrete to suggest he thinks of you as anything other than a friendly comrade, which is probably how he likes it for now.

again, addressing it head on either by yourself or having another person plant the notion into his mind is not the way to go about this. he’s like a stray animal, you see him from across the street and desperately want to pull him close and love up on him, but even the most careful approach will have him skirting away from you in a flash after one wrong move.

honestly the only way to go about this i think is to just let him do his own thing, find a quiet and subtle way let him know you’re open and will be waiting with open arms, and he’ll come to you eventually. i’d say he’d come to you in his own time, and I wouldn't be lying but let's be honest, that first really meaningful look (see elevator scene in rogue one 😩) and pleading of your name is going to come in a moment of high-stakes and danger. what can I say, there's nothing like a life threatening situation in which either one or both of your lives are in jeopardy and desperation and stress infect every decision made, to provoke a momentary lapse in resolve and allow some painfully concealed concern and devotion to seep out of one's every orifice <3.

then there’s the subject of his name. obviously he introduces himself as cassian (unless he’s undercover but that’s a whole other can of worms, you’d get there in the end), so you’ve not really any reason to suspect otherwise until you pose an innocent question about the origins of his name, which leads him to hesitantly surrender his birth name to you. this is only something he’d ever consider doing if he truly, deeply trusted you and felt ready to open up even just a little bit. again, it’s all in his own time, there’s no pushing cassian. psst, don’t be afraid of using his real name, he’ll answer to it…just pick the right moments iykyk

when on missions, clashes tend to happen. cassian believes he knows best (and maybe he does. he probably does lets be fr we’re dumbos), so you’ll every now and again notice him speaking for you or making decisions on your behalf. obviously as an independent entity, this will most likely get on your nerves so it’s an issue that’ll have to be addressed in a sit down session with him. he honestly doesn’t mean it in a controlling way, he probably sees it as him relieving you of any unnecessary burdens, so you’ll have to make it clear to him you’d appreciate it if he lets you stand on your own 2 feet and would, well… for a lack of a better phrase, ‘just butt out’. at the end of the day, you’d rather be equals, partners in crime, not so much some micromanaged talent. come on, it’s understandable cass.

You’re flitting about the house, moving from room to room, trying your best to clean and scrape off the blood and innards that splattered all over the living room floor. This wasn’t even the worst part—trying to stuff a corpse in bags was. You loath every part of it, but what can you do right?

That’s one less Visitor in your home, your human guests should be safe again. They have nothing to worry about, not when you have your trusty gun with you.

The cold man quietly observes your frantic movements from where he’s sitting down on the couch. Maybe you don’t realize it, but your tight-lipped expression doesn’t hide the worry that lies underneath. To everyone else, it’s clear these deaths are taking a toll on you even when you continue to pretend you have it under control. Visitor or not, they all look like humans to you, it messes up your psyche. He huffs, if he spotted that damned Visitor sooner you wouldn’t have done this. That’s what he’s here for, to share the burden you carry and be the shoulder you can cry on.

A sanctuary.

Next time, he’ll do better. He’ll be more efficient and ruthless.

“I guess that’s the last of it.” You get up from the floor and wipe the sweat trickling down your forehead with your arm. “Shit, finally. I thought the blood was never gonna come off.”

You hold the heavy garbage bags tightly in your gloved hands as you haul them, carefully maneuvering your way in the living room to avoid bumping the furniture with them. The cab driver looks away from you, and the cold man notices it.

The least these humans could do is help you, and they can’t even do that.

He scrunches up his nose in disgust.

He gets up from the couch, slowly walking toward you. “Here, let m-me help you.” He gently snatches a particularly heavy bag from you. “Oh, thanks! You didn’t have to.” You give him a grateful smile. There it is. He softens upon seeing it. “I insist, I w-want to be o-of assistance to you in a-any way I can.” Not being able to kill the Visitor you took down today was a huge oversight on his part, but getting you to smile makes it all better. You make it all better. It’s strange, seeing it fills him with warmth and… happiness?

Your little human quirks help him get in touch with his emotions more. At this rate, he can emulate other humans better with your help.

“We should probably leave these by the backdoor for now. I’ll dispose of them properly tonight,” You mused, the cold man nods. With his help, you managed to lug those bags around easily, and now that you’re done you just want to curl up in your bed and sleep the day away. “Thanks again! I’ll clean up and go to sleep after.”

You were about to turn around and book it to the bathroom—which was unoccupied today—when he grabs your hand. You immediately swivel your head to regard him with a questioning look.

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“The o-other guests in your h-home make m-me feel overwhelmed. Can I stay in y-your bedroom only for today?” A beat of silence passes while you stare at him wordlessly. Only when you still didn’t speak that he feels like he messed up somehow.

His cold, clammy hand on you doesn’t let go.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of other people staying in my bedroom. I can talk to the guests in the other rooms and negotiate with them if you don’t want to stay in the living room from now on.” You awkwardly chuckle.

“Oh.” His shoulders sag down almost immediately, hesitantly letting go of your wrist.

“It’s nothing personal. You get it right?” Your apologetic smile does little to ease his mind, but the hand you bring up to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly calms him down, if only a little.

It seems he severely miscalculated.

“It’s a-alright. I deeply a-apologize if I o-overstepped your boundaries.” He fidgets with his fingers, some of the blood smearing his palms. You pretend not to notice it.

“Nah, you’re good.” With that final statement, you leave him to his lonesome. He’s not mad at you, no, never at you. But he realizes he’s still inadequate in some way, and that must be the reason why you don’t trust him. He doesn’t mind working for your love. Nonetheless, he feels slightly irritated and dejected by the rejection, so if someone mysteriously vanishes into thin air tonight without your knowledge, he hopes you won’t notice the skeletons in his closet.

The cold man will go to great lengths to keep this special warmth all to himself.

You’re talking to the other guests today, something about keeping watch of “The Vigilante” and steering clear of him? They all look alarmed—you included. If it came down to it, you genuinely had nothing to be scared of. After all, if someone wants to hurt you, they’ll have to go through him first. Maybe he’ll even make use of the black hole in his stomach to finish him off. It was very tempting, but the thought of witnessing your horrified face makes him feel guilty. And so he holds back.

He won’t do it. It will be his last resort.

After your mini impromptu meeting, everyone dispersed and started doing their own thing to pass the time. You, however, had other plans. When you made a beeline out in the empty hallway, he followed suit. Always after you, always your shadow.

When you see him standing beside you, you smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I would start thinking you like hanging around me.”

Eyes going uncharacteristically wide—exposing more of his unnatural, vertical pupils—he looks like he was a deer caught in the headlights.

“Um, I actually d-do. Compared to the o-others, you have a much more c-calming presence,” He proclaims sincerely, now it was your turn to be surprised.

“Really?”

“I’m grateful f-for everything you’ve d-done for me.”

Wow, he’s really laying it on thick, huh?

Admittedly, you didn’t think much of him at first. He’s fairly respectful and quiet, not bothering the other guests in your home. Despite treating you with too much familiarity and following you around like a lost puppy, he minds his own business most of the time. You don’t know if this was something akin to a silly little crush, but you don’t dissuade him from acting this way.

The guy who keeps spouting about the law and some legal tenant agreement bullcrap can learn a thing or two from him.

You smile at him, and the sight takes his breath away. If he was a human, his heart would probably start beating out of his chest by now. Oh, the things you do to him, and the things he’ll do for you.

Your face falls when you look at the window blinds. You intended to go outside for a few minutes to take a breather and be alone with your thoughts, but the sun still hasn’t gone down yet.

Damn this daylight savings time.

“It’s hard, but I try my best to have a positive outlook on life in the midst of this hellscape. How can I take care of other people if I can’t even take care of myself, you know?” You confessed.

He knows, and that’s why he desperately wishes he was the only one you care about.

As days go by, the both of you steadily grew closer. Some days were better, some were worse. You even had to stay in the basement for a few days with the others because you heard from the radio that some wild individuals were breaking into other people’s homes during nighttime. You didn’t want to risk it.

The cold man learned of your hobbies and some of your aspirations. While you didn’t dwell on it much, it’s clear you had a life before all of this, before him.

He can’t say the same for himself. The cold never left him and society didn’t need someone like him around.

One night when the weight of it all crashes down on you, you impulsively decide to seek out his company. And you didn’t even have to say anything twice, he was always at your beck and call.

You gently caress the side of his face with your hand. He closes his eyes, sighing in contentment. “Can I kiss you?” He gasps in surprise.

To hell with everything for now, if this is our new reality, I might as well have my fun tonight. I deserve it.

He slowly nods, it didn’t take long for you to lean in and close the gap between the both of you. He’s incredibly stiff, his inexperience is apparent. You decide to take the initiative by grabbing the back of his head and pulling him closer to you as you deepen the kiss.

Everything was so sudden, it was dizzying. Is this real? Do you reciprocate his feelings?

He lets your tongue explore every inch in his mouth. He’s still cold, but right now you make him feel downright feverish. Under the mercy of your touch, he was a willing puppet. His hands shake with need, and before he could stop himself he grabs your arms and squeezes them with a tight grip. You push him down on the bed in response.

Now that you’re on top of him you pull away from him, breaking the string of saliva connecting your mouth to his. The hunger in your gaze leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable. “Can I take this off…?” You tug at his coat. He was able to recover in record time, firmly shaking his head. “Uh, s-sorry, but can we continue with my c-clothes on?” He stammers.

“Of course.” You didn’t even question him, you went right back into making out with him, his whimpers and whines only egging you on. You never pushed him to do anything unsavory, you were content to let him kiss and grope you everywhere until you reached your high. All throughout it all he insisted on taking care of you instead of the other way around, not only because he wanted to, he was also terrified you’ll accidentally find out about the black hole if he let you feel him up.

It was all a blur for him when you went to the bathroom. Some human emotions—like lust—don’t come easily to him, and yet he likes the physical contact and intimacy of the act.

When dawn breaks, you didn’t bother addressing what happened the night before.

And maybe that was your biggest mistake yet.

You don’t consider the other guests as your friends, they’re acquaintances at best and strangers at worst. They’re only here to reside in your home for a short amount of time.

So why do they tremble under your watchful eye?

You tried talking to one of them today—the cheerful man—but he didn’t even look your way once.

What the hell has gotten to these people?

It wasn’t only them, the cold man has visibly become more clingy with you, never letting you leave his unblinking stare for too long. Wherever you are, he was always hiding in the shadows, watching you. It scared you.

These changes in your home are starting to make you feel restless.

Why the fuck is nobody saying a thing to you?

To make matters worse, the FEMA agent who constantly knocks on your door during the ungodly hours of the night keeps taking the guests away with no remorse.

Guests that you never see again.

A loud bang resounds in the hallway, and you jump slightly at the sound. “Christ, calm down! I’m coming!” You yelled, hurriedly running to the front door. When you open it, you sneer at him. “Let me guess, you came here to take two of the people in here again?”

The FEMA agent standing before you shakes his head. “Not this time, we’re here for you.”

“What? Why?”

“Someone reported to HQ that you were impersonating the owner of this house, that you showed clear signs of being a Visitor.” His steady voice didn’t falter once, but it filled you with pure dread all the same.

That fucking lawyer wannabe seriously reported me to FEMA!

As if this situation wasn’t bad enough, “The Vigilante” kept you up a few nights ago. You were lucky he got off your case after you proved your innocence to him multiple times. But you looked at yourself in the mirror this morning, your bloodshot eyes that stared back at you might as well have made you look like a Visitor to everyone else.

There was no way out of this.

Like hell I’ll back down without a fight.

“That guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about! He’s nuts!” You screamed. The other guests in your home silently looked at the scene before them.

“Let us do our job if you want to come back alive!” He yells in return.

Your eyes went wide in horror. “Are you seriously threatening me?!” You screech. In a blink of an eye, the FEMA agent aggressively grabs both of your arms. “No! Let go, you fucking murderer!” You tried to turn around in his hold, but he was too strong. “Please—fuck! Help me!” You plead to the onlookers in your home, desperate to be freed from the FEMA agent’s grip on you.

They don’t say a thing, they just look away.

He had enough of this.

“What the h-hell do you think you’re d-doing?” The cold man steps out from his hiding place behind the wall. Your stomach churned. You don’t need this right now.

“Stay back,” You ordered, your sharp gaze on him didn’t deter him in the slightest.

“No, he’s taking y-you away from me.” He shudders. Never has he felt this cold and numb before, the thought of you disappearing in his life is not something he’ll allow—not in a million years. You continue to struggle against the FEMA agent’s tight hold on you. “Do you k-know what it feels l-like to feel so very alone? When y-you call out for help but nobody is around t-to hear you out? Society has no need for me, b-but I don’t care anymore.” He takes a step forward. Trepidation seizes the FEMA agent, even from afar, he’s hyperaware of the fact that there is something deeply wrong with the cold man.

“Peace has b-been granted to me the very d-day that I met you. You w-were a miracle,” He whispers reverently. A shiver went down your spine.

Just when the FEMA agent starts dragging you away again, the cold man instantly clutches on all of the layers of his clothes and holds them up, exposing his stomach for all of them to see. A gaping, black hole ominously swirls in its place. In a split second, you were suddenly drenched in blood and organs. Everyone except you and him crumple to the ground with a sickening thud, their bodies seemingly torn in half as if an unseen force forcibly split them apart in a crude manner. All of their guts were exposed. You howled in panic. You grab your gun where you left it a few days ago beside the front door, your body is on auto-pilot.

“I’m s-sorry… I’m so s-so sorry, it must be d-done,” He sniffles, hugging himself. He feels so small. He knows he shouldn’t have done it, he knows you’ll despise him. He even hates himself for what he did.

But somehow, deep inside, he knew this day would come sooner than later. He couldn’t have kept it a secret from you forever even if he wanted to because you were bound to find out one way or another. In any case, he’s grateful the black hole spared you even though the reason for it eludes him. All he knows is that when he shows it to everyone he sees, they suffer the same gruesome death. He doesn’t do it on purpose.

What matters now is that you’re still alive.

“Get the f-fuck away f-f-from me!” You were hysterical and practically inconsolable at this point, tears continuously streaming down your face.

He wants to wipe them away, wipe away all the sadness and fear that you feel.

He doesn’t regret what he did to the others. The FEMA agent, “The Vigilante”, and even all of the guests in your home can go to hell for all he cares. He was done holding back anyway, every time someone disrespects you, it takes all of his patience to not wring their necks. He only regrets you had to find out about the truth this way.

“It’s u-unfortunate it had to be t-this way, my love. But know t-that I’ve always b-been sincere. Whatever you decide to d-do, I willingly place my fate in y-your hands,” He crooned. Too scared out of your mind, you can’t even look him in the eye.

In this standstill with you, he’s content he gets to look at your gorgeous face for quite possibly the last time.

"not a writing account btw" i say, as i open up google docs to write an x reader fic with 2.8k words and post it on here. amazing. maybe this is a sign i should be a semi writing account atp LMFAO. also, while i appreciate the support i've been getting, pls know that i'm not taking requests!! so i apologize to the people who sent stuff in my inbox. >__<

Levi can tell immediately if something is off with his gear. If the blades are dull, if the gas canisters aren't quite loaded right, he picks up on it right away. It's essential to survival, and he's been using gear for so long that it might as well be an extension of his body. He's good enough at it that he can usually hear or see if something is wrong with your gear as well. One of your straps isn't buckled right? He's fixing it and reminding you to double check your gear unless you want to crash into a tree.

It's canon that he has (understandably) bad insomnia and only gets a couple hours of sleep every night. I think when he does sleep, his body twitches a lot. His hand will suddenly flex or his leg will kick out, likely from muscle memory with his gear. Between the twitches, he sleeps like a corpse. Not in terms of how deep he sleeps, because I don't think he'd ever fall into a truly deep sleep unless he was knocked out. No, I mean he's silent to an almost worrying extent. The first time you witness it, you get up to check if he is in fact breathing, but he's narrowing his eyes at you as soon as he hears you move.

Getting this man to even consider you his friend would take years. Yes, years. In my mind he's like a feral cat that you spend years building trust with until they finally let you pet them (still glaring the whole time). Can you blame him? Considering his history with people abandoning him, whether intentionally or not, it's a miracle he lets himself close to anyone. I'm sorry if you like cat and mouse dynamics in a relationship because that isn't gonna happen with him. Be patient, don't push him, respect his boundaries, and eventually you'll be sitting and sipping tea with him.

I don't know if he'd ever put a label on your relationship. It's so definite in a world where everything can be ripped away in a moment. Once he cares for you, he cares for you so deeply, but I definitely see him as an actions over words person. I think you'd come to accept that label or not, what the two of you have is extremely important to him.

Speaking of actions over words, his love language is 100% acts of service. He looks over your gear, brews you a cup of tea, makes sure you're eating enough, all without a word. He doesn't do it with expectations of a thank you or something in return (though you do those things anyway), he's simply doing what feels right. Taking care of you in subtle ways becomes part of his routine almost without him realizing.

In terms of the love language I think he'd like to receive, I can see two of them. First off is quality time. The two of you won't likely ever go on a traditional date for a few reasons, but evenings spent with you curled up reading a book while he works? Those make the tension melt from his shoulders, even if it's only a little. He knows you're safe, and you're actively choosing to spend time with him when you could be doing anything else. When you stay up late to be with him, he'll give you a look and tell you to get to bed, yet he doesn't kick you out. If you fall asleep, he'll (lovingly) complain under his breath while he drapes a blanket over you and saves your place in your book.

Physical touch is the second one. HEAR ME OUT—I know, I know, it sounds silly. I'm not saying he'll be super clingy or want you to wrap around him like a koala. It's another thing that would take years to occur. But the first time you hold him after an expedition, no words and no expectations, just silent comfort? His head falls against your shoulder and the buzzing in his ears goes quiet.

Erwin and Hange are part of the deal. No ifs, ands, or buts. I'm not saying you have to be besties with them, but come on. Give Erwin the due respect, don't be a dick to Hange, and you're all good. In all seriousness, those two are some of, if not the only other people in the world he has space for in his heart, so respecting them is a necessity. And if you get Hange to bathe without Levi having to knock them out, don't be surprised if you wake up with a small gift on your nightstand the next day.

I say this with love, but he's right back to Captain Levi when you're out on an expedition. You have to be able to take care of yourself out there, and he isn't going to coddle you. I'm not saying he's hard on you, but he can't afford to have his attention divided. That being said, if someone else fucks up and you get hurt as a result? Erwin likely has to step in to keep Levi from verbally eviscerating them too much. Even if you get hurt and it isn't because of someone else, he's not going to be an asshole about it. I can see him carefully tending your wounds and making sure you're okay, and then personally training you the next day to try and make sure another incident is less likely to happen.

If he's injured and he can treat it without help, that's what he does. His work is meticulous and professional and he has no problem giving himself stitches, though that's a rare occasion. I think all the scouts would get trained in basic first aid, but I think Levi particularly got into it in his early years. When he's treating you, he's more of a hardass about it. You try to get lazy about changing bandages? He's cornering you and doing it himself. Try to walk on a twisted ankle and he'll threaten to twist the other one if you don't use your damn crutches.

His uniforms are always impeccable, much like the rest of his appearance. We know his obsession with cleanliness is from growing up in the underground, but I think when it comes to his appearance, a small part is due to respect. In his first years above ground, I can see higher ups being complete assholes to him because of where he's from and the reputation he had as a criminal. Making sure his hair was always cut with razor precision, the seams on his uniforms were pressed exactly, it gives the elitists around him one less thing to try and pick apart.

Looping back to physical affection, good luck getting Levi to kiss you at first. He straight up doesn't know how, and would probably think it's gross just based on the idea of it. Like the feral cat allegory from earlier, you can't just kiss him out of nowhere and expect it to go well. Being honest and asking him straight up is your best plan of action. It's awkward at first, with him not moving (or breathing), but Levi is a fast learner.

Kissing him is usually short but sincere, and always with the faint taste of tea. It's exclusively something he does in private, so before an expedition he'll pull you aside somewhere and kiss you a bit longer than usual. He's not a words person unless he's insulting someone, so the kiss is his way of asking you to please, come back safe.

Tav grunted in frustration as they tried to wriggle free from the narrow space between the crates. Their movements only caused them to get more wedged in the spot. They were reaching forward, straining to reach Lae’zel’s outstretched hand, only to just be out of her reach. 

“K’chaki. I told you to go around.” Lae’zel grumbled in exasperation. She withdrew her hand. “We waste precious time while you struggle. At any moment, we could become ghaik.” 

“I know that,” Tav groaned and tried to launch themselves forward. They barely moved an inch, and now their waist was fully stuck between the crates. “It’s almost like you’ve been saying the same thing since we crashed! If you’d shut up and give me your hand, I’d be out of here already.”

“You cannot reach my hand,” Lae’zel pointed out as if it was as obvious as day. “And I have no time to wait and make up for your shortcomings. Had I known you would slow me down, I would have left you to your fate on the nautolid.” 

“And you would have no astral prism. You’d turn into a mindflayer before me,” Tav grunted and decided to change tactics, twisting their hips to try and dislodge themselves. It didn’t work. Lae’zel checked her pack, believing she’d been the one carrying it, only for Tav to give a mocking sneer. “Honestly, it’d be an improvement. You wouldn’t be talking so much if you had a mouth full of tentacles.”

Lae’zel scowled. She took a step forward, hand on the hilt of her sword. “You think it’s wise to provoke me in your position?”

Before you could challenge her, Astarion’s silky voice sounded from somewhere behind you. “Now now, darlings. Let’s not turn our blades on each other. We’ve so many enemies we could stab instead..”

Tav heard the sound of his shoes crunching over gravel as he approached them. The sound stopped when he froze, taking in the scene of the trapped leader in front of him. “Oh. Oh dear. Someone’s gotten themselves in a spot of trouble, hm?”

Tav didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking. They bristled, and they would’ve turned to leer at them if they hadn’t been pinned at the waist. “Hilarious, Astarion. Truly. How about doing something useful and helping me?”

The vampire clicked his tongue. “My, so touchy. I’m almost tempted to leave you there. Who knows what a less friendly adventurer would do if they found you?”

“You wouldn’t,” Tav retorted. “You’d miss me too much. Who else would wake up day after day to tell you how handsome you are?” 

“Cheeky,” Astarion smirked. “Still, I’m not convinced to help you. If only there was a word you could say that would make me reconsider. Something like, oh, I don’t know…please?”

“To hells with that,” Tav palmed the sides of the crates and pushed at them. Besides the occasional, minuscule move, they remained right where they were. Their face contorted with exertion, and they heard Astarion snickering behind them. 

“That’s four words, and I'm not looking for any of them.” Astarion stepped closer and leaned against the crates. “But by all means, keep squirming. You look good helpless…”

The heat rose to their cheeks, or maybe that was from all of their struggling? Tav wasn’t sure. They gave up on pushing the crates and twisting their body to and fro. Then, exhaling through their nose, they grumbled, “Fine. Please help me, Astarion. There, happy?”

“Your groveling skills need work,” he snorted. “But it would be cruel for me to expect a grand performance in your state. So of course, my dear, I’ll help you.” Astarion moved behind them, hands outstretching to rest on their sides. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and he rotated them to determine the best angle to pull them from. The light touches sent shivers up their spine, though he didn’t seem to notice. If anything, Tav would’ve chalked it up to the cold. Astarion moved his hands higher, now resting just below their rib cage. His fingers slid along their skin, looking for gods know what, and they jolted.

“What are you doing?” Tav cried incredulously. Lucky for them, he couldn’t see the grin tugging at the corner of their lips.  Lae’zel had already stormed off, leaving the two of them alone. 

“Helping you. Obviously.” Astarion rolled his eyes and readjusted his hold, returning to their sides. This time, he was squeezing them in an attempt to get a better grip. “And I’d have an easier time if you would hold still.” 

Tav choked on a giggle. They did the opposite of what he said and fidgeted some more. Suddenly, the impossible feat of getting themselves out on their own didn’t sound all that impossible. “Forget it, Astarion. I’ll d-do it myself..”

“Nonsense. Stop squirming, and I’ll pull you out.” 

“No, but-” 

Astarion’s fingers ghosted over their stomach, and they squeaked. He froze, and Tav felt their heart do somersaults in their chest. 

“What is the matter with you?” Astarion took his hands away from their belly, fingers resting just above their hips. The confusion was as clear as day in his voice. “You’re acting as if I’m hurting you.”

Tav remained quiet. They feared that they’d end up giggling if they spoke. 

“Tav? Am I hurting you?”

“...No.” Tav hesitated, shaking their head. They wracked their mind for a plausible explanation. “It’s just, uh, your hands. They’re cold.”

“Cold enough to feel through your clothing?” Astarion raised a brow, tone flat. “Odd. You haven’t told me that before..”

Tav didn’t even believe the tale they’d spun. “W-Well, they’re just that c—ah!” Tav squealed when he lightly pinched their hip. “Don’t do that!”

They went to smack at his hand, but hit one of the crates instead. Although they couldn’t see it, Astarion’s eyes brightened with mischief. 

“Oh, now I understand…” Astarion grinned a predatory grin, rolling his knuckles against their hip. Tav squirmed, biting down on their lip to trap the impending giggles. “You’re ticklish, aren’t you?”

“Noho!” The word alone sent butterflies in their stomach. They brought one of their hands up to their mouth, their other hand uselessly hitting the top of the crates. “Damn it Astarion, just pull me ouhuhut!”

“I’m trying, Tav, but you’re not making this easy for me.” Astarion shuffled closer to them, now using his thumbs to deliberately knead into their hips. Tav gasped and giggled into their hand, feet stomping into the dirt. “It’s impossible to get a good grip with you kicking around like this..”

“You’re nohoht trying!” Tav argued, bucking their hips as Astarion kept kneading into them. The ticklish sensations surged through them like electric shocks, and it was harder to suppress their frantic giggling. “Gah! S-Shihihit! When I get out of hehehehre, you’re dehehehad!”

“I’m already dead,” Astarion snorted. “But do tell me, what is so funny? Surely I am not tickling you?”

Tav growled in between their giggles. They giggled harder when he changed tactics and squeezed their hips again, again, and again. Both hands flew to their mouth to muffle their squeals. 

“Darling,” Astarion purred, “I need an answer.” 

“Gohoho to hehehell!” The dam broke, and Tav giggled freely. They twisted and bucked as much as their trapped position allowed, clawing at the crates. “Stohohohp it!”

“Stop what?” Astarion feigned confusion, nails skittering along their waistline. “I’m only trying to help, just as you asked! You’re stuck in here good, I’m afraid.”

“Nohoho! I’ll f-freehehee myself!” Tav sputtered as he dragged his nails up their belly. They shouted and shook their head back and forth, laughing loudly. “Let gOHOHOhahaha!”

“I can’t do that, dear. That would make me a terrible friend,” Astarion tutted. He stopped scritching at their belly, teasing their sides with featherlight strokes. “And, while I’m on the topic, do you know what else sours a friendship?”

Tav’s laughter died down to short, breathless giggles. Their cheeks were well beyond flushed, and they fidgeted in anticipation. “I—hah—don’t know... what?”

“Lying,” Astarion grinned and gently pinched just beneath their rib cage. Tav squealed and bucked. “For instance, pretending not to be delightfully ticklish when you very clearly are.”

Tav’s eyes widened, panic flashing across their face. “I’m—I'm nohot—”

“Ah-ah, there it is again.” Astarion double downed on his efforts, kneading one of his thumbs into the side of their belly. Tav shrieked and kicked their legs uselessly, falling back into another laughing fit. “You are an insolent little pup, aren’t you? Lying is one thing, but lying to a friend? Lying to me?” 

As if they weren’t already stuck enough, Astarion wrapped his free arm around their waist, making it much harder to squirm or kick. He continued tickling their stomach, alternating between gently scratching along their skin with his nails and kneading with his thumb. He moved at a leisurely pace, as if he had all the time in the world. And, truth be told, he did. Tav’s laughter took on a more desperate note, and they threw their head back. 

“NAHAHA! Alright! Okay! I’m sohohohorry!” Tav shouted and pounded their fist against the damned crates. They doubled over, or at least made an effort to, and squealed with laughter. “I’m sohohohohrry!”

“So you are,” he hummed. “And yet, I’m not fully convinced. You’ve already lied to me once. Who’s to say you aren’t doing it again?” He dropped to his knees, lazily raking his nails down the backs of their thighs. Tav shrieked and kicked around even more. 

“I’m nOHOHOHohohot! I’m not!!” Tav grit their teeth and giggled madly. They tried to lift their legs out of his reach, but he chased after them with minimal effort. “PLehehehehease! I’m nohoht lying!”

Astarion laughed. “You learn fast. It’s still a no, though. I’m just gutted that you would lie to me.” He pretended to sound sad while he spidered his nails along the backs of their knees. Tav howled, curling in on themselves as much as possible. “After all of the time we spent together! After I offered to help you..” 

Tav cackled when one of Astarion’s hands snuck back up to prod at their belly. He swirled his pointer finger in random patterns, scritching just shy of their hip bones, around their navel, and ending at their lowermost ribs. He did the same thing in reverse, eventually settling back on the ground to squeeze and tickle their knees and thighs. His fearless leader was a puddle of squeals and giggles, and that’s one crime he was happy to be guilty of. 

“I CAHAHAHN’T!” Tav went back to pounding their fists against the crates, eyes shining with tears. “Astarion, plehehehehehease!”

After what felt like forever, Astarion stopped tickling them. He gripped their hips and, with one firm pull, dislodged them from their trap. They fell back into him, and he held them up, still by their hips. “There you are, you’re free!” he snickered. “You’re welcome.”

Tav exhaled, shutting their eyes. They were coming down from the ticklish sensations, chest rising and falling from each breath they took. They were still smiling a bit, so what they said next had very little bite. “Bastard.”