Welcome to my page! 💕 I’m Ava (18+), and I love writing just as much as I love reading. Thank you so much to everyone who sent me requests and supports my work—I truly appreciate every reblog, comment, like, and request! Have fun reading 🪄🗒️
"All because my head is full of poison
And my heart is full of doubt
I got toxins in my bloodstream
You tried so hard to suck out
—the cure, Olivia Rodrigo
summary: you’re the ray of sunshine and overly dependable smiling intern the night shift crew has been needing. But a certain attending begins noticing you might need more help than you let on.
wc: 11.7k (a short one sorry guys)
warnings: crippling perfectionism, high-key people pleasing, reader is bright and bubbly to compensate for how awful she feels day to day, one vomiting scene, service dom jack, santos is on nightshift bc i love her and i wanted her in this fic. trinity and dennis and reader r basically siblings, jack’s characterization in this is DEF andrew pope cody-esque panic attacks, mental health struggles, reader is an intern again but i swear it’s just cause i watch a lot of greys and interns r the only stage of medical career i know enough about to write semi-well T-T
acknowledgments: once again a round of applause for @wesandresons for the lovely gif, and @uzmacchiato and @cursed-carmine for the dividers!
a/n: i’m not rlly sure i like how this turned out but oh well @leeknowpegger i hope this keeps you company
masterlist
When you first get to the PTMC, Jack can’t decide what he thinks about you.
He vaguely remembers you— you’d done a rotation here, some time ago. One of the unfortunate ones who’d drawn the short stick and been stuck on the night shift. He has a hazy recollection of your face during an MVC, your jaw hard set and a permanent smile to your face. He vaguely remembers, at the time, the only thing he’d really though was:
Jesus, this kid needs to dial it back.
The sentiment, of course, remains the same when it’s handoff time, and Robby is telling him all about what an awful fucking day it’s been, and of course now he says “Oh, remember that med student you got stuck with awhile back? Smiley-face? You must’ve done something right, because she matched into the ED for her residency. She starts today.”
Not exactly the news an attending wants to hear right after the horror show the day has been so far. Especially when intern/baby resident in question is… charismatic.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ellis says, her eyes trained on you as you soothe a crying teenager who just got wheeled in. “If you ask me, we could use someone who actually smiles. Bit too dark and dreary in here for my taste.”
“You like dark and dreary.”
She gives him an unimpressed raised eyebrow. “So? We can’t all be doing it. Like, we’ve got Shen, but his is more iced-coffee induced than actual smiling charm.”
“I can be charming when I want to be.”
“No, you can be flirty or suggestive. There’s a difference.”
Jack does not justify her response with one of his own, instead choosing to look down at his tablet and pretend to chart while he listens to how you’re interacting with the patient. The teenager seems to be calmed down, and the parents don't sound frantic or worried.
Maybe Ellis is right. Unfortunately, this tends to be the case fairly often.
He sighs and focuses on the chart he’s supposed to be doing and attempts to wipe his mind of bright smiles and glittering eyes.
—
The PTMC and Emergency Medicine in general was not, actually, your first choice. It wasn’t even your second, or your third.
First was surgical. Everybody wants to be surgical. You wanted surgical. It’s flashy, it pays well, and it’s cool as fuck. Plus, unlike some of your classmates, you actually have the stomach for it (one of the many things that eventually translated well to emergency medicine.)
Second was Ortho. Because bones are cool. Ortho surgeries are fun too, when they’re not arthroscopy after arthroscopy.
Third was any kind of unit like Burn or ICU. A high stress program that wouldn’t let you think, let you run on adrenaline all day.
But then you did your rotation in general surgery and absolutely fucking hated it.
Surgeons are assholes. Surgeons are uptight nerds who like to subject anyone they consider beneath them to cruel and unusual punishment.
Even in during the short duration of your rotation through surgery, it almost killed you. You could practically feel the light in your soul dimming at every pointed comment, every sharp correction, every barked insult and something or other cruel word.
And then there was the PTMC. The stupid ED that wasn’t supposed to fun, was supposed to be grueling and exhausting (especially since you’d gotten assigned to the night shift.) But instead of awful you got amazing, which sucked.
Seems counterintuitive, but it’s true.
You wanted to like surgery enough to power though. But not a single rotation after the ED even came close to measuring up. The speed, the action, the gore, and the kind but firm guiding direction from the attending’s and residents.
Matching into the PTMC was an event actually worth celebrating. As in, you decided to un-tense minutely and splurge on actual champagne that you drank in your apartment while dancing to your favorite music.
And now, you’re here. Determined to not fuck this up. To keep moving, keep going, and be a fucking excellent ED doctor.
Except your attending, Dr. Jack Abbot, one of the reasons you joined the ED in the first place, keeps giving you funny looks when he thinks you’re not looking.
You’re not sure if he’s aware that you know that he’s staring at you. You do have a wider than normal field of peripheral vision, so maybe he doesn’t know that you can still see him out of the corner of your eye?
Regardless of if he knows or not, it’s unnerving. Because he’s your boss. And you know he’s capable of being an incredible doctor and mentor, because you see it every single day.
Just not directed at you.
He’s not really mean, or standoffish, or anything like that, he’s just… not necessarily kind. Not in the way that you see him with the other residents on his service or even with you, during your rotation as a med student.
Hell, he’s nicer to Santos than he is to you.
“Did I like, say something to offend him and I don’t know?”
Trinity makes a face at you from over the edge of the monitor. “Isn’t that more my area of expertise?”
“No. You offend people on purpose.”
“True.”
You prop your head on your hands, resting your elbows on the counter above her. Your keycard, attached to your breast pocket via a red, heart-shaped badge reel is lovingly adorned with pink rhinestones and cute stickers. The pocket itself is filled with several glitter gel pens (and regular pens, just in case.)
“I just don’t get it. I’m nice, right?”
“Disturbingly so.”
“Exactly. The only thing I can think of is that I’ve messed up or something, but it’s Dr. Abbot. He’d tell me if I did. He doesn’t exactly hold back.”
“Do you really need me for this conversation?”
You level her with a look, but she just groans.
“Why do you even care? So what, one guy doesn’t like you, boohoo.”
“He’s not just some guy. He’s my attending. And you might’ve secured your spot here, but i’m all shiny and new. I can’t exactly earn people’s respect if our boss doesn’t like me.”
Trinity doesn’t immediately respond with a scathing remark, which usually means that you’ve made a valid point.
“Should I talk to him?”
She sighs. “I think you’re overreacting. You’ve only been here for like, two weeks? Three? He’ll probably calm down the more you work together.”
“Did he stare at you all weirdly when you first started?”
“Well, no, but that’s because I don’t suck at my job.”
Now it’s your turn to glare.
“Sorry. I guess you’re not completely hopeless.”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Trin.”
She scrunches her nose up at the nickname like you knew she would, because she hates it, which makes it one of the only weapons you have against her.
Trinity wasn’t as helpful as you’d hoped, and night shift means no Dana to ask for advice. There’s Dr. Ellis, but she’s pretty close to Dr. Abbot, which means there’s a high chance that whatever you ask her will make it back to him. You aren’t really close enough to Dr. Shen to ask him “Hey, how come Dr. Abbot stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking and isn’t as nice to me as he is to you guys?”
The question is stupid and kind of pathetic, so really, you shouldn’t be asking anybody, but you’ve always been crippled by an intense need to be well-liked. It feels like winning, and it feels good and safe. Safe is good. Safe is great.
Wanting the guy who's essentially your boss to like you is completely rational, right?
You just wish he’d tell you what you’re doing wrong, so you can fix it.
Also, it’s just driving you crazy.
Even if he just legitimately didn’t like you, and made that apparent, it’d be something. You could work with that. You could figure out what it was he didn't like via intense pattern recognitin and fix it. Problem solved!
But he isn't obvious about it. He behaves indifferent and detatched- like you could die tomorrow and he wouldn't care.
It’s the not knowing. If you could just ask him, if he could just give you an answer, then you’d know where you stood, and everything could be fine.
What changed? You want to beg, What happened after my med student rotation? Do you even remember that? What did I do? Where did I go wrong?
It eats away at you over the course of the week. It has been since you noticed, which was pretty much on day one. You don’t show this outwardly of course, because you’re pretty sure you can get through to him and level out the wrong-footedness you feel around him through stubborn determination. Surely, at some point your unwavering nature will win out and he’ll finally see there isn’t anything he needs to hate about you. This is an incredibly healthy mindset to move through life with.
The week closes with an MCI around 5pm, which is just everyone’s favorite thing in the world. The night shift gets called in, minus Trinity, who was already there working a double, and everyone sets in for the long haul. You do your best to focus on the patients and do not at all think about the ease and camaraderie between Mohan and Abbot, because that would be a very fucked up progression of priorities.
Eventually it’s all over— patients are stabilized, some aren’t. Overtime ends with phantom blood on your hands and being strong-armed into drinks in the park afterwards.
You feel awkward, because you don’t work with the day shift people that often, so you’re not really sure how best to be yourself and not come across as weird. Neither of your “safe” people (Trinity and Dennis) are present, so there’s no way in hell you’re going to be capable of relaxing.
You take the beer that’s tossed to you, even though you think beer is gross (why does it taste like that? Why do people enjoy it?) and sip on it excruciatingly slowly, trying to hide a grimace and occasionally chiming in with mentally rehearsed and carefully crafted jokes and comments.
It’s exhausting, and not at all how you wanted to spend your night after an MCI. In a dream world, you don’t have the social backbone of a wet paper bag, and you say no, and you go home to your house and shower, then watch one, maybe two episodes of a tv show, scroll through Pinterest, and then go the fuck to bed.
But for the low low price of much needed rest, you get to drink one of the most disgusting alcoholic beverages known to man and worry if everyone thinks you’re being weird! Yay!
Also. Side note. Minor comment. Little issue.
Jack Abbot is sitting next to you. Like, right next to you on the bench. Because he came late and it was the last spot open. So he’s just right there. Posture loose and open and not at all like he didn’t just help you try to save a girl your age who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like two hours ago your elbows weren’t brushing, elbow deep in a man’s organs, saving his life.
Jack, unlike you, looks comfortable to be at the park with everyone. He doesn’t look like he’s analyzing conversation to determine the best thing to say next.
Jack isn’t looking at everyone. He’s not looking at anyone. He’s looking at you.
You turn, give him a little smile.
Again.
Maybe he doesn’t know you can still see him out of the corner of your eye. (No, he’s a vet, he’d definitely also have wide peripheral vision. But maybe he thinks that you don’t have it, because you’re not a vet.)
(You’re probably thinking too much about the peripheral vision.)
Jack doesn’t stop staring at you. Instead, he reaches over to where your barely-drunk beer is in your hands, and says:
“Here, give me that.”
And then he just. Takes your beer. Straight out of your hands.
Jesus fucking fuck he so hates you.
—
“He took your beer?”
“Yes,” You groan from the kitchen island in Trinity’s apartment, “He said ‘here, give me that’ and then just took it. He didn’t say anything else to me for the rest of the night.”
She lets out a low whistle. “Maybe he doesn’t like you. What could you have possibly done to make him not like you?”
“I don’t know!”
“Well, you better fix it. Having your attending hate your guts will like, majorly suck.”
“I don’t know how to fix it. That’s what i’m over here for. To brainstorm.”
“I thought you were here to steal the cookies Huckleberry made?”
Dennis peeks his head up from the couch. “Wait, what?”
You wave a hand. “Semantics. Focus.”
“Okay,” Trinity taps a pencil on a notepad, “Have you tried sleeping with him?”
“He’s like, probably over twenty years older than me.”
“So? I know your type.”
You roll your eyes. “As if he’d go after me, Trin. He doesn’t like me.”
“Hate sex is a thing.”
“Name one time hate sex solved the hate part.”
She purses her lips. “Touché. What about like, baking him shit, like Huckleberry does for—“
“Shut up Trinity!”
You both snicker.
“No dice,” You sigh, “I can’t bake for shit. Recipes never have enough context. They’re never specific enough.”
“Two tablespoons of sugar isn’t specific enough for you?”
“You’re not helping.”
Trinity holds up her hands in mock surrender. “To be fair, I never agreed to help. I just said we’d both be here if you wanted to come over.”
“I think you should just ask him.” Dennis pipes up.
He shuffles off the couch and slides into the second chair at the kitchen island adjacent to you. “Dr. Abbot is a straightforward guy. He appreciates honesty. Doesn’t beat around the bush. I can’t imagine him being truly upset that you tried to fix a problem.”
“I want to, but that’s like. Too straightforward. What if—“
“Oh my god,” Trinity moans, “Just ask him. Or fuck him. Do something so I don’t have to hear about it anymore.”
You frown, opening your mouth to object, then close it with a sigh.
She’s right.
You have to just move on. Either deal with it or deal with it by… not dealing with it. Talk to him or don’t.
Easier said than done.
—
It takes two more shifts of unrequited awkwardness for you to finally reach your limit. At a certain point, probably when you almost snapped at him for hovering (doing his job) while you were trying to intubate a patient, you realize that you cannot, actually, just get through to him via stubborn determination.
Damn.
So when you have a second, you corner him in one of the quieter hallways. The conversation has the potential to be horrifically embarrassing and mortifying, so it’s best if there’s no audience.
“Do you have a minute, Dr. Abbot?”
He glances down at his watch, then crosses his arms and leans against the opposite wall.
He doesn’t talk (unnerving, annoying) and his sharp, ever analyzing gaze makes your skin prickle as you cross your hands behind your back and mirror his position, leaning against the wall.
He’s so irritating. He won’t even give you a fucking inch. There’s nothing to go on.
“Did I do something wrong?”
For the first time since you became a resident in the ED, he makes an expression: surprise.
“Why do you think you did something wrong?”
“Because you won’t fucking talk to me!” You hiss, absolutely fed up with Dr. Jack Abbot, “Half the time you only look at me when you think I won’t notice. You don’t talk to me unless it’s required for teaching, and even then, it’s short and stilted. I’ve seen how you interact with literally every other person who works here. I know you can be nice. You’re just not nice to me, and I’d like to know why.”
You pause. “And you took my beer!”
There’s a moment of silence, and then there’s a breathy, almost wheezing sound that takes you a minute to place.
He’s laughing.
Jack fucking Abbot starts laughing.
You honest to God want to kill him.
“Sorry,” He says, eyes sparkling with mirth and shoulders loose, “I can see how all of that can be taken negatively—“
“How else was I supposed to take that.”
Jack levels you with a look, and you shut your mouth. “But it was not my intention.”
He just stops speaking there, like that’s a perfectly adequate explanation and not at all vague and almost more disconcerting.
“So…,” You drawl, “What was your intention?”
Something interesting, a little more heated than just analytical sparks in his gaze, and he tilts his head, eyes flicking up and down your body.
Under the silence and scrutiny, you resist the urge to squirm in place, hands squeezing themselves in an effort to subdue the itch.
“You hate confrontation.”
Your chest feels like a cinder block just slammed onto it. “What?”
“You,” He levels a finger at your chest, “Hate confrontation. You hate it so much that you lie about yourself to people instead of saying things they might not like.”
You laugh nervously, voice high and reedy. “A lot of people do that. I don’t think that’s a crime.”
“It’s not. But it doesn’t exactly make me want to trust you with my residents. With my team.”
“You’re worried I’ll what? Get somebody in trouble? Do something shitty?”
“I’m worried that something is going to happen to you, and you won’t tell anyone about it.”
The hallway grows silent. In this distance there’s beeping, someone shouting orders, a child crying. But not in the five feet of space you, Jack, and the conversion currently occupies.
“Why do all of this?” You gesture vaguely to the space between you two, unwilling to be more specific. He does not deserve the itemized list you assembled in your head.
“I wanted to see if you’d confront me about it or not. Confirm my suspicions.”
“That’s—“ You wrinkle your nose, “Actually kind of shitty of you.”
Jack just hums.
“So what now? Did I prove myself to you?” Your tone is mocking.
He scoffs, “God, you really hate confrontation, don’t you?”
Your skin prickles again. “No.”
“Lying again.”
“Shut up.”
He knows how uncomfortable he’s making you. He’s doing it on purpose. And right then and there, you decide you don’t care what Jack Abbot thinks, because if Jack Abbot is going to be a self-assured asshole, Jack Abbot can go fuck himself.
Your pager going off saves you from verbalizing any of this, and with one last glare, you’re gone.
—
If Jack was an obnoxious lurker before, it doesn’t hold a damn candle to how he behaves now.
He’s just. Everywhere. Around every corner. Driving you crazy.
When you bring this up to Trinity, she looks at you like you’ve finally lost it.
Which. Okay. You probably have. But that’s beside the point! The point is…
…The point is that Jack Abbot is getting on your last nerve and you really don’t have any to spare. Life has been stomping all over the other ones, so the singular nerve Jack is stabbing with his annoying pointed looks and almost lingering touches and stupid little questions (“Hey, that was a rough one, are you alright?”) is just worn out. It doesn’t have anything left to give. You don’t have anything left to give.
But, like you were brought up to do, you keep right on giving. And working. And smiling.
Because it goes a little something like this: There’s no one to pick you up if you fall. You pick yourself up when you fall, and you’ve gotten pretty fucking good at it. All of your friends (read: Trinity and Dennis and maybe Mel) are doctors, which means you all have shitty work/life balance and no one would even be available if you called and said “Hey, every morning I lie awake and stare at the ceiling and convince myself to get up while listening to Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley, after which I will inevitably cry on the bus to work. Would you mind helping me with my laundry?”
Okay. Well. Trinity would probably show up if you asked because once she decides that you’re her friend she’s really intense about it (she’s a bit like a Doberman or some other dog like that, not that you would ever tell her) and Dennis probably would too, but only because he never says no when someone asks for help so it kind of just feels like you’re taking advantage of him. Mel is far too busy juggling being an ED doctor and caring for Becca for you to even think about asking her without feeling intense, soul crushing guilt.
So yeah. You don’t really have a best friend, unless one would count the singular romance book you’ve read so much the spine is completely fucked and the pages are yellow from years of travel and rereading. Counting any book as a best friend is probably very pathetic. But hey, don’t fix what isn’t broken.
So you have a system and a method and crying before and after work every single day is totally, completely normal, healthy, and sustainable. Probably even more so in the medical field, and especially since you’re a PGY1. Interns gotta suffer and all that jazz.
Jack Abbot does not need to make the suffering worse by existing near you constantly. Things are really honestly bad enough.
“Hey,” Trinity grabs your arm as you’re going by during a mellow shift, grip not tight enough to hurt but enough to be a bit past uncomfortable, especially for a girl not used to physical contact, “You good?”
‘No,’ You want to shout, collapsing on the floor in a heap of bones and tears, ‘I haven’t done laundry in so long that I’ve started wearing my cleanest dirty socks instead of washing more. I don’t have the energy to spend my days off doing anything productive, but every time I sleep instead of doing chores the anxiety eats me alive. I can’t sleep at night because the guilt makes me so nervous sometimes I throw up. Sometimes I don’t wash myself in the shower and I just stand in the water until it gets cold. Every day I wake up with the same headache, and then I take medicine for it, but by the time it’s gone I’m going to bed and then I wake up with it all over again. I think my liver is shot from over-the-counter medication usage. Everything hurts. I’m so tired.’
Trinity needs you to be okay. Trinity is too busy and under too much stress to worry about you. She needs you to be okay. Everyone needs you be okay.
“Mhm!” You nod, lips spread wide, “Pretty good day actually, all things considered.”
It’s not a total lie. The headache relief you’ve been taking religiously is kicking in faster than it usually does today.
Trinity scans your face, looking for signs of a lie, and she must find something (not shocking, it’s very hard to pretend that everything isn’t awful when Everything Is Really Awful) because her grip tightens minutely and she does that pursed lip thing she does when she’s worried and about to express it through anger or bitchiness.
“Don’t fuck with me. I don’t want to find out you’re like, doing drugs or something stupid like that. If you’re having a hard time—“
“Trin,” You interrupt, skin prickling uncomfortably as she implies that you’re not capable of handling things on your own, “If I need help, I know I can ask for it. And look,”
You tap your unbroken collection of glitter gel pens still intact in the front pocket of your scrubs. “It’s gotta be a good day. I still got my glitter.”
She wrinkles her nose, but drops your arm. “I don’t even know why you keep those. You can’t use them on like, anything. It’s against hospital policy.”
You shrug. “Glitter is a great motivator and mood elevator. Plus, kids love ‘em.”
You manage to feign something important coming up and duck out of the conversation and then, when the coast is clear, dart into one of the lesser used bathrooms and tuck yourself in the darkest stall.
Even in a hospital, toilet seats are disgusting, but you can’t quite summon any actual disgust as you plop down on the white porcelain, only lightly cracked, and cradle your exhausted head in your hands.
You have to keep going. There is no alternative. There is no other option.
Your chest feels tight and loose at the same time, and your skin feels clammy and wrong. Everything feels wrong. The lights are too bright and the material of your scrubs is scratchy and awful, and the longer you sit in the stall the more you want to throw up.
Someone knocks on the door before you get the chance to move down to your knees and start worshipping the porcelain altar. Assuming it to be Mel, who sometimes has a habit of showing up at the wrong time, you open the stall door to reveal none other than Jack Fucking Abbot.
You stare at him blankly for a few beats, too bewildered to feel sick. “You’re not allowed to be in here.”
“In the men’s bathroom?”
“This isn’t the men’s bathroom.”
“The sign on the door would say otherwise.”
Embarrassment brings the nausea back tenfold. You hold the stall door in a white knuckle grip to keep yourself upright and from hurling onto your boss.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t do this on purpose—“
Jack raises an eyebrow, his hands folded behind his back. Military man, right.
“Clearly.”
You stumble forward. “I need to go—“
“Woah, down girl. I didn’t knock because I cared which toilet you use. You work here. Use whatever toilet you want. Preferably not the one in the attending’s lounge.”
“There’s an attending’s lounge?”
“No.” He grins, a devilish upturn to just the corner of his lips.
“Oh,” You pause, then catch up to the rest of what he said, “Then why’d you knock?”
“Cause it kind of sounded like you were dying in there, and I’d rather if you didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“The paperwork, for one. Two, Santos would probably shank me.”
“Ah.”
“Also,” He shrugs, “I’d miss you.”
You scoff. “No you wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You don’t like me. You don’t even trust me.”
Jack gets this pinched look on his face; his lips pull down, his brows furrow and he narrows his eyes, just a bit.
He opens his mouth to respond when the door bangs open.
Jack doesn’t even look up before he’s barking:
“Find another bathroom.”
“But I have to—“
“Find another bathroom or I’ll cut your dick off.”
The guy grumbles away, but Jack never takes his eyes off you. It’s unnerving— to be the sole focus of his attention.
You’re the first to break the now tense silence of the bathroom.
“That seemed a bit extreme.”
“I’m not a man who does things by halves.”
“No,” You sigh, “I suppose you’re not.”
Jack cocks his head to side, almost predatory. More methodical than anything. He looks at you— really looks at you. Shamelessly drags his eyes up your body, likely cataloguing every mystery bruise, frown line, eye bag, freckle, and all the million lines of exhaustion that seem etched on your very being, right down through the bones and marrow.
He sighs, crossing his arms before leaning back on the opposite wall of the bathroom.
“What am I going to do with you?”
His words instantly have you on edge, bristling at all the unsaid things behind his tone.
“I’m not something to be dealt with. I’m a person, not some fucking—“
“You’re like a stray cat,” He interrupts, “Always hissing. Do I need to win you over with treats? Should I start bringing canned tuna?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re drowning.”
Just like that, all the humor gets sucked from the room, replaced with the cold, sharp grip of reality. Suddenly exhausted by the weight of it all, you drop back down onto the toilet seat.
Jack gives you a few moments to respond, get angry, or defend yourself, but you don’t. He’s too good at reading you, it seems. What is there to say?
When you don’t speak, he does.
“Did you think no one would notice?”
“No one has.”
“Am I no one?”
You lean back, closing your eyes and awkwardly resting the back of your head against the wall and the back of the toilet.
“You’re nosy.”
If this were any other moment, any other scenario with any other person, you would never ever act so contrary. But you’re tired and Jack seems to bring out the worst in you.
He makes an amused huffing noise. “You’re good at what you do, I’ll give you that.”
“What, exactly, am I doing?”
“Pretending.”
You scoff. “Fuck off.”
“Come on, sweetheart. How much longer are you going to do this to yourself?”
You lift your head off the back of the toilet. “You act like I’m killing myself:”
“You are,” His inclined his head, “Just really slowly.”
You scrub a hand down your face.
“Look. I understand why you think you have to care, but you don’t. I’m just going through a rough patch. I’ll get through them like I always do. I’m not gonna crash and burn or endanger myself or do whatever it is you’re worried I’m going to do, okay? So you can leave me alone. I’m fine.”
Jack doesn’t get to respond, because the second the words are out of your mouth the nausea that’s been churning in your stomach since you made it to the bathroom rises all at once, and you barely have time to slide off the toilet and turn before you’re throwing up hard enough to almost choke.
The worst part is that you forgot to eat lunch so your stomach is woefully, painfully empty. You’re throwing up nothing but bile, throat burning and tears streaming down your face.
“Alright, come on,” A warm hand rubs soothing circles on your back, and if you weren’t busy hurling your guts out, you’d marvel at the feeling and juxtaposition between the Jack you know, who’s all cold indifference, and the Jack currently holding your hair out of your face while you vomit.
“Let it out,” He soothes, hand still rubbing, “Don’t fight it. It’ll be over soon.”
“I hate throwing up.” You choke, coughing and gasping.
“No one does. But you’ll feel better when it’s over.”
Over feels like it’s never going to come. But eventually your stomach stops clenching, you manage to stop heaving, and you’re slumped over the toilet, sucking down gulps of air, sweat beading on your forehead and the back of your neck.
“This,” You mumble in between gasps, “Means nothing.”
You can’t see Jack’s expression, but his response is so quiet you almost miss it.
“Okay.”
You can’t see his face, but you know this isn’t over.
—
Jack sends you home once you’re capable of standing on your own two feet without shaking like a newborn fawn.
(“You can’t send me home.”
“Yes I can. You’re not allowed to come back to work after throwing up in the bathroom.”
“We both know I’m not the only person to do it.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t caught the other people in the wrong bathroom and held their hair back while they vomited.”
“…”
“You only have two hours left anyway. Go home.”)
The problem lies in the fact that the buses aren’t running yet, which means that you can’t, actually, get home. Your house is an hour away on foot. An hour you’d normally be capable of walking, but your phone is almost dead, you’re exhausted, and you still feel a little weak because of the vomiting.
So after retrieving your things from your locker, you find yourself sitting on the little bench outside the PTMC, waiting for the minutes to tick by. If you didn’t bring at least one book with you everywhere you go in case of emergencies (like this one) you probably would have just walked into oncoming traffic.
It’s cold out and your jacket is cheap so you have to burrow into it, hood up to retain any semblance of warmth. It would be almost cozy —huddled in your jacket, watching the city go by, tucked into your favorite romance book— if the shift hadn’t gone the way it had and if a grueling bus ride and half mile walk didn’t await you once the buses finally start running. Waiting for you beyond that is just chores and an empty apartment.
Your fingers tighten on the edges of your book.
“Why the fuck are you still here?”
You jolt in place, cracking your neck over to the side and blinking blearily.
Jack. Again.
He makes an expectant face at you as if to say ‘Well?’ when you don’t answer immediately.
Your eyes dart back and forth nervously, even though you know you haven’t done anything wrong. “The buses aren’t running yet. It’s an hour walk to my house.”
Jack scrubs a hand down his face and curses under his breath.
“How long until your bus gets here?”
You check your phone. Shit. Only four percent left.
“And hour and a half. Maybe a little longer if it’s running behind more than usual.”
He seems put out by your answer, as if the bus’s heavily fluctuating schedule is of personal consequence and offense to him.
“Um,” You start, both uncomfortable at having been caught reading a romance book in public and at the general air of frustration Jack seems to be venting at the moment, “I’m fine. I have my book. I don’t mind waiting.”
Jack just sighs.
“Do you really think I’m just going to leave you out here, in the cold, after you threw up in the bathroom, to wait for the bus, for nearly two more hours?”
You wince. “Well, it doesn’t sound great when you put it like that.”
He works his jaw. “Have you eaten?”
“No…?”
He shakes his head.
“Come on. You’re coming with me.”
—
“I have to admit, this isn’t where I thought we were going.
Thirty minutes later finds you seated on the cracked vinyl seat of a booth in a cheap diner, staring at a menu and rationalizing spending your last $15 on what will probably be mediocre pancakes.
Jack is seated across from you, already two mugs of coffee —black, but oddly enough, decaf— and not even bothering to pretend to look at his menu. He either comes here often or doesn’t care to act like he isn’t staring at you.
Probably both.
“Where did you think we were going?”
Steam curls out of your own untouched mug of coffee —ordered for you by Jack, also unfortunately decaf— and you debate just getting up and running out of here.
Too bad you’re too exhausted to run anywhere. Jack’s probably banking on that.
“I don’t know,” You shrug, setting the menu down, “Maybe to Gloria’s office to write me up or something.”
“What would I even be writing you up for?”
“Disobeying direction? I’m sure you could come up with something.”
The waitress chooses that moment to appear, notepad in hand. “Are we ready to order?”
Jack rattles off his order, and then two sets of eyes turn to you expectantly. Before you can order the single fruit bowl you were planning on getting (the cheapest thing on the menu) Jack pipes up:
“Order whatever you actually want. Not whatever you think is cheapest or easiest.”
The waitress, a middle aged woman who has probably seen much worse than whatever the two of you have going on, just chuckles lightly under her breath.
You hesitantly list the item you’d been eyeing and thank the waitress.
It isn’t until after the menus have been taken and Jack’s coffee re-upped for the third time that you manage to courage to speak.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean,” your fingers curl on the edge of the table, desperate for something to hold onto, “I can’t— It’ll be awhile until I can pay you back. I barely made rent this month.”
“Do you think I would take you to breakfast and then make you pay?”
“Yes…?”
“You’re not touching the bill, kid. I’m a gentleman.”
“Oh,” You didn’t really see that coming, “Okay.”
Jack gets a funny expression on his face, then resumes his drinking coffee and glancing out the window routine.
“So,” You say after a beat, “Was there something you wanted to talk about…?”
The silence just feels so awkward. It’s killing you.
He raises a brow. “Do you want to talk?”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m asking you what you want to do. What do you usually do when you come out to eat?”
“I don’t? Eating out is expensive, so. But when I do it’s usually by myself, so I end up just reading.”
Jack gestures to your bag beside you. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“What?”
“Read your book.”
“But that’s— isn’t that boring for you?”
He sets his mug down. “I didn’t bring you here because I wanted something from you. I brought you here because you had a shitty day and it seemed like you could use some cheering up. If reading makes you feel better, then do it.”
You have to look out the window to avoid his gaze. You don’t understand how your perfectly crafted facade just crumbles into fucking dust around him. How he manages to see right through you at every turn, how he manages to uncover every lie and every half truth.
“How did you even know I like diner food?”
“Because I pay attention to you.”
You finally look back over at him, arms folded across your chest; not really defensively, more like you’re trying to hold your entire body together by sheer force of will.
Jack’s lips twitch. Not really a smile, but almost. “You bring it up every time Santos wants to get food after a shift. She always says no, because she hates it, but it never stops you from suggesting it.”
It’s just one detail. One tiny, inconsequential detail that he’s apparently memorized and held onto because to him, it’s important. For some impossible to understand reason, he seems to care.
"Also," He shrugs, "I'd miss you."
You scoff. "No you wouldn't."
"I would."
“Do you hate me?”
Jack looks back at you, seemingly startled by the abrupt question.
“No.”
You take a deep, shuddering breath.
“Okay.”
—
“You did what?”
You wince from your spot lying face-down on Trinity’s couch.
“Not so loud, Trin. I have a headache.”
She ignores you, seated on the floor almost directly in front of you. “So you’ve gone from hating each other to going on a date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” You groan, “We spent almost the entire time in silence. I read my book and he stared out the window and did… whatever it is men like him do when they stare out the window.”
“Brooding,” Trinity says, “He paid. That means it’s a date.”
“No it doesn’t!”
It doesn't. It totally doesn't. Just because Jack said he doesn't hate you doesn't mean he likes you either. There are a lot of emotions in between hate and love. Like toleration, for example. Mild amusement. Exasperation. An appropriate amount of annoyance.
Trinity pokes you on the back of your head, having none of it.
"He likes you. Why else would he willingly hang out with one of us after work?"
"He goes out for drinks in the park sometimes." You mumble.
"Yeah, after an MCI."
What Trinity doesn't know is the events leading up to breakfast at the diner, because that would involve telling her about the whole throwing up from anxiety in the men's bathroom directly after a mini-panic attack because she confronted you about your unhealthy lifestyle (which all just sounds a lot worse than it is), so there isn't really a way to give her the kind of context necessary to get her off your back and dissuade her from her (insanely insane) belief that Jack likes you. Romantically.
"Trust me Trin, he was just being nice. Nothing romantic about it."
It was kind of romantic. Just eating surprisingly good food in the company of someone you don't need to pretend around, enjoying being in the company of another human being without worry or expectation.
Not that she needs to know that.
"Jack doesn't do nice. Have you seen him? What happened to the hating?"
You shrug. "You'll just have to ask him, because I don't know."
You do know. He told you. Explained it.
It doesn't make sense.
Trinity throws her hands in the air dramatically.
"Whatever. You two are impossible."
She finally withdraws, leaving you to wallow in your headache-induced misery by yourself on her couch.
Your phone vibrates on the floor next to you, and you groan, rolling further over to hide yourself in the crack of the couch, shunning the light like the reclusive vampire you are.
Your phone vibrates again.
“Dennis,” your voice is muffled by the couch cushion so it ends up sounding more like ‘denim’, “Can you please see who’s texting me and tell them to fuck off?”
Dennis, who was eating cereal at the tiny table near the kitchen when you first showed up fifteen minutes ago and has pointedly stayed silent throughout the entire exchange between you and Trinity, finally speaks.
“Your phone is two inches away from your hand.”
“I have a headache I don’t wanna look at the screen.”
You feel rather than actually see him roll his eyes, but then there’s the clink of a spoon against a bowl and the faint sound of socked —you’ve genuinely never seen him ever be barefoot under any circumstances, no matter what, he’s always wearing socks— feet as they make their way over to your temporary pit (couch) of despair.
There’s a quiet rustle as he picks up your phone off the floor.
“Oh.”
You whine, dramatic and upset. “What?”
“Um,” He grabs your shoulder, slowly rolling you over and away from the back of the couch, “It’s Jack?”
“What!?” You screech.
You throw yourself up, wincing as you immediately regret it when the pain in your head doubles, take a steadying breath to ignore it, and then grab the phone from Dennis’s outstretched hand.
You turn on the phone and— yep. Sure enough. A text from Jack, complete with the stupid picture of a dinosaur you made his profile picture. Because he’s old.
(It was funnier at the time.)
Somewhere behind you there’s a crash, and then the thump thump thump that can only mean a person running towards you at dangerous speeds for sock covered feet on cheap linoleum.
“Incoming,” Dennis mutters.
“Did I just hear that right?” Trinity gasps, nearly giving herself blunt force trauma via the back of the couch, “Did Jack just text you?”
“I don’t know!” You cry.
“How do you not know! Your phone is right in your fucking hands!”
“I’m tired! Stop yelling at me!”
“Guys!” Dennis shouts, holding up his hands, “I refuse to spend my day off listening to you two argue over the validity of romance with our attending. Give me the phone.”
He snatches the phone without waiting for a response, quickly typing in your password (if there was ever a moment you regret telling him in case of emergency…) and opening the text.
He makes an incredulous face at the phone before saying:
“He asked what you’re doing today.”
Trinity claps once. “Fucking called it!”
“Trinity!” Dennis snaps, before sighing and tapping at your keyboard, “I’m telling him that you have a headache and you’re at our place and to please not text again—“
“No!” You squeal, launching yourself off the couch, arms outstretched, but your legs tangle over each other and you fall and slam, gloriously and beautifully, face first into the coffee table.
“Oo!” Trinity winces, covering her mouth.
“Oh my god!” Dennis balks, “Are you okay?”
“Just give me the fucking phone.”
Peeling your face off, you grab the phone, squinting at the screen and ignoring the black spots in the corner of your vision.
hi, you type, I’m at Trinity and Dennis’s. Did you need something?
You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.
“We,” You haul yourself to your feet and stagger over to the kitchen table, “Will never speak of this.”
“I definitely am. When I’m the maid of honor at your guys wedding, I’m gonna give a speech and be all ‘you guys, she gave herself a concussion the first time he texted—‘“
“There will be no wedding!”
“That’s just what you think.”
Your phone vibrates again, signaling a response.
Just wondering how you were doing. Surprised to hear you’re not holed up in your apartment reading something.
Ah, sexy old men and their correct grammar and punctuation when texting. Shouldn’t be endearing.
“What’s he saying?”
“Go away!”
You tap out a quick response.
Not today unfortunately lol I have a headache so no reading for me
Isn’t this the sixth day in a row you’ve had a headache? Should I give neuro a call?
You stomach flips.
nooo I’m fine i get them all the time
That’s not exactly reassuring.
I went to the doctor for them awhile ago apparently they’re normal
Who?
if I tell you, are you going to call him and make him send over my chart?
Yes.
Your heart is starting to pound a fluttering beat in your chest, and you hunch over your phone.
then i’m not telling you. it’s fine, really
they usually go away when i take over the counter stuff
So your plan is just to destroy your liver?
pretty much
We need to work on your planning skills.
we?
I’m not doing all the work.
Now stop looking at your phone. Drink some Gatorade and take a nap.
this is a resident apartment there’s no gatorade here just redbulls
Have either of them buy you one. I’ll pay whichever one it is later. Go to sleep. You need it.
You turn off your phone, shuffling back over to the couch and flopping down onto it.
“I’m taking a nap. Jack wants one of you to go buy me a Gatorade. He said he’d pay you back later.”
“He said what?”
—
You end up sleeping the entire day away, which should have screwed up your sleep schedule, but thankfully you live in a state of perpetual exhaustion and are fully capable of falling asleep anytime, anywhere, no matter how much you last sleep. It’s a gift.
Shockingly, the shift you work the next day is actually much easier to survive and your smiles aren’t nearly as forced. Go figure. Who knew that getting an appropriate amount of sleep would be so helpful?
“Somebody’s in a better mood today.” Jack mutters as you sidle up next to him under the board.
“I’m pretty sure I slept for like, fourteen straight hours. Thanks for the Gatorade, by the way. I woke up around hour three, chugged it, and then went back to sleep. No headache when I woke up!”
“Wonderful,” He drawls, “It’s almost like taking care of yourself is actually beneficial.”
“I take care of myself plenty.”
He casts you a sidelong glance, expression pinched.
“When was the last time you drank water without being prompted?”
“That’s different.”
“Okay,” He dips his head, “When was the last time you ever felt truly relaxed?”
You give him a beaming smile, so wide it hurts. “We’re not going to talk about this right now!”
“You started this conversation. I’m trying to do my job.”
You snort. “You’re waiting to see if someone else is going to take the sunburn guy.”
“Are you accusing an attending of cherry picking?”
“Of course not. Just observing, sir.”
Jack’s turned to look at you now, head tilted up, hands folded behind his back.
When you say sir, his eyes flick down to your lips, and then his jaw tightens.
The air suddenly becomes charged, the space between you two filled with something too electric to be air.
It smells like aftershave, hospital antiseptic, wanting, and something that’s distinctly masculine.
You look away first, swallowing hard past the sudden dryness of your mouth.
“You know,” You say, crossing your arms and looking up at the board, “Trinity thinks you like me. Romantically.”
“Mm.”
“I told her that was dumb,” You babble, “Obviously it’s not true, but. She won’t let it go, so if she says something, just ignore her. Or not. Whatever you want.”
“Why wouldn’t it be true?”
You whip your head around so fast you’re pretty sure something cracks. “What?”
“I mean,” Jack’s voice is gruff as he shrugs once, “Is that really so unrealistic?”
“Of course it is,” You sputter, “You don’t like me.”
“I’ve actually never said that. That was a conclusion you came to on your own. I distinctly recall telling you that I don’t hate you.”
“Just because you don’t hate me doesn’t mean that you like me, let alone— like that.”
Jack tilts his head, almost predatory, and all that sharp tension rushes straight back in.
“Like what?”
Something hot and dangerous is starting to unfurl in your chest, untethering from where it was previously lodged deep behind your ribs, out of sight, out of feeling.
“Code Blue en route, ETA two minutes.”
Jack jerks his head in the direction of the ambulance bay. “You gonna go get that?”
“Uh,” You’re pretty sure you’re stroking out, having a seizure, or something, because the only thing you’re capable of comprehending is the fact that Jack just not-so-subtly implied to actually liking you. Romantically.
“Get going then.”
You scurry away, hot all over and absolutely done with emotions in their entirety.
—
The rest of the week is hell on Earth. Perks of being in your twenties.
Things could be worse though!
Kind of.
It’s just that it’s been several days since Jack basically confirmed Trinity’s suspicions on romance and you can’t stop thinking about it. Obsessively.
It’s bad.
Bad enough that when Mel asked if there was any way you could cover her shift, you said yes.
“Okay,” Dennis stage-whispers as you’re downing your third coffee of the day, miserably charting at the nurses station, “I feel the need to ask how bad things can possibly be if you’re covering a day shift.”
“Mel asked.”
Dennis blinks incredulously. “You love Mel, but not enough to work a day shift voluntarily.”
“What exactly are you asking me here?”
“Did you and Jack hit a rough patch or something?”
“Keep your voice down!” You hiss, ducking your head as if you can hide from Princess and Perlah, “And for your information, no. We didn’t. I just wanted to do something nice for Mel.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t need you to believe me.”
Day-shift crawls on in a whirlwind of chaos and a level of dumb-fuckery that can only be achieved from the hours of 8 a.m to 8 p.m. As usual, the place is understaffed, overcrowded, and filled with a lingering sense of impending doom.
By the time night-shift starts filtering in, you’re ready to completely give up and start a new life a sheep rancher in New Zealand. It’s always been the plan if being a doctor didn’t work out.
Jack finds you in the locker room once the handoff is over, sitting on the little bench in the same position Dennis found you in earlier. Face in your hands, heels in your eyes, methodically counting breaths and wondering if that fluttering feeling in your chest is from caffeine consumption or sleep deprivation.
It’s fine. Your fine. Everything is fine.
“You don’t look too good.”
“I’m—“
“Don’t say you’re fine.”
“But I am,” You grit, “I just need a minute.”
“Okay.”
There’s the distinct sound of Jack’s slightly uneven footsteps, and then there’s a warm weight pressed against your side.
You take another shuddering breath that feels less like breathing and more like placing a single brick in a wobbly foundation.
“Shouldn’t you be out on the floor?”
“I don’t work tonight.”
You raise your head just enough to look at him. “You don’t? I thought I saw you on the schedule. Why are you here if you don’t work?”
Now that you’re looking at him and not starburst patterns on the back of your eyelids, you can see that he’s wearing casual clothes, not scrubs, and he doesn’t have his usual army-issue backpack with him.
“I got Shen to cover me. I came here for you.”
Your next breath in almost gets stuck in your chest, air struggling to move past that alive and wriggling thing that keeps moving every time Jack is around.
“What’d you do that for?”
The barest hints of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Dennis called me. He said you’d need picking up after your shift.”
Shame, guilt, and embarrassment flood your veins, turning your blood into sickly-sweet poison that makes your stomach roll and twist.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I have no idea why he did that. You really didn’t have to drive all the way over here, I swear I didn’t tell him to call you or something like that—“
“I know you didn’t,” Jack soothes, voice a rumbly, smooth timber that washes over your permanently-frazzled nerves like a balm, “Which is why I came.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jack stands, pulling your bag and change of clothes out of your locker.
“I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me, so you don’t have to answer it again. Can you do that for me?”
You nod once.
“Words.”
“Uh— yeah. Yes.”
“Good.”
Thank god the locker room is empty— everyone’s either on the floor or already left for their homes.
He closes your locker down, shoulders your bag, and hands you your clothes.
“Is it easier for you to accept help when you don’t have to ask and don’t get the chance to say no?”
It sounds so pathetic, hearing it laid out like that. The ugly guts of you; cut open, laid bare, and marked for research. Exhibit A, the inside of the girl no one ever needed to worry about.
You don’t want to agree. You want to laugh it off, maybe run away from it. Sit up straight, wipe your face, take the bag from Jack and explain that this is all a big misunderstanding and you’re perfectly fine and he can stop worrying about you now.
“Yes.”
Jack doesn’t verbally acknowledge your response besides a single dip of his head, like he knows that if he does anything more it’ll turn your response into a confession and that’s just too vulnerable for the hospital locker room.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“I don’t mean to be this way, you know.”
The passenger seat of Jack’s car isn’t somewhere you’d ever imagined yourself being. Not even late at night or on the bus when you’re pretending to be someone else who’s better at chasing what they want.
“It stopped being intentional a long time ago,” your hands are fisted into the material of your sweatpants, nails digging into the fabric, “It was just the natural progression of things. I like being liked.”
What you don’t say, what becomes an unspoken truth that lingers in the air despite not being verbalized, is the survival aspect of it. Why and how a person fuses this kind of thing to their personality; to their life. The circumstances that makes the natural progression of things end it being better for everyone if you just don’t have needs.
“I know.”
“I know you know, I just… needed to tell you. Myself.”
It’s odd seeing Jack illuminated by streetlights instead of fluorescent overheads. It’s odd being able to watch his hand flex on the steering wheel, watching his forearm tense as he shifts gears in his old stick-shift.
“You like being told what to do.”
Your face heats, but you’re determined not to lose face now. Especially after managing to survive being emotionally flayed open, willingly, by him.
“It feels safe. If I know what yo— someone wants, then I can’t mess it up, and I can relax.”
You can practically see the gears turning in Jack’s mind.
“Makes sense.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, the silence only filled by the sounds of Pittsburgh around you and the gentle crackle of something from the radio turned down too low to hear.
And for the first time in longer than you can remember, you begin feeling something that approaches calm.
Jack doesn’t have any expectations. There isn’t any one particular way he wants you to act or expects you to behave like. There’s nothing he wants you to do.
So you do what you want to do.
You relax.
—
In the weeks following Jack driving you home, there is a quantifiable shift in behavior between the two of you.
He starts pulling back.
It strikes you as odd first, and your natural inclination is to pull back too— to guard the soft, vulnerable bits you’ve showed him in case he throws them back at you.
But then you realize what he’s doing.
Instead of telling you how to proceed on a case when you come to him for advice, he asks you questions and steers you to the answer. He holds back when he’s evaluating a case with you, patiently following your lead and only interjecting when necessary.
He’s making space for you try new things and learn without fear of rejection. Building your confidence bit by bit.
It feels more intimate than sex.
After much deliberation, screaming into your pillow, and Reddit forum searching for HR violations, you decide to get him a card. Because he’s actually been really kind and helpful and he makes you feel like you can actually survive residency.
“What’s this?”
“A thank you card.”
You’re staring at your shoes, eyes flicking up and down between Jack’s face and the floor.
“What for?”
“It says it in the card.”
You scurry away, attaching yourself to the closest patient to avoid seeing Jack’s face when he does finally open it.
But when you look back, he’s just staring at it, a small smile on his face.
—
It’s the card that does him in.
Jack hasn’t made his feelings for you a secret, despite your unwillingness to see him as anything other than standoffish in the beginning.
He came on too strong at first— that was his fault. He didn’t yet understand how imbedded your need ran and how long it’d been since anyone bothered to look deeper.
He’d hoped, at least, that you were letting Whitaker and Santos help, and though you let them closer than most, it was clear you still seemed intent on holding up yourself and everyone around you on your own.
But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you oozed kindness— like it was a byproduct of your existence. He watched you get so wrapped up in being the perfect resident, perfect friend, perfect person, that no one ever stopped to let you know how good you were just by being.
He hadn’t planned on developing feelings or anything of the sort. At first, you’d just been one of his residents. Smart and capable but lacking confidence in yourself to fully commit. Then there was that MCI, and drinks in the park afterwards where he’d painfully watched you sip a beer you clearly hated, and everything just clicked right into place.
He never intends to flirt with you. It just happens. He can’t help himself. He’s a weak fucking man when it comes to you.
And then you bring him a card. A fucking card. To thank him for doing his job as an attending, a job he should’ve been doing better from the start. It has an illustration of bananas on it and says “Thanks a bunch!”.
He knows he’s completely gone, then. He was capable of being in denial before, could delude himself into thinking that what he felt was casual, but the sight of you before him, hands nervously wringing, your glitter gel pens sparkling as they caught the light was just the final nail in the coffin.
He allows himself a modicum of flirting on a day to day basis, mostly because if he couldn’t tease that real smile out of you at least once per day, he’d lose his mind.
Sometimes he takes you back to the diner, especially on longer days where none of your smiles reach your eyes and you start obsessively uncapping and capping your gel pens.
Even though you think it “looks dumb” you’ve also taken to sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in the booth, and he pretends he can’t see you sneaking fries off his plate because he knows how much effort it takes you to ask him if you can sit with him instead of on the opposite side.
Then he starts driving you home during a string of bad weather after you start sneezing from walking in the rain everyday, but even after the storm passes and the weather clears up he still finds you at the lockers, every day, car keys in hand. No matter how many times he does it, you always look so happily surprised that he’s still offering.
As if he’s not wrapped around your finger.
One day, after things have been mellow for awhile, Whitaker calls him and says that neither he nor Trinity have seen you in three days and you called out of work.
So naturally, as a calm and collected man, he showed up to your house.
You’d answered the door after the third time he knocked (which was great, because he was gearing up to force the door open) and you just looked miserable. Your hair was a mess, you head blanket wrinkles imprinted onto your face, and your eyes were puffy.
“Jack?” You’d mumbled, squinting your eyes against the not very bright light in the hallway, “Why are you at my apartment?”
“No one’s heard from you in three days.”
You wince. “I swear I meant to text Trinity. I just have a bad headache.”
His fingers twitch towards a penlight he doesn’t have. “How bad?”
“I don’t know. Like a seven on the pain scale?”
“Jesus— I’m coming in.”
“Nooo,” You cry, but shuffle back from the door and put up very little fight as he ushers you to the couch.
Your apartment is….. exactly as messy as he’d imagined a resident who lives alone would be. For someone who doesn’t drink enough water, there are an incredible amount of beverage bottles and cans littered about.
“Do you have headache relief?”
You gesture to the kitchen. “Cabinet furthest to the left.”
While rifling through your very disorganized medicine cabinet, he spies an orange prescription bottle with your name on it, dated for the previous year.
“Why do you have a prescription for a high level antihistamine?”
“Stop snooping. It’s for my migraines.”
“You’ve had a prescription this entire time and you’ve been taking all that over the counter shit?”
“Stop being mad,” You mumble into the couch cushion, “My migraine meds put me to sleep, so I can’t take them when I’m working. Plus I don’t have any refills left so I save them for when it’s really bad.”
“You called out of work and haven’t left your apartment in three days and you don’t consider this bad?”
“Could be worse. Could be throwing up.”
He sighs. Sets the bottle on the counter, breathes in once, then lets it out slowly. Imagines all the ways he could murder whoever made you think suffering alone for three days is preferable to asking for help.
“I’m going to help you back to bed,” He starts, voice low as he rounds the couch, “And then you’re going to drink some electrolytes, have a snack, and take your meds. Okay?”
The migraine has clearly taken it out of you, because you put up zero fight as he manhandles you to your feet and helps you drag yourself back to your bed.
“M’ sorry my apartment is a mess. I was supposed to clean it.”
“I’m not judging, sweetheart,” He says, tucking the blankets up around you, lips twitching as you make grabby hands for a giant triceratops plushie that looks to be the size of your upper body. “I’m gonna make you a snack, so try to stay awake until I come back. Can you do that?”
“Mhm. I’ll try.”
“Good girl.”
He manages to find a cucumber in your fridge, cuts it into slices and then adds a few pieces of lunch meat for protein. Last but not least, he snags a bottle of blue Gatorade from your pantry.
(He only knows they were there because he bought them for you a few weeks ago.)
He doesn’t make you sit up to eat, but instead scoots you a little ways away from the edge of your bed so there’s space for the plate.
You slowly nibble your way through, taking little sips of Gatorade when he nudges the bottle into your hands.
You finish the cucumbers, eat most of the lunch meat, and drink half the Gatorade before burrowing back into the blankets and declaring yourself done.
“Can I have my sleep mask please? I think it’s on the floor under my nightstand?”
“Of course you can.”
After your face mask is on and the curtains closed, he gives you the correct dose of your meds and gently shuts the door to your bedroom.
He fires off a quick text to Whitaker (he doesn’t have Santos’s number) that says you’re fine, stuck in bed with a migraine, and that he’s handling it.
And then he gets to work.
Two hours later your apartment is clean, your laundry is started, and Jack’s relaxing on your couch, aimlessly watching the news.
He hears the door creak open but knows you hate feeling on the spot, so he keeps his gaze trained on the tv even as he hears the sound of you shuffling over to the couch.
And then you pause.
“Jack.”
“Yes?”
“Did you clean my apartment?”
He finally looks over to you, and when his gaze reaches your face his stomach drops.
You’re crying.
He hauls himself off the couch (he’s thankful that he put his leg back on a few minutes prior) and stops in front of you, arms twitching at his sides with the need to fix, help, to stop whatever it is that’s making you cry.
“What’s wrong? Did I overstep?”
“No,” You warble, voice wet, “I just haven’t had the time or energy to clean in here for so long, and it’s been stressing me out so bad I avoid staying here during my off days. It’s just really, really nice of you.”
You look at him, eyebrows pinched and eyes wide with worry, “I— I’m not sure how to repay you for all of this. I know you said going to the diner was fine, but this is— a lot.”
“Sweetheart,” He starts, bracing one hand on the side of your face, thumb deftly sweeping across your cheek and wiping away the quickly drying tears, “I’m not doing any of this because I expect you to repay me. I’m doing it because I care about you and I want to see you happy.”
You sniff hard. “This is a lot of work, though.”
“I like doing it. I like taking care of you.”
Another sniff. “It doesn’t seem very fun.”
“I told you. You’re like a cat. Had to coax you over and now look at you,” he thumb rubs circles over your cheekbone, “Practically purring.”
You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t know if I like this metaphor.”
“Get used to it.”
You sigh, dramatic and long.
“I suppose I’ll allow it.”
“Oh, you’ll allow it, huh.”
You fold your hands behind your back, rocking back and forth on your heels. “Yes. I’ll allow it.”
“Well, aren’t I lucky.”
Later, when you’re lying on the couch, two movies into what Jack thinks is an unofficial early 2000s rom-com marathon (your favorite genre) you turn to look up at him from your spot tucked into his side.
“This is romantic, right?”
He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead, because he knows how much you like physical affirmations as well as verbal ones.
“Yes.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“You need confirmation?”
“I’d rather have it in writing, but this will do for now.”
He huffs a breathy laugh, tucks you closer to his chest.
“I’ll put it in writing for you later.”
You hum, pleased, and snuggle back into him, letting out a content sigh.
summary: you're J's best friend but you hate his grandma and uncles. you hate going around to their place. but when pope takes you up on the offer to go surfing you realise that maybe he isn't as scary as you thought
content/warnings: NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY! age gap, smurf, unprotected sex, light stalking (it's pope ofc), oral sex (f & m receiving), hidden relationship, light mention of ass play, no use of y/n
wc: 5k
notes: I'm only on season 2 of Animal Kingdom, so apologies for the ooc of it all. pics used just for aesthetic purpose, not a reflection of what the reader looks like.
You hate going over to J's grandmother's house. When he first moved in after his mother died, your parents had banned you from going over there. He was your best friend, so he was more than welcome to hang out at yours after school. But your parents made you promise that you weren't to go over there. And you didn't argue with them. They didn't know you had already been. His uncles creeped you out. They got too close, got too touchy or got too, well, stare-y.
But when you left school and moved out to your own place by the beach, your parents couldn't tell you what to do. And J wanted you to come over - especially to the pool. You argued you could swim in the sea anytime you wanted. But Nicky was always over there as well and you couldn't leave her with those stupid boys. You didn't trust them. And you didn't trust his grandmother.
"How did you get two?" Craig always teases J when both you and Nicky are around.
You always make the same fuckin' face of disgust. You've known J since you two were in kindergarten. You couldn't imagine him as anything more than a brother. He spent a lot of time at yours when his mother was strung out.
You hate spending time at the Codys', but J is your best friend, and you'll do anything for him. Because you worry about him.
One morning you arrive at the house, hoping to catch J early so you two can go surfing. But the place is unusually quiet, and you are greeted not by your friend or his grandmother (thankfully), but by Andrew Cody. They all call him Pope.
Pope has been watching you since you first arrived at the house. He watches how you flinch at the loud noises, how you recoil from his brother's touches. Unlike his nephew's girlfriend, you don't giggle with Smurf. You get in and get out. But he likes watching you. He likes that you sometimes go and sit in J's (his) room when things get too noisy. That you just want to be away from it all.
You're far too sweet to be around him or his family. But he'd like to corrupt you.
"He's not here," he says simply as way of greeting as he stands in the doorway.
"Well do you want the coffee I got for him?" you ask as you hold up the cups you're holding. "I don't know what typa coffee you like but I don't want it t' go t' waste."
Pope's eyes soften immediately, "Do you need money?"
In the last few years, J has started saying shit like that to you. And you don't like it. You're putting yourself through college. You're working in a shitty bar. You don't wanna be like your mother. She never went to college, married your dad right away outta high school. She relied on him for everything. And while you weren't dating and would never date J, you didn't want to rely on him.
"No. I got money. But I don't wanna waste it," you respond before sighing. "Look. If J comes back tell him there's supposed to be a good swell today and I'll be at the beach."
Pope takes the coffee from your hand, his rough fingers brushing over your soft skin, making you shiver involuntarily.
"I can come," he tells you.
You blink in confusion. Pope is a man of few words. You're aware of this from the times you have spent in his presence. Sometimes he'll sit with you and watch TV when J is busy.
"To the beach," he clarifies.
"You surf?" you respond, taking a sip of your iced latte.
He gives you a half smile. A rare sight.
"I'm also from California," he responds simply.
"Okay, well, get your stuff. I don't wanna miss it," you say with a shy smile.
You can't believe that you're willingly spending one-on-one time with one of J's uncles. But all things considered, Pope isn't the worst. Yeah, he's a bit strange. But there's something...calming about him. Maybe it was the time you fell asleep on the couch and woke up to him carrying you to bed. You slightly panicked, but he just placed you down and walked away.
"We'll take my truck," he tells you as he comes back dressed in his wetsuit. He hasn't put it on fully, so he's naked from the waist up. You inhale sharply at the sight of his bulging muscles under his sun-kissed skin. You're not expecting the sight. And you're not expecting your body to react that way. You're not expecting your cheeks to heat up or the heat growing in your stomach.
"Lemme grab my things," you say when you finally catch yourself.
You grab your board and your suit from your car. You're going to change at the beach like you always do. You've never been alone with Pope before. Not like this. He's quiet, stoic, as you make the short trip to the beach. He doesn't play music in his car. He just drives.
"Lemme get changed, and I'll meet you out there," you say to him with a smile.
He shakes his head, "I'll wait."
You bite your lip as you wiggle out of your jean shorts and the crochet shirt you're wearing over your floral bikini top. You don't notice how Pope's eyes wander over your body. He takes you in, hazel eyes examining every inch of you. The way your skin glows under the hot Californian sun. He lets out a soft breath at the way your breasts bounce as you jump to get your wetsuit up.
"Will you zip me up?" you ask him, turning around to offer him access to you.
You both know that you're capable of zipping up your wetsuit alone. But Pope won't argue and gently brushes your hair away from your back, he moves it over your shoulder and then zips you up. He moves closer than necessary so he can inhale your sweet scent.
"Want me to do you?" you ask him nodding to his wetsuit.
Pope gives you that half smile again before shrugging into his wetsuit and turning around to let you zip him up. You brush your fingers up the soft skin of his back and you watch as the muscles ripple under your touch. You shouldn't be doing this. But you zip him up nonetheless and spend the morning in the surf with him. With a man literally old enough to be your father.
Soon it becomes your routine. You and Pope meet on the beach every Friday morning and spend hours surfing and talking. Sometimes Pope will come into the bar during your shift. He nurses a whiskey and tips you far too well. If he comes into the bar, he'll wait for your shift to end to walk you to your car. He's scary. And you don't mind having your little guard dog.
Then, you find him at the entrance of the bar every night as your shift ends. Just so he can walk you to your car. It's just across the parking lot but you like it. Sometimes he'll sit in your car with you and hear you rant about your shift.
"This is gonna be our last Friday surf," you tell him as he carries both of your boards to his car.
He looks so hurt, like a kicked puppy.
"I go back to college next week," you tell him as you shake the salt water out of your hair. He watches as the water droplets slide down the valley of your breasts. "We can try Saturdays instead? Or Sundays? Unless you're busy?"
"Never too busy for you," he says quickly.
You don't expect to meet Pope Cody on your doorstep on your first day of your senior year of college. This time he's holding a coffee, although it's clearly one he made at home as it's in a mug. You can't help but smile at him.
"I thought you might want a ride to school," he says as he looks at you over his sunglasses.
"And how am I meant t' get home?" you respond as you take a sip of the coffee he made you. Just how you like it.
"You call me and I'll come get'cha," he responds.
So this is how the first semester goes. Pope Cody is your personal chauffeur, your bodyguard and your surf partner. He's become a closer friend to you than J. And J notices. Finally. It just took the better part of the year.
J has started to notice that you don't mind coming over for parties anymore. But when you're there, you're more often than not with Pope. Pope will bring you over a drink. Pope will watch you as you speak to whatever girls have been stupid enough to come over. Pope will sit by you when you're sick of standing. And Pope will go inside with you when you get chilly or bored with his brothers being obnoxious.
And J doesn't like it. When the fuck did you become best friends with the scariest of his uncles?
You and Pope are whispering together in the kitchen. He's got new wax for his board and offers to do yours too. You nod, telling him to come around later that evening.
"What are you two talkin' about?" J asks with a little huff on his face.
"Surfin'," you respond with a shrug before you walk out to the pool.
"You screwin' her or something?" J hisses at his uncle.
Pope just looks at his nephew down his nose and walks away following you out to the pool with a towel for when you come out of the water. He's not going to rise to that. And he doesn't want J to know he has been fantasising about you since that first day on the beach. He doesn't want J or you to know that he's been watching you sleep for months. You should get better locks on your apartment door. You look so pretty when you sleep.
You also talk in your sleep. One night as he sits in the corner of your room, you start to whimper. He presumes you're having a nightmare until he hears you whimper his name. Not Pope, the monkier his family gave him. No, you whimper Andrew.
Oh, Andrew, yes! Please!
He had no choice but to grab a pair of your panties. Used panties. He inhales your scent before shoving them in his pocket. He breathes them in as soon as he gets to his own bedroom and jerks off into his hand. Thinking of the way you moaned his name in your sleep.
And he needs to figure out a way to hear it from you for real.
Since J has been an asshole, you've gotten more touchy with Pope. Not when Smurf is around though. You're not that stupid. At first, he's worried that you're doing it to make J jealous. But you'll hug Pope as greeting when he arrives at your apartment. No audience, just you and him. You brush your hand up his arm when he's in the kitchen making a drink while his brothers make noise by the pool. But his favourite thing is when you sit on the same lounger as him by the pool. You're not bold enough to climb into his lap. But you'll sit by him, offer to put sun cream on him. You always ask him to do your back and shoulders.
Sometimes after you settle yourself between the V of his thighs...only sometimes when his brothers aren't around you'll lie back on him. Relaxing against the hard muscle of his stomach.
These moments get added to Pope's fantasies when he's alone with his thoughts at night. The way you shudder under his touch, how soft your skin is. He knows each of your bikinis and he has his favourites. He loves how you wear your bright floral ones when you surf with him. But you go for softer colours when you're poolside with his family. His favourite is a white one that becomes almost sheer when you're in the water. But he doesn't like when his brothers are around to ogle you in it.
"Seriously," J asks you one night as you sit in Deran's bar. "What is going on with you and Pope?"
You look down at your glass and shrug, "You're always doing bullshit. We started surfing together. That's it."
"I heard he brings you to college too. And work?" J pushes.
"What? You got people spying on me? Should I call you Smurf?" you snap.
You don't need this third-degree bullshit. Not from J, who dragged you into this family.
"I even heard he stays over at your apartment," J continues.
"Yea, a few times. He's my friend, J. I don't need you to monitor everyone. Would you be this wound up if it were Craig or Derran?" you ask him.
"It's weird! He's my fuckin' uncle. He was in prison! He's dangerous!" J continues. "And he's old."
You throw your hands up and slam your drink down in one swallow.
"I don't need this bullshit, Joshua. You didn't give your girlfriend this sorta cross examination. Even after she started fuckin' your uncle," you hiss before you storm out.
You don't expect to walk into the wall of thick muscle that is Andrew Cody outside the bar. How did he know you were here? How did he know that you needed him?
"Hey, sugar, you okay?" he asks, steadying you by gripping your waist with his huge, rough hands. You can feel the heat radiating through the flimsy little skirt you wore out.
Pope wonders if you wore this for his nephew. Or some other shithead.
"I just needa go home," you finally answer him.
"Get in the truck," he tells you, firmly.
You just nod your head, the tone he uses goes straight to your core. You press your thighs together and get into his truck. He watches as your skirt rides up and he sees the sweet little floral panties you're wearing. They remind him of the bikinis you love. But seeing this is so much more intimate. Especially because he knows that you didn't mean for him to see it.
Pope is in two minds about going into the bar and beating the shit out of whoever has upset you and going straight to you. But when he sees your face, so open and needy in the truck waiting for him, he crumbles. He goes straight to you.
He drives you home, in silence once again. You're used to it. And you relish it. You needed the quiet. When he parks up, you turn to look at Andrew Cody. Really look at him. His eyes drop after a second of meeting your big eyes.
"Come in, Andrew," you whisper.
He doesn't need to be told twice. He follows you up to your apartment. He's been in your apartment before. By invitation as well as by his own volition. But tonight things are different. Maybe it's because everyone already presumes you're sleeping together. Maybe it's because you're sad and frustrated. Or maybe it's the tension, the touching, the longing glances over the past few months. But you lunge yourself at him. You kiss him hard and messy and desperate. And he kisses you back, tentatively at first but then he gets more desperate. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, you even taste blood as you both devour each other's mouths.
You pull away, "Fuck, Andrew. We shouldn't do this."
You're already so entangled in the Cody family. If you do this. If you cross this line, you'll become one. You know that if you let Pope have you, you'll be ruined. No one else will stand a chance.
"Baby," he growls, pulling you back into a kiss. And you just give in.
You pull at his shirt, needing to see him, needing to feel him against you. His hands are already under your skirt, palming at the flesh of your ass. The two of you are as desperate as each other. You're stumbling around your apartment. Clothes being thrown everywhere...even though Pope wants to fold everything in the back of his mind. But you're pulling him into your bedroom. You fall back onto your bed with his mouth over your breasts. You have no idea when you lost your bra. When Andrew had undressed you to just your floral panties.
You squirm under him as he bites over the swell of your breasts. He's leaving marks that he'll see the next time you go surfing. And he can't lie; he's getting off on the thought alone. You gasp as you feel him rip the fabric of your panties from your body. He lifts them to his face and inhales your sweet scent. A scent he's become addicted to. He grips your thighs and drags you up so you're balancing on your shoulders. He dives into your pussy like a man starved. And he is. He hasn't been dreaming about this for months. At his first taste of you, he cries out in pure desperation. You taste like fucking heaven. He doesn't want to muddy the experience with his fingers. He wants to drink you up. And you let him as he palms at the flesh of your thighs keeping you locked close to him.
You start to squirm harder against him as your orgasm starts to build. You've been dreaming about this moment for so long. But this is so much better than you could have imagined. You cum with a strangled cry, saying his name like a mantra.
Andrew. Andrew. Andrew.
He almost cums in his pants just at the way you moan his name like that. It's even sweeter than how he imagined it.
Pope has had issues getting hard in the past but ever since he started surfing with you, he's been hard enough to pound nails almost constantly.
"Wanna see you," you whisper as he lays you back on your bed. Your voice is still shaky from your orgasm; your whole body feels like an exposed nerve. But you're not done with him. Not a chance. Not when you've finally got him.
Andrew shucks his boxers off and your eyes go wide. You have no idea how he's going to fit inside you. He's huge.
"You okay, sugar?" he breathes, stroking your cheeks.
"You're really big," you confess. Sure, you've seen the print of him against his wetsuits, but you guessed there was fabric and water in the mix. But no...he's just...huge.
Andrew ducks his head shyly, "What? Those other boys were lacking?"
You blush bright red.
"Um...there were no other boys," you finally confess.
Pope's eyes go wide. He looks like the cat who's got the cream. He's going to be your first. He's gonna be the only person who has ever had you.
He kisses you now desperately. He grips the base of his cock, guiding the blunt head of his weeping cock to your entrance. He teases your clit first with his tip. You let out the sweetest little moans for him. And he's not even inside you yet. You're already panting and squirming for him. You're intoxicating, and he's already addicted to you.
Finally, he pushes into you. He has to squeeze his eyes shut at how tight you are. Pope has never been a gentle man. But he's being gentle for you. He'll always be gentle for you. When he finally bottoms out in you, your nails dig into his shoulders. They leave little half moons between his freckles.
"You're so tight, sugar," he breathes, his lips kissing over the shell of your ear.
You just nod, not sure you can form words. You're just so full of him. And when he starts rocking his hips you swear you see heaven. You've never felt this good in your life. Your body is on fire. His hands grip your hips and then slowly begin to explore the rest of your body. He grips your breasts, rough, pulling and flicking your nipples without rhythm. He then slides his hands down your arms, gripping your wrists and dragging them over your head. You both groan as he stretches your body out for him.
His thrusts get faster, harder, rougher. Andrew tried to be gentle, but fuck he needs to carve a path through you. He needs to make you his. No one else has had you and no one else will after he's finished with you. You're his. And only his.
"'m close, Andrew," you whine out as the headboard slams against the wall.
He's pumping in and out of you like a man possessed. The sound of skin on skin fills the room. It's animalistic. It's raw. It's fucking messy. And you cum without another warning. You scream out like a banshee as your orgasm rips through you.
Your pussy grips his cock like a vice and he has to stutter to a stop. He can't move you're so fucking tight, your cunt convulsing around his cock. And fuck, it's the prettiest fucking sight. Andrew presses his forehead against yours as you pull an orgasm from him. He fills you with thick, hot ropes of cum. The release feels like heaven. You swear it spurs on a third orgasm...or it could just be aftershocks from your last one. But it feels so good.
You lay tangled in each other's arms for what feels like hours. His cum seeps out of you and down your legs, cooling against your skin.
Finally, Pope gets up and grabs a wet cloth to clean you up.
"We can't tell Smurf," you say, at the same time as he says, "Smurf can't know."
At least you're on the same page. You both know that Smurf doesn't like it when her boys are distracted. She'll allow it for a time. But not for long. Especially if she sees their loyalty wavering. You're not stupid, you know she did something to Cath.
"Stay," you breathe, running your fingers through Andrew's auburn curls. You love the grey that's appeared by his temple, the greys that pepper his stubble.
You can't help but kiss over his chin and jaw. You give him a little nip as you do. This elicits a rare chuckle from Andrew 'Pope' Cody.
Your relationship with Andrew doesn't change much...bar the sex. The sex is incredible. Mind-blowing. You spend days in bed with him. You've started to wonder if you're a sex addict. Andrew soothes you, telling you this is very normal. Especially at the start of a relationship.
"Who are you fuckin'?" Craig finally asks you when he sees the hickies scattered over your body when he spots you on the beach one morning.
You've been smart, not flaunting your body over at the Cody house now that Andrew won't stop leaving marks on your skin. You can wear one-pieces, sporty ones that cover most of your chest if J invites you over to swim. Andrew gives you a knowing smirk when he sees your more modest swimwear. Knows that he's the reason.
But now you're in your bikini on the beach, not expecting to see anyone who might ask questions.
"Can't a girl have a lil privacy?" you ask putting your hands on your waist.
"Well no, because ever since I've known you, you've been like a nun or something," he responds as he shakes the seawater out of his hair.
"Just cos I won't sleep with you?" you respond with a roll of your eyes. "Cody boys aren't my type. Sorry, sweetheart!"
You give him a smile over your shoulder as you head back to your apartment.
Cody boys, no. Cody men, on the other hand? Well!
You were smart around the Cody house. You didn't change the way you had gotten closer to Pope. You didn't change how you would share a sun lounger with him. But Pope still acted like your touch freaked him out. He didn't soften into it like he did when you were alone.
You were careful. You were smart.
When you were alone in the kitchen or his bedroom or even just passing each other in the hallway, you couldn't help but press kisses to his jaw, he couldn't help but grip the soft flesh of your ass. Sometimes when you knew the house was empty, you would drop to your knees and take his heavy cock in your mouth. You loved making him feel good, making him feel powerful. You loved tasting him as he unloaded into your mouth. He always came so quickly when you got your mouth on him.
You just couldn't get caught.
Even if Andrew's brothers knew they'd soon tell Smurf. And then she would use that shit against you.
So you think you're being smart. Until you weren't.
J has invited you to a party. But he's distracted, playing stupid games with his uncles in the pool. Smurf is watching like an emperor in the Colosseum watching gladiators fight. She presides over the parties and everyone loves it. You have to contain your eyerolls behind the designer sunglasses Pope got you. No one notices when you go inside. No one except Pope, who, as always, has been watching you like a hawk. He finishes his beer before following you inside. He can't make it obvious.
You're hunting in the fridge for a soda. His eyes zero in on the curve of your ass. He places his hand on your waist and you jump before you realise who it is.
"Andrew," you breathe softly, turning to look at him.
"No one's watching, sugar," he whispers as he leans down to kiss you.
You smirk against his lips, stepping onto the boots he always wears to kiss him deeper. His hands palm at your ass, slipping under your bikini bottoms to grip the full globe of your ass. His thumb brushes lightly over your puckered hole.
"Andrew," you scold, pushing him away gently.
You giggle as you drop down to your knees, hidden by the kitchen island, and pull his cock from his swim shorts, taking him in your hot mouth. Andrew has to stay still as you work over his dick without being caught.
One thing leads to another and you're in his bedroom trying to stay quiet as he ploughs into you. He's got you on your hands and knees, on the floor because the bed is too noisy. You learn this when you try to ride him but the mattress springs are screeching. So you let the carpet burn into your flesh as Andrew fucks you. He's already made you cum twice on his face. He clamps a hand over your mouth when you cum, muffling your desperate cries of pleasure. He has to bite down on your shoulder to stop his grunts when he fills you with his cum.
Pope knows that you should get dressed and go back out to the party. But he gathers you in his arms and brings you to his bed.
"Just for a minute," you tell him, knowing that he loves post-sex cuddles. He's never been held, not really. And you intend to fix that. You cuddle him whenever you can. You'll always have you arms wrapped around him when you're alone.
What you don't expect is to wake up to the sun filtering in. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
"Andrew! Andrew!" you hiss, trying to wake him up. "Andrew fuckin' Cody!"
Smurf is always awake so fucking early. You have no intention of her finding the two of you. You pull your clothes back on. Swearing when you can't find your bikini top. You were only wearing a beach cover-up when Pope accosted you in the kitchen. So you can't just wander around like this. That's why you decide to grab one of Pope's black t-shirts. It doesn't hide the fact that you're not wearing a bra. But if you can get out of the house before you meet...
"Smurf!" you say as you walk outside. You thought you could sneak out the back. But of course, you can't.
"You stayed the night," she notes, her eyes dropping down to the fact you're clearly not wearing a bra and then to the carpet burn on your knees.
Interesting.
"Sorry I got a bit overwhelmed by the party and I musta passed out in J's room," you lie.
"In Pope's room," she points out. "And you're wearing Pope's shirt."
"Nothing gets by you, Smurf," you say with a smile. "I was wearing a cover-up and it just didn't seem appropriate in the light of day. Look, I should go. I have work."
Smurf immediately turns to the go to the bedroom but frowns when she finds the room empty. The bed has already been stripped. Oh what a smart girl.
"Pope?" she calls. She's aware that he didn't leave last night either.
Pope has put the bedsheets and some of his clothes in the wash. Everyone knows he's a clean freak. No one will bat an eye at him washing bedding that some girl slept in. Obviously without him.
"You didn't go home last night," she says when she finds him.
He just grunts, "I took a walk on the beach. Couldn't sleep. Came back this morning."
Smurf's eyes narrow. She doesn't like it when people lie to her. Especially not her eldest boy.
Pope makes sure for the next fortnight that he stays at Smurf's or his place. He still brings you to and from class, still surfs with you. Doesn't change that part of his routine. But he doesn't sleep over. He doesn't alert Smurf to you any more than he has to of how much you mean to him.
"This is my last semester of college," you tell him one afternoon as you lay on the couch. Your head is on his bare chest and he's playing with your hair.
"After that, there's nothing tying us to Oceanside. We could go anywhere," you remind him.
"What about-"
"Don't say her name," you whisper, kissing over his chest. "Your brothers can handle their own shit. They're grown men. You can start fresh."
"Where has good surfing?" he asks, then as he runs his fingers through your hair.
You smile and stretch up to kiss him.
"I think we can figure it out."
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated
Summary: Jack Abbot is not jealous of John Shen. He is grateful you had someone before him. He respects the friendship. He understands that Shen was there for the supply closet breakdown, the horrible date extraction, the pizza debrief, and the birth of the deeply cursed domestic partnership contingency agreement. He simply objects to the phrase “contractually betrothed” on legal, emotional, and deeply personal grounds.
Warnings: fluff, established relationship, Shen and Reader being menaces, work husband lore, fake marriage pact, bad date mention, alcohol/drinking, suggestive jokes, Jack being emotionally evolved under protest.
Author's Note: @honeyteanocoffee wanted lore, so here it is. The lore behind the work husband clause is here, and yes, Shen and Reader are somehow worse when they have espresso martinis and an audience. This is a companion/sequel to The Work Husband Clause, but it can probably stand on its own if you’re willing to accept that John Shen has advisory privileges and Jack Abbot is suffering beautifully.
Xoxo, Del
By the time the nachos hit the table, Jack already knew the night was going to become a problem. Not a real problem. Not a medical problem, a staffing problem, or the kind of emergency department problem that required gloves, pressure, and someone yelling for another unit of blood. A you and Shen problem.
Which, in Jack’s professional opinion, was often worse.
It was rare enough for the night shift crew to have the same night off that everyone had treated the plan like a minor miracle. No one was in scrubs. No one was holding a chart. No one had a pager clipped to their waistband. For once, the five of you were tucked into the back corner of a bar instead of circling the nurses’ station under fluorescent lights, loose-limbed and hungry and pretending you had not all checked the department group chat at least twice.
The booth was large enough for everyone to fit and small enough for everyone to steal from the same plates. Nachos sat in the middle of the table, already half-destroyed. A basket of wings had migrated toward Crus. Fries were scattered across three napkins, and the cheese curds were disappearing at a rate Jack found medically concerning.
Ellis had claimed the outside edge of the booth with a drink in one hand and a fry in the other, already looking too pleased with herself for anyone’s safety. Crus sat beside her, close enough to the wings to defend them and far enough from responsibility to deny involvement in anything that happened next.
Shen sat across from you, calm and composed, his sleeves pushed to his forearms and an espresso martini in front of him like he had come to the bar for hydration, judgment, and legally questionable caffeine.
You had one too.
Jack had noticed. He had also noticed the way you and Shen had ordered them at the same time without discussing it, which apparently meant something to Ellis, because she had stared at both glasses for a full three seconds before looking at Jack with open delight.
Jack ignored her. He was trying very hard not to reward the behavior.
You were tucked into Jack’s side on the opposite bench, your thigh pressed against his, his arm stretched along the back of the booth behind you. His hand rested near your shoulder, fingers loose and warm, not quite holding you in place. He did not need to. You had settled against him like you belonged there.
Jack liked that.
He liked it a dangerous amount.
Ellis pointed between your glass and Shen’s. “Do you two always order the same drink?”
“No,” you said.
“Yes,” Shen said at the same time.
Jack looked down at you. You lifted one shoulder. “We’re sluts for coffee.”
Jack closed his eyes.
Crus made a choking sound into his beer.
Shen considered the phrase. “Crude, but not inaccurate.”
Jack opened his eyes and looked at him. “Do not agree with her when she says things like that.”
Shen lifted his espresso martini. “I believe in precision.”
“You believe in making my life worse,” Jack said.
Shen paused. “Also accurate.”
You smiled into your drink and took a sip. Jack’s thumb brushed once against your shoulder, a quiet warning or a quiet admission that he was already losing. It was hard to tell with him sometimes. Across the table, Shen reached for a cheese curd at the same time you did. Your fingers bumped over the basket.
You both stopped.
Jack looked down.
Shen looked up.
You looked at Shen.
For one brief, terrible second, the two of you held eye contact like a treaty was being negotiated.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t,” he said.
You turned your head toward him, innocent. “Don’t what?”
Jack looked pointedly at your hand, still hovering near Shen’s over the cheese curds. “Whatever this is.”
Shen withdrew his hand by one inch. “Appetizer coordination?”
“You know that is not what I mean,” Jack said.
Crus leaned forward. “No, wait. Let them do it. I want to see where it goes.”
Ellis nodded, already smiling. “Same.”
You pressed closer to Jack’s side and stole the cheese curd first. “Nothing is happening.”
Shen picked up the next one. “Agreed.”
Jack looked between you. “That’s worse.”
You bit into the cheese curd to hide your smile. Ellis watched the three of you for another second, then set her drink down with purpose. “Okay. I have a question.”
Jack exhaled through his nose. “No.”
Ellis looked at him. “I didn’t ask it yet.”
“I know where this is going,” Jack said.
Crus grinned and dragged the wings closer. “I don’t. Ask it.”
Ellis leaned her elbows onto the table and looked between you and Shen. “I still don’t understand the work husband thing.”
Shen’s expression did not change. Yours brightened.
Jack felt it happen against his side. “No,” he said again.
You patted his thigh under the table. “It’s fine.”
“It has never been fine,” Jack said.
Shen folded his hands on the table. “That is subjective.”
Jack pointed at him. “Dunkin.”
Shen looked mildly resigned. “There it is.”
Ellis ignored them both and focused on you. “I need the timeline.”
“The timeline?” you asked.
“Yes,” Ellis said. “Were you two always like this, or did the ED do this to you?”
Crus lifted his drink. “Important question.”
Shen considered that. “The ED accelerated preexisting conditions.”
Jack turned his head slowly. “Preexisting conditions?”
You nodded. “Mutual stubbornness.”
“Poor sleep hygiene,” Shen added.
“Unreasonable confidence in hospital coffee,” you said.
“Poor emotional disclosure,” Shen continued.
You pointed at him. “That was mostly you.”
Shen looked at you. “You cried in a supply closet and called it allergies.”
Jack’s hand stilled behind your shoulder. For half a second, the table quieted.
Then you pointed your cheese curd at Shen. “That is privileged friendship information.”
Ellis’s eyes widened. “Supply closet?”
Crus sat forward. “Crying?”
Jack looked down at you, his voice softer than it had been a moment before. “You cried in a supply closet?”
You glanced up at him. “It was before you.”
That did not make Jack like it more. It only made something in his chest pull tight and quiet. Shen noticed. Shen noticed everything inconvenient.
“It was early in her night shift tenure,” Shen said, evenly. “She had been yelled at by three families, one drunk patient, and a man who tried to remove his own IV because he believed the saline was government tracking fluid.”
Crus nodded slowly. “Classic.”
You looked at Shen. “And the cafeteria had run out of fries.”
Ellis looked between you. “So Shen found you crying?”
“I was not crying,” you said.
Shen looked at Jack. “She was crying.”
You turned back to him. “I was having a private emotional reset.”
“In a supply closet,” Shen said.
“Exactly,” you replied. “Private.”
Shen picked up his water. “It was a public supply closet.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. Shen took a drink. Jack watched the exchange, his hand moving from the back of the booth to your shoulder. His fingers brushed there once, gentle and grounding. You felt it. He knew you did, because your body softened almost instantly into his side.
Ellis leaned closer. “What did you do?”
Shen set his glass down. “I needed gauze.”
Crus blinked. “That’s what you did?”
“I got gauze,” Shen said.
You rolled your eyes. “He opened the door, found me crying—”
“Emotionally resetting,” Shen corrected.
You pointed at him. “Do not use my words against me.”
Shen tilted his head. “Then use better ones.”
Jack looked at him. “Dunkin.”
Shen glanced at Jack. “She appreciates honesty.”
“She appreciates many things,” Jack said. “Choose another one.”
Your mouth twitched.
Shen looked back at Ellis. “I got the gauze. Then I got her water and vending machine pretzels.”
You lifted one finger. “Peanut butter crackers.”
Shen’s brow furrowed. “Pretzels.”
“Crackers,” you said.
“Pretzels,” Shen repeated.
You leaned forward slightly. “John.”
Shen held your gaze. You held his.
Jack looked between you again.
Then, slowly, Shen reached across the table, palm up. You put your hand in his with grave solemnity.
Jack looked down at your joined hands. “No,” Jack said.
Ellis covered her mouth. Crus whispered, “Oh my God.”
You looked at Jack. “This is a sacred friendship dispute.”
Jack pointed at your hand in Shen’s. “Release my girlfriend.”
Shen’s expression remained perfectly neutral. “We are honoring the origin story.”
“You can honor it verbally,” Jack said.
You squeezed Shen’s hand. “It was a difficult time for us.”
“It involved sodium,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him. “Release her.”
You sighed dramatically and withdrew your hand. Shen let go at the exact same time, calm as ever. Jack’s arm settled more firmly behind your shoulders.
Ellis looked like Christmas had come early. “This is already better than I hoped.”
Crus pointed at you with a fry. “So he brought you pretzels-slash-crackers, and that was it? Friendship?”
“No,” you said.
“Yes,” Shen said.
You looked at him. “No, it grew.”
Shen nodded. “Regrettably.”
You kicked him lightly under the table. He did not react, which meant you knew he felt it.
“It grew,” you repeated, looking back at Ellis. “He started noticing things.”
Shen looked down at his drink. “You were inefficient at self-maintenance.”
Jack’s eyes shifted to him.
You smiled faintly. “He means I forgot to eat.”
“I mean she forgot to eat,” Shen said.
Ellis’s expression softened. “John.”
Shen shrugged one shoulder. “Someone had to notice.”
Jack was quiet. The table felt it, but for once, no one jumped in to ruin it.
You looked down at your hands for a second. “And I noticed things back.”
Shen glanced up.
“You hate when people talk to you before coffee,” you said.
Shen nodded. “Most people.”
“You like the corner computer because nobody stands behind you there,” you continued.
“Correct,” Shen said.
“And if you go completely silent after a bad case, it does not mean you want to be left alone forever,” you said. “It means you want someone to sit nearby and not make it worse.”
Shen looked at you for a beat too long. Then he nodded once. “Also correct.”
Jack’s hand found yours under the table. You looked down as his fingers slid between yours, warm and steady against your palm. He did not say anything. He did not need to.
Crus cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with sincerity lasting more than four seconds. “Okay, so when did this become legally weird?”
Your smile came back all at once. Jack closed his eyes.
Shen picked up his glass. “The horrible date.”
Ellis gasped. “There was a date?”
“There was a man,” you said.
Shen considered that. “Barely.”
Crus put both hands on the table. “I need everything.”
Jack opened his eyes and looked at you. “Do you?”
You squeezed his hand beneath the table. “You’re doing great.”
“That was not an answer,” Jack said.
Shen took a calm sip of his espresso martini. “It started with a rescue request.”
Jack looked at him. “A what?”
You grimaced. “I texted John from the bathroom.”
Ellis leaned forward. “During the date?”
“I had to,” you said. “He said women in medicine were intimidating but hot.”
Crus made a face. “Oh, no.”
“It got worse,” you said.
Jack’s thumb moved once over your knuckles. “How much worse?”
You glanced at him. “He asked if my job made me too tired to be feminine.”
Jack went very still.
Shen looked at him. “That was when I was summoned.”
Jack’s voice went flat. “Good.”
You patted his hand. “See? This is why John rescued me.”
Jack looked at Shen. For one second, his expression was not annoyed. Not exasperated. Not territorial. Grateful.
Then Shen ruined it by setting his glass down and saying, “Your husband is here.”
Jack blinked. Ellis blinked. Crus blinked.
You groaned. “No, don’t start there.”
Shen looked at the table. “That is where the rescue began.”
Jack turned fully toward him. “You said what?”
Shen’s hands folded again. “Your husband is here.”
Crus stared at him. “To the date?”
“Yes,” Shen said.
Ellis slapped a hand over her mouth.
You dropped your forehead briefly against Jack’s shoulder. “He walked right up to the table and said it like a police notification.”
Shen’s brow furrowed. “It was effective.”
Jack looked down at you. “Your husband.”
You lifted your head. “In my defense, I was also alarmed.”
Shen nodded. “She recovered quickly.”
You pointed across the table. “Because I am adaptable.”
“You said, ‘John, thank God,’” Shen replied.
Crus was laughing now. “What did the guy do?”
“He said, ‘Husband?’” you answered.
Shen nodded. “With concern.”
Jack stared at Shen. “And what did you say?”
Shen took a fry from the basket, apparently needing nourishment before ruining Jack’s night further. “I said yes,” Shen replied.
Jack’s jaw flexed. You squeezed his hand. “Baby.”
Jack looked down at you. “I’m fine.”
“You look upset.”
“I’m grateful,” Jack said.
“You look grateful in a violent way,” Crus said.
Jack did not look away from Shen. “That happens sometimes.”
Ellis leaned toward Shen. “And then?”
Shen looked at you. You looked at Shen.
Jack’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Do not reach across this table.”
You leaned back into his side. “We weren’t going to.”
Shen paused.
Jack looked at him. “Were you?”
Shen picked up his water. “Not anymore.”
Ellis laughed into her drink.
You sighed and continued. “Then I grabbed my purse, told my date I had to go, and left halfway through dinner.”
“She had not eaten,” Shen said.
Jack looked back at you. “You left before dinner?”
“He had just explained that he preferred women who could be independent but not argumentative,” you said.
Jack’s expression went blank.
Shen nodded. “I paid for her appetizer.”
You blinked. “You did?”
“Yes,” Shen said.
You softened. “John.”
Jack watched that too. The softness. The surprise. The history sitting there between you and Shen, old and strange and real.
He did not hate it.
That was the thing.
He hated the words. He hated the paperwork. He hated the hand-holding theatrics and the fact that Shen could weaponize a neutral expression better than most people could weaponize a scalpel.
But he did not hate that Shen had shown up for you.
Jack’s hand tightened around yours.
Crus pointed at Shen. “So where did you go after the fake husband extraction?”
You and Shen answered at the same time.
“Her apartment,” you said.
“Pizza,” Shen said.
Jack looked up.
Ellis slowly smiled. “Oh, this is getting good.”
Jack looked down at you. “Is it?”
You took a careful sip of your espresso martini. “Depends on your definition of good.”
Shen set his glass down. “It was a productive evening.”
“It was the worst date of my life,” you said.
“Before the extraction,” Shen clarified.
Crus leaned into the table. “I need to know why you went to her apartment.”
Jack’s hand tightened around yours under the table. Not hard. Just there. You looked at him, but his eyes were on Shen.
Shen looked back at him calmly. “She had not eaten.”
Jack blinked. That, apparently, was enough of an explanation.
“She left before dinner,” Shen added. “The date had compromised the meal.”
Crus nodded. “Emotionally or physically?”
“Both,” you said.
Shen glanced at you. “Primarily emotionally.”
You pointed at him. “He ruined the bread basket for me, John.”
Jack’s expression went blank. “What did he do to the bread basket?”
You looked up at him. “He said carbs were why women got tired after thirty.”
Crus made a sound of pure disgust.
Ellis lowered her drink. “No.”
Shen nodded once. “That was when I paid for the appetizer.”
Jack looked at Shen again. Grateful. Still a little violent about it. But grateful.
Shen either did not notice or had the decency to refrain from reacting to it.
“So,” Ellis said, settling in with visible delight, “you rescued her from the date, then went back to her apartment for pizza.”
“Correct,” Shen said.
You nodded. “I changed into sweatpants.”
“She took off one heel in the entryway,” Shen said.
Crus frowned. “One heel?”
“The other was emotionally load-bearing,” you said.
Jack looked down at you. “That means nothing.”
You frowned. “It meant something at the time.”
Shen lifted his espresso martini. “She also said love was a scam.”
You winced. “I was processing.”
“You said romance was a marketing scheme created to sell candles and expensive pasta,” Shen continued.
Ellis stared at you. You shrugged. “I stand by part of that.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “You do love candles,” he said.
“And expensive pasta,” you said.
Shen took a sip. “Contradictory data.”
You looked at him. “You were eating my pizza.”
“I paid for half,” Shen replied.
“You rescued me,” you said. “The pizza should have been included in the service.”
Shen tilted his head. “Rescue services and pizza reimbursement are separate categories.”
Jack closed his eyes. Crus pointed at him. “He’s doing really well.”
“I’m aware,” you said, patting Jack’s thigh beneath the table.
Jack opened his eyes and looked down at your hand. Then he looked back at Shen. “Continue.”
Shen set his glass down. “She sat on the living room floor.”
You leaned into Jack’s side. “Because the couch felt too formal.”
“And said she was going to die alone,” Shen finished.
Ellis’s smile softened at the edges. Jack’s thumb moved once over your knuckles. You glanced down at your joined hands and tried not to let the warmth in your chest show on your face.
“It was dramatic,” you said.
“It was inaccurate,” Shen replied.
You looked at him. “You didn’t know that.”
“I knew enough,” Shen said.
The table quieted for half a second. Then Crus, because he had the survival instincts of someone allergic to sincerity, lifted one hand. “Wait. Are we getting a flashback or a transcript?”
Shen considered that. “The transcript would be more accurate.”
“No,” you said.
Ellis nodded. “Flashback.”
Jack sighed quietly. “Of course.”
You smiled into your glass. And, because the night had apparently become an official oral history, you gave them one.
Your apartment had smelled like rain, takeout menus, and the vanilla candle you lit every time you wanted to convince yourself your life was under control. It was not under control. Not that night. That night, you had kicked one heel off by the door and left the other on because taking it off felt like a commitment to the collapse. Shen stood in your entryway holding a pizza box and a two-liter bottle of soda, his coat still on, watching you with the careful neutrality of a man observing a patient who might bolt.
“You can sit,” you told him.
Shen looked at the couch. You looked at the couch. Both of you looked at the single abandoned heel in the middle of the floor.
“I’ll stand,” Shen said.
You dropped onto the living room rug instead. “I’m going to die alone.”
“No,” Shen said.
You looked up at him. “That was very fast.”
Shen stepped around the abandoned heel and set the pizza box on your coffee table. “It was an easy correction.”
“You don’t know that,” you said.
“Statistically, it is unlikely,” Shen replied.
You stared at him. Shen stared back, apparently comfortable with being deeply unhelpful in your living room. “That is not comfort,” you said.
Shen glanced down at the pizza box. “Pizza might be.”
You held your hand out. Shen opened the box, lifted a slice onto a paper towel, and handed it to you with the solemn care of a man distributing medication. You took one bite and immediately felt worse because it helped.
“I hate that this is working,” you said.
“You were hungry,” Shen said.
You pointed the slice at him. “I was emotionally devastated.”
Shen sat down on the floor across from you, still too upright, still too composed, his shoes carefully avoiding the edge of your throw blanket. “And hungry.”
You chewed angrily. Shen picked up his own slice and folded it with clinical precision.
You watched him do it. “Why are you like that?”
“Effective?” Shen asked.
“Unsettling,” you said.
He considered that. “Practice.”
You huffed a laugh despite yourself. Shen looked at you for a second, then lowered his gaze to his pizza. “You are not going to die alone.”
You looked down at the slice in your hand. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” Shen agreed. “But I know you.”
That made you quiet. You hated that too. The apartment hummed around you, the refrigerator too loud in the kitchen, the rain ticking against the window, the candle flickering on the coffee table like it had not just witnessed you declare love fraudulent in one heel.
You picked at the crust. “What if this is just it?”
Shen’s brow furrowed. “Pizza?”
You looked up at him. “Dating. Men. Love. All of it. What if I never find someone?”
Shen went quiet. That was when you learned one of the most dangerous things about John Shen. He was at his most alarming when he was trying to be helpful.
“Okay,” Shen said.
You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, what?”
“How about this?” he asked.
“No,” you said immediately.
Shen paused with his pizza halfway to his mouth. “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“I know your tone.”
Shen set his slice down on the paper towel with care. “If neither of us has found a long-term partner by forty, we enter a domestic partnership.”
You stared at him. He waited. You kept staring. Shen added, “For logistical purposes.”
You put your pizza down. “John.”
“Yes?” he replied.
“Are you proposing to me over pizza?” you asked.
“No,” Shen said. “I am offering a contingency plan.”
You frowned. “That is worse.”
“It is more accurate,” Shen said.
“You’re trying to comfort me with tax strategy,” you said.
“Among other things,” Shen replied.
You blinked. “Among other things?”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. You watched, horrified and fascinated, as he opened the Notes app. “What are you doing?” you asked.
“Drafting,” Shen said.
You leaned forward. “Drafting what?”
“The contingency plan,” he replied.
You raised your brows. “Right now?”
Shen looked up from his phone. “You seem distressed by uncertainty.”
“I am distressed by men,” you corrected.
“That is less easily solved,” Shen said.
You pointed at him. “Do not be reasonable with me in my own apartment.”
Shen titled the note with his thumb. You leaned closer to read it.
Domestic Partnership Contingency Agreement.
You sat back slowly. “You are the least romantic person I have ever met.”
“It is not romantic,” Shen said.
“That is obvious,” you replied.
He shrugged. “It’s practical.”
“John,” you said, offended now. “If I am entering a backup marriage at forty, I deserve romance.”
Shen looked up from his phone. “Why?”
You gasped. He blinked. “Why?” you repeated.
“It was a question,” Shen said.
You frowned. “It was a terrible question.”
Shen looked back at the note. “Romance is not necessary for the stated objective.”
“The stated objective is not dying alone,” you said.
Shen nodded once. “Correct.”
“A girl needs to be wooed, John,” you said.
Shen’s thumbs paused. “Wooed is vague.”
You glared. “It is not vague to women.”
“It is vague contractually.”
You reached across the pizza box and grabbed the phone from his hand. Shen let you, which meant he had either accepted defeat or was gathering evidence.
You started typing. “Contractual romance.”
Shen leaned slightly forward. “That is not a standard category.”
You grinned. “It is now.”
“What are you adding?” he asked.
“Quarterly flowers,” you said.
Shen frowned. “Why quarterly?”
“Because annually is insulting,” you replied.
Shen looked confused. “Flowers die.”
“So do all of us,” you said. “Stay focused.”
Shen blinked once. “That was bleak.”
“I just survived a date with a man who blamed pasta for aging,” you said with a shrug.
He nodded. “Proceed.”
You typed again. “Monthly date night,” you said.
Shen glanced from your face to the screen. “In a non-romantic domestic partnership?”
You nodded. “In my non-romantic domestic partnership.”
“That seems contradictory,” Shen said.
“You offered to be my backup husband,” you said. “Suffer.”
Shen watched you type. “Birthday recognition cannot be limited to a text?”
“Correct.”
Shen frowned. “What if the text is thoughtful?”
“No,” you replied instantly.
Shen sighed. “What if it contains an itinerary?”
You looked up from the phone. “Especially no.”
Shen went quiet.
Your eyes narrowed. “Were you about to suggest a birthday itinerary?”
“It could be useful,” Shen said.
You pointed at him with his own phone. “This is why the clause exists.”
Shen took the phone back and read silently for several seconds. Then his brow furrowed. “No,” he said.
You lifted your chin. “Yes.”
He looked up. “Annual passionate lovemaking?”
You folded your arms. “For morale.”
Shen stared at you. You stared back. The rain hit the window. The candle flickered. Your abandoned heel lay in the entryway like a fallen soldier.
Finally, Shen looked down at the note again. “This is poorly drafted.”
You sat up straighter. “That is your concern?”
“Yes.”
You raised a brow. “Not the passionate lovemaking?”
Shen’s eyes stayed on the screen. “That is part of the drafting issue.”
You made a strangled sound. “John.”
“What constitutes annual?” Shen asked.
You stared at him. “Once a year.”
“Calendar year or year of agreement?” he asked.
You stared harder. Shen kept reading. “If the agreement begins in April, the obligation period requires clarification.”
“I cannot believe you are editing my sex clause,” you said.
Shen looked up. “I cannot believe you wrote one with no definitions.”
You sighed dramatically. “It was supposed to be romantic.”
Shen clicked his tongue. “It was vulnerable to interpretation.”
“Good,” you said. “Romance should be.”
Shen’s face tightened like that sentence had caused him physical discomfort. You smiled for the first real time all night. “There,” you said. “That’s the contract.”
Shen looked down at the note again. Then he typed something.
You leaned across the pizza box. “What are you doing?”
“Revising,” he answered.
“John.”
“Annual intimacy maintenance,” Shen read.
You stared at him. “Absolutely not.”
Shen kept his eyes on the phone. “It is clearer.”
“It sounds like an oil change,” you said.
“It defines the function,” Shen replied.
You reached for the phone. Shen lifted it out of reach.
You narrowed your eyes. “Give me the romance back.”
“You used the phrase passionate lovemaking,” Shen said.
You shot back, “You used intimacy maintenance.”
Shen glanced at the screen like the answer was obvious. “It is more precise.”
“It is more horrifying,” you said, reaching for the phone again.
Shen considered that. “Both can remain.”
You paused. He looked at you. You looked at him. Then, despite yourself, you laughed. Shen’s mouth did not move much, but his eyes shifted in the way they did when he was pleased with himself.
“Fine,” you said. “Both can remain.”
“Good,” Shen replied.
“But I want the record to show that a girl needs to be wooed,” you added.
Shen typed. You frowned. “Did you just write that down?”
He nodded once. “Yes.”
“As a clause?” you asked.
“As a note.”
You held out your hand. “Read it.”
Shen looked at the screen. “Addendum: a girl needs to be wooed.”
You nodded, satisfied. “Perfect.”
Shen saved the note. Then he handed you another slice of pizza. And somehow, impossibly, you did not feel like you were going to die alone anymore.
Back at the bar, Crus was staring at both of you as if you had just delivered congressional testimony.
Ellis had both hands over her mouth.
Jack had not moved. Not once. His hand was still wrapped around yours under the table, but his expression had gone very still in the way that meant he was processing too many competing feelings at once.
You squeezed his fingers. “You okay?”
Jack looked down at you. Then he looked at Shen. “I’m trying very hard to remain grateful,” Jack said.
Shen nodded once. “That seems appropriate.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Do not make me regret it.”
Shen picked up his espresso martini. “I rarely control that outcome.”
Crus let out a laugh and leaned back against the booth. “So let me get this straight. You wrote a backup marriage contract after a bad date and pizza.”
“Contingency plan,” Shen corrected.
“Contractual betrothal,” you added.
Jack immediately said, “Void.”
You looked up at him. “Suspended.”
“Void,” Jack repeated.
Shen looked at Jack over his glass. “Currently suspended due to Abbot.”
Jack pointed at him. “Do not say it like I’m a scheduling conflict.”
Shen considered that. “Due to your active romantic claim.”
“Worse,” Jack said.
You patted Jack’s thigh. “He means because I love you.”
Jack looked down at your hand, then back at Shen. “He can say that instead.”
Ellis was nearly vibrating. “I need to see the clauses.”
“No,” Jack said.
“Yes,” you and Shen said together.
Jack closed his eyes.
Crus lifted his beer. “I want to know more about annual intimacy maintenance.”
Jack opened his eyes. “Absolutely not.”
You leaned into his side, smiling sweetly. “For the record, the clause is obsolete.”
Jack looked down at you. “It is?”
You took a slow sip of your espresso martini. Then you looked up at him through your lashes.
“I’m getting more than annual intimacy maintenance now that I have you, Jack.”
The table went dead silent.
Jack stopped breathing.
Crus lowered his beer. “Oh.”
Ellis whispered, “Wow.”
Shen blinked once. “That does render the prior clause redundant.”
Jack turned his head slowly. “Dunkin.”
Shen looked at him. “I was agreeing with you.”
“Do not clinically assess my sex life,” Jack said.
Shen nodded. “Boundary noted.”
You smiled into your glass. Jack looked down at you, his ears pink now, his hand still locked around yours under the table.
“You,” he said, voice low, “are trouble.”
You leaned closer to him. “You knew that.”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I did,” Jack said.
Shen lifted his glass. “For what it’s worth, the contingency plan was always unlikely to activate.”
Jack looked at him.
Shen’s expression stayed calm, but something in it gentled. “She was never going to die alone.”
Your smile softened. Jack’s did too, just a little.
Then Shen added, “But legally, I felt better with a backup.”
Jack pointed at him without looking away from you. “Void.”
Shen nodded once. “There it is.”
Crus was still staring at Shen like he had just discovered an entirely new category of person.
“So wait,” Crus said, setting his beer down. “Are you two actually best friends, or is this just a tax thing?”
You opened your mouth.
Shen set his glass down first. “That depends,” he said.
You frowned. “Depends on what?”
Shen looked at you. “Whether you are prepared to acknowledge the previous harm.”
Crus pointed between you and Shen. “I want the harm.”
“You do not,” you said.
“I do,” Crus replied. “I very much do.”
Shen folded his hands on the table. “She once introduced me as her coworker.”
Jack blinked. You dropped your head back against the booth. “John.”
Shen did not look away from Jack. “Her coworker.”
Ellis gasped quietly. “Oh, that’s cold.”
“It was not cold,” you said.
Crus shook his head. “No, that’s cold.”
You looked at him. “You don’t even know the context.”
Shen lifted one finger. “The context was after the supply closet incident, the horrible date extraction, the pizza contingency plan, and the printer failure.”
Jack’s brows pulled together. “Printer failure?”
You pointed at Shen. “Do not add new lore right now.”
Shen glanced at you. “It is relevant.”
You frowned. “It is not relevant.”
“It was emotionally significant,” Shen said.
Jack looked between you. “A printer was emotionally significant?”
Crus leaned toward Ellis. “I believe it.”
Ellis nodded. “Same.”
You sighed and looked up at Jack. “It was a hospital fundraiser.”
“You were standing in the corner silently holding shrimp,” you said.
“I had been abandoned,” Shen replied.
You stared at him. “I was talking to a donor.”
“You introduced me as your coworker John,” Shen said, deeply wounded.
Jack’s mouth twitched. You saw it immediately. Your eyes narrowed. “Do not.”
Jack looked down at you. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought something.”
“I did,” Jack admitted.
You sat up a little straighter. “You’re taking his side?”
Jack’s hand moved on your thigh, warm and apologetic. “On this? Yes.”
Your mouth fell open. Shen nodded once. “Justice.”
Jack pointed across the table without looking away from you. “Temporary alliance.”
“Noted,” Shen said.
Ellis was smiling so hard it looked painful. “Wait. What should she have introduced you as?”
Shen looked at her. “Friend.”
You looked across the table at him. For once, he did not say it like a joke. He did not even say it like a correction. He said it as if the answer had always been obvious. Something in your chest went soft.
Then Crus ruined it by lifting a wing and asking, “Best friend?”
Shen’s gaze shifted to him. You took a sip of your espresso martini. Jack looked down at you. You avoided his eyes.
Ellis’s smile widened. “Oh.”
“No,” you said.
Crus leaned in. “No, what?”
“You all have faces,” you said.
Jack’s mouth curved. “We do?”
“You especially,” you told him.
Jack’s thumb moved once over your thigh. “What face am I making?”
“The face that says you are about to be emotionally reasonable, and it is going to ruin my fun,” you replied with a frown.
Jack looked at you for a second. Then, very dryly, he said, “God forbid.”
Shen picked up his glass. “For accuracy, the designation is best friend.”
You turned toward him. “John.”
He took a calm sip of his espresso martini. Ellis made a delighted little sound. “Designation?”
“It was added after the coworker incident,” Shen said.
Jack closed his eyes. “Of course it was.”
Crus pointed at Shen. “To the contract?”
“No,” Shen said.
You nodded. “Yes.”
Shen looked at you. “It was not part of the domestic partnership contingency agreement.”
“It was in the same shared note,” you said.
“That does not make it part of the agreement,” Shen replied.
You leaned forward. “It was under Friendship Clarifications.”
Jack opened his eyes. “Friendship Clarifications.”
Ellis put both hands around her glass. “I need this note more than I need air.”
“No,” Jack said immediately.
“Yes,” Crus said at the same time.
You smiled at Shen across the table. Shen looked back at you.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Do not.”
You and Shen both reached for each other’s hands at the same time. Jack’s hand came down gently over yours, pinning it to the table.
You looked up at him. “Excuse me.”
Jack did not look away from Shen. “Preventative medicine.”
Shen glanced at Jack’s hand over yours. “You interrupted a historically accurate reenactment.”
Jack looked at him. “Use puppets.”
You laughed so hard you had to lean into Jack’s side. His hand softened over yours immediately, fingers slipping between yours.
Shen’s eyes flicked to the movement. Then he looked at Jack. For a second, the humor eased out of his face. “For clarity,” Shen said, “I am not competition.”
The table quieted. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough.
Jack’s thumb stilled against your knuckles. “I know,” Jack said.
Shen studied him. You stayed very still against Jack’s side.
“She was my friend before she was your girlfriend,” Shen said.
Jack nodded once. “I know that too.”
Shen’s gaze shifted to you, then back to Jack. “I took care of her.”
Jack’s hand tightened around yours. The pressure was small. Steady.
“I know,” Jack said again.
Shen folded his hands around his glass. “Dating you should not mean losing me.”
Your throat tightened before you could stop it. Jack looked down at you. His expression softened immediately.
Then he looked back at Shen. “It doesn’t.”
Shen’s face went still in that way it did when he had heard something more important than he was ready to show.
Jack’s voice stayed even. “I’m glad she has you.”
You stopped breathing for half a second. Across the table, Shen blinked once. Ellis looked down at her drink like she was giving the moment privacy. Crus, for once in his life, did not say anything.
Shen nodded, small and quiet. “Me too.”
Jack held his gaze for another second.
Then Shen added, “Seniority recognized.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Do not make me regret personal growth.”
Crus broke first, laughing into his hand. Ellis pressed her lips together, losing the fight almost immediately. You dropped your forehead against Jack’s shoulder and laughed, even though your eyes felt warm. Jack’s arm came around you at once.
Shen lifted his espresso martini. “I am simply acknowledging the timeline.”
Jack looked at him. “You are acknowledging nothing.”
“I was there first,” Shen said.
Jack’s hand flexed at your side. “I’m going to be there last.”
The table went quiet again.
You lifted your head and looked at him.
Jack did not look away from Shen at first. Then his eyes dropped to you, and his expression changed. Not embarrassed. Not uncertain. Just sure. Painfully sure.
“When you want that,” he said, quieter.
Ellis stared into her drink like it had suddenly become fascinating.
Crus whispered, “Damn.”
Shen took a slow sip of his martini. Then he set it down. “Future claim noted.”
Jack looked back at him. “Does that mean the previous claim is void?”
Shen considered him. Then, with great reluctance, he nodded. “Emotionally superseded.”
Jack paused. You looked between them.
Jack’s jaw shifted. “Acceptable.”
Shen nodded once. “Progress.”
You leaned back into Jack’s side, still holding his hand under the table.
Crus let out a long breath. “This is the weirdest dinner I’ve ever been to.”
Ellis shook her head. “No, this is art.”
Shen reached for a cheese curd. Jack watched him.
Shen paused with his hand hovering over the basket. “Appetizer coordination only.”
Jack stared at him.
Shen withdrew his hand. “Understood.”
You smiled into Jack’s shoulder. Jack looked down at you, his expression soft despite himself.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded against him. “Yeah.”
His mouth brushed your hairline, quick enough that no one else would have noticed if Ellis had not immediately made a sound.
Jack looked across the table. “No.”
Ellis lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to,” Jack said.
Crus pointed at Ellis. “She absolutely was.”
Shen picked up his glass again. “For the record, the best friend designation remains active.”
Jack sighed. You smiled. Then Jack looked at Shen and said, “Fine.”
Shen stilled. You did too.
Jack’s arm stayed warm around your shoulders. “Best friend designation active.”
Shen stared at him. Jack pointed one finger across the table. “Contractual betrothal void.”
Shen’s mouth twitched. “Accepted,” he said.
Ellis slapped the table lightly. “I cannot believe I witnessed treaty negotiations over cheese curds.”
Crus lifted his beer. “To the best friend clause.”
You lifted your espresso martini. Shen lifted his. Jack looked at all of you like he loved you and regretted every one of his choices. Then, finally, he picked up his drink.
“To the void contract,” Jack said.
Shen’s eyes narrowed. “That was hostile.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “Good.”
The toast did not end the argument. It only relocated it.
By the time the five of you made it outside, Crus was still asking whether “emotionally superseded” had any real contractual weight, Ellis was insisting the shared note should be entered into evidence, and Shen was explaining, with the patience of a man who had never once considered simply letting something go, that the phrase had been chosen for precision.
Jack walked beside you a few steps behind them, his hand warm at your lower back, his thumb brushing there once every few seconds. The night air was cool after the bar, damp enough to make the streetlights blur slightly against the pavement. You tucked yourself closer to his side, and Jack’s arm came around you immediately.
Ahead of you, Shen said, “Emotionally superseded does not erase prior documentation.”
Jack looked over your head. “Void.”
Shen did not turn around. “Superseded.”
“Void,” Jack repeated.
You smiled into Jack’s shoulder. “You know he’s never going to give you void.”
“I know,” Jack said.
“You’re still going to keep saying it?”
Jack nodded once. “Yes.”
You laughed softly. Jack looked down at you, and whatever dry argument had been sitting in his face eased into something quieter. The streetlight caught the color in his eyes, turning them softer at the edges. You thought about him at the table, his voice calm when he told Shen it did not mean losing him. You thought about his hand around yours when he said he was glad you had someone. You thought about the way he had looked at Shen and said, with no hesitation at all, that he was going to be there last.
Your chest warmed all over again. “You meant that?” you asked.
Jack’s brow shifted. “Which part?”
You slipped your arm around his waist. “Being there last.”
Jack stopped walking. Because Jack never did anything halfway. He did not make the moment dramatic on purpose. He simply stopped beside you on the sidewalk, his arm still around your shoulders, his whole attention settling on you like everyone else had gone quiet and distant. Ahead of you, the others noticed. Ellis stopped first. Crus nearly walked into her. Shen stopped last, then turned with visible suspicion.
Jack ignored all of them. “Yes,” he said.
Your breath caught.
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “When you want that.”
You smiled before you could stop it. Soft at first, then a little wicked.
Jack’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Why did your face change?”
You blinked up at him. “My face?”
“That one,” Jack said.
You frowned. “What one?”
Jack sighed. “The one where you are about to make my life difficult.”
Crus leaned toward Ellis. “He knows her so well.”
Ellis nodded. “It’s beautiful.”
You ignored them and smoothed one hand over Jack’s shirt. “I just think it’s good that you’re already thinking ahead.”
Jack looked down at your hand, then back to your face. “I am.”
“I respect that,” you replied.
His mouth curved faintly. “Do you?”
“I do,” you said.
Shen’s voice came from several feet away. “That phrasing feels intentional.”
Jack closed his eyes. You smiled wider.
Then you looked up at Jack and said, “But if you are planning on making a formal replacement to the void contract, Shen needs to be consulted.”
Jack opened his eyes. No one moved. For one perfect second, the sidewalk went completely still.
Then Jack said, “No.”
At the exact same time, Shen said, “Yes.”
Jack turned his head slowly. “You were not invited into this conversation.”
Shen folded his hands in front of him. “I was invoked.”
Crus made a sound of pure delight. Ellis pointed between all three of you. “Ring committee.”
Jack looked at her. “Absolutely not.”
You leaned into his side. “He knows my taste.”
Jack looked down at you. “I know your taste.”
“He knows my ring taste,” you said.
Jack’s jaw shifted. “Since when?”
Shen adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. “There was a Pinterest incident.”
Jack closed his eyes again. “Of course there was.”
“It was extensive,” Shen added.
“Do not elaborate,” Jack said.
You patted Jack’s chest. “He should also be consulted on the proposal plan.”
Jack’s eyes opened. “Proposal plan?”
You nodded, solemn now. “A girl needs to be wooed, Jack.”
Shen nodded from the sidewalk. “Established clause.”
Jack looked between you and Shen. For a second, he seemed genuinely caught between wanting to kiss you and wanting to personally delete the Notes app from every phone in a ten-mile radius.
“I am going to regret allowing the best friend designation to remain active,” Jack said.
You tilted your head. “Are you?”
His arm tightened around you. Jack’s expression softened despite the glare he was still aiming in Shen’s direction. “No.”
Your smile went warm. “No,” he said again, quieter. “I’m not.”
Ellis made a tiny sound. Crus looked at her. “Are you crying?”
“No,” Ellis said immediately.
Shen looked at her. “You appear emotionally compromised.”
Ellis pointed at him. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
Jack looked back down at you. “For the record, I can pick a ring.”
“I know,” you said.
“And plan a proposal,” Jack added.
You smiled. “I know.”
“And ask your best friend for input without giving him veto power,” Jack continued.
Shen lifted one finger. “Advisory authority traditionally includes—”
Jack looked at him. “No.” Shen paused. Jack’s voice stayed calm. “Advisory only.”
Shen considered him for a beat. “Strong advisory.”
“Advisory,” Jack repeated.
You slid your hand into Jack’s. “Maybe strong advisory.”
Jack looked down at you. You smiled up at him. His jaw flexed once.
Then he looked back at Shen. “Limited strong advisory.”
Shen nodded. “Acceptable.”
Crus stared between them. “I cannot believe I just watched proposal governance happen in real time.”
Ellis wiped under one eye. “I can. This is exactly them.”
Jack ignored both of them and looked at you. “Anything else I should know?”
You pretended to think about it. “No public proposals.”
Jack nodded immediately. “I know.”
“No ring in food,” you added.
His brows pulled together. “Obviously.”
“No sports arena screens,” you continued.
Jack looked offended. “You think I would do that?”
“No,” you said, smiling. “But Shen would ask for confirmation.”
Shen nodded once. “I would.”
Jack sighed. You squeezed his hand. “And it should feel like us.”
Jack’s irritation softened into something else. Something private. “It will,” he said.
Your heart stumbled.
Shen, to his credit, did not interrupt that part. Not immediately. Then he said, “I will require a planning timeline.”
Jack did not look away from you. “You will receive what I give you.”
Shen looked at Ellis. “Hostile committee environment.”
Ellis nodded. “Noted.”
Crus lifted both hands. “I’m just happy to be here.”
You rose onto your toes and kissed Jack’s cheek.
His attention snapped fully back to you. “What was that for?” he asked.
“For being emotionally evolved,” you said.
Jack’s mouth twitched. “That’s what that was?”
You smiled. “And for accepting the best friend clause.”
His arm settled around your waist. “I accepted it under protest.”
You shrugged. “You accepted it.”
“I did,” Jack replied.
Shen lifted one hand from the sidewalk. “Best friend clause active.”
Jack looked over your head. “Void contract.”
Shen’s mouth curved, barely. “Active committee.”
Jack pointed at him. “Dunkin.”
You laughed and tucked your face against Jack’s chest. Jack kissed the top of your head, still glaring at Shen over you like a man who had just agreed to share classified information with the enemy. But his hand was gentle on your back. His mouth was soft against your hair. And when you held onto him, he held on right back.
“Come on,” Jack said, voice low near your ear. “I’m taking you home.”
You looked up at him. “Advisory committee approved?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. Then he glanced at Shen. “You objecting?”
Shen looked at you. Then at Jack. Then he nodded once. “No objection.”
Jack’s hand tightened around yours. “Good,” he said.
Summary: John Shen brings you a 48-ounce Dunkin' iced latte; fake marriage paperwork is discussed; and Jack Abbot discovers his girlfriend has a work husband.
Warnings: Established relationship, workplace teasing, jealous-but-not-really jealous Jack, Shen, and Reader being absolute menaces, fake marriage pact, excessive Dunkin, one deeply offensive sweet coffee beverage, no real angst.
Author’s Note: This is pure nonsense, and I love it. Jack is secure in his relationship, but unfortunately, his girlfriend and her work husband have paperwork, annual reviews, and a beverage vessel. Pray for him. Thank you @jennataurus for the idea!
Xoxo, Del
Jack saw Shen before he saw the drink. That was his first mistake. Shen walking into the emergency department was not unusual. Shen walking into the emergency department with that particular expression on his face was.
Too calm. Too neutral. Too deliberately innocent.
Jack narrowed his eyes from the other side of the nurses’ station.
Then he saw what Shen was carrying.
For one brief and terrible second, Jack thought it was medical equipment.
Then he saw the ice. Then he saw the straw.
Then he saw your face light up like Shen had walked in carrying a diamond ring, a rescue puppy, and a winning lottery ticket.
“Oh my god,” you said, already abandoning your chart. “You got it.”
Shen set the container on the counter with the solemn care of a man presenting evidence in court. “Blueberry Cobbler Iced Latte. Forty-eight ounces.”
You pressed both hands to your chest. “John.”
Jack looked at the bucket. Then he looked at Shen. Then he looked at you.
“No,” Jack said.
You turned toward him, smiling. “You don’t even know what this is.”
“I know enough,” Jack replied.
“It’s the bucket,” you said, like that explained anything.
“It is not a bucket,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him. “It absolutely is.”
“It’s a beverage vessel.” Shen corrected.
Jack stared at him. “It has a handle.”
“That doesn’t make it a bucket,” Shen grumbled.
You leaned over the counter and kissed Shen’s cheek. Jack went still. Shen went very still, too, but not because he was nervous.
No.
Because he knew.
Jack watched Shen’s mouth twitch once before he smoothed his expression back into something infuriatingly calm.
“Thank you,” you said sweetly.
Shen nodded. “Of course.”
Jack pointed between you and Shen. “Don’t love that.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
“The cheek kiss,” Jack answered.
Shen looked down at the drink. “It was a gratitude kiss.”
Jack’s eyes shifted to him. “Dunkin.”
Shen’s brows lifted. “Is that me?”
Jack nodded once, “It is now.”
You pressed your lips together. Jack knew that face. He loved that face. He also knew that face meant you were about thirty seconds away from making his life worse on purpose.
“Jack,” you said gently.
“No,” Jack said. “You don’t get to ‘Jack’ me when Dunkin just walked in with forty-eight ounces of sugar and got kissed for it.”
Shen glanced down at the container. “It does have two straws.”
“That makes it worse,” Jack replied.
You picked up one of the straws with reverent fingers. “It’s for sharing.”
“With your boyfriend?” Jack said, jerking his head in John’s direction.
You smiled. “With my work husband.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. There it was. Shen took one small, thoughtful step closer to you, like a man approaching a live wire just to see what would happen.
Jack watched him do it. He watched you notice. He watched both of you decide, silently and instantly, to be problems.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Your what?”
“My work husband,” you said, very seriously.
Shen nodded once. “It’s an administrative title.”
“Administrative,” Jack repeated.
“Very little romance involved,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him. “Very little?”
You touched Jack’s chest. “Jack, be fair. John and I have survived a lot together.”
Jack looked between the two of you and inhaled slowly through his nose.
He was a grown man. A physician. A professional. He had handled trauma bays, impossible calls, mass casualties, and patients who thought WebMD had more authority than medical school. He was not going to let two adults and a container of dessert coffee dismantle him in the middle of his emergency department.
You slid the bucket toward Shen. “First sip goes to the provider.”
Jack’s head turned. “Provider?”
“He provided the bucket,” you said.
Shen took the straw with grave dignity. “I accept this responsibility.”
Jack watched him take a sip.
You leaned in, eyes bright. “Well?”
Shen considered it for a moment. “Sweet.”
You nodded. “Expected.”
“Artificial blueberry,” Shen said.
“But fun artificial?” You asked.
Shen took another sip. “Aggressively fun.”
You pointed at him. “That’s what I thought.”
Jack stared. “You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
You gave Jack a look, “I know John’s palate.”
Jack went still again.
Shen lowered the straw. “You walked into that one.”
“I did not walk into anything,” Jack said.
You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Are you jealous of John’s palate?”
“No,” Jack replied immediately.
Shen tilted his head. “He seems jealous of my palate.”
Jack pointed at him. “You are on thin ice.”
“Appropriate,” Shen said, glancing at the bucket. “Given the beverage.”
You made a sound like you were trying not to choke.
Jack looked down at you. “Do not laugh at that.”
You covered your mouth. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Jack said.
You pointed to Shen and said, “I’m being supportive of my work husband’s humor.”
Not yet, he told himself. It is too early in this shift to ask God for intervention.
When he opened them, you were holding the straw toward him.
“Try it,” you said.
Jack shook his head, “No.”
“One sip.” You implored.
Jack’s brow furrowed. “I already know I’m going to hate it.”
“That’s not very scientific,” Shen said.
Jack didn’t look away from you. “Dunkin, I am not discussing the scientific method with you over a bucket of sugar milk.”
You lifted the straw another inch. “For me?”
Jack looked at your face. That was unfair. Everything about your face was unfair. He sighed like a man accepting his own execution, leaned down, and took the smallest sip possible. His face changed immediately.
You brightened. “Well?”
Jack swallowed with effort. It was worse than he expected. It was sweet in a way that felt personally aggressive. It tasted like someone had taken a blueberry muffin, drowned it in melted ice cream, panicked, and added more sugar.
Jack looked at both of you. “Well, that’s horrific.”
You gasped. “Jack.”
Jack grimaced, “It tastes like someone liquefied a blueberry muffin, panicked, and added more sugar.”
Shen took the bucket back and considered that. “Not inaccurate.”
You pointed at him. “Do not side with my actual boyfriend against me.”
Jack’s head turned. Actual boyfriend. That helped. He hated that it helped.
He was not jealous of John Shen. He was not jealous of the drink. He was not jealous of the cheek kiss, the work husband title, or the fact that Shen apparently had a detailed working knowledge of your coffee preferences. Jack was simply opposed to nonsense.
That was all.
You smiled up at him. “Yes. Actual boyfriend.”
Shen lifted one hand. “Work husband acknowledges the hierarchy.”
Jack looked at him. “Temporary husband.”
Shen blinked. “I don’t remember agreeing to temporary.”
“You don’t need to agree,” Jack replied.
Shen frowned, “I feel like I should.”
“You shouldn’t,” Jack said.
You took the bucket back from Shen. “For legal accuracy, the arrangement is currently suspended.”
Jack looked down at you. “The arrangement.”
You nodded solemnly. “Until further notice.”
“Or forty,” Shen added.
Jack’s gaze moved slowly back to him. “Excuse me?”
Shen took a careful breath, like he was about to present lab results. “If neither of us is married by the time we are forty, we’ve agreed to enter a mutually beneficial domestic partnership.”
You nodded. “For practical reasons.”
Jack stared at you.
“Tax benefits,” you said.
“Shared expenses,” Shen added.
“Emergency contact efficiency,” you said.
“Mutual tolerance,” Shen added.
Jack looked between you. “You rehearsed that.”
You and Shen said, “No,” at the exact same time.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. You smiled. Shen sipped the drink.
Jack looked toward the ceiling.
Dear God, he thought, then stopped himself. Not yet. He could still handle this.
“You’re not single,” Jack said.
You patted his chest. “I know.”
“So the pact is void.” Jack continued.
Shen lifted one finger. “Suspended.”
Jack pointed at him. “Void.”
“Suspend—”
“Void.” Jack cut him off.
You sighed softly. “This is a difficult day for the marriage.”
Shen nodded. “We’ll need time to heal.”
Jack stared at the two of you. “Marriage.”
“Future potential marriage,” you clarified.
Jack frowned, “Not better.”
Ellis, who had been pretending not to listen from two feet away, slowly lowered her chart.
“Do I want to know?” Ellis asked.
“No,” Jack said.
“Yes,” you and Shen said together.
Jack looked down at you. You smiled up at him, bright and delighted and absolutely unrepentant.
Ellis’s eyes landed on the bucket. “Is that coffee?”
“Allegedly,” Jack said.
Shen lifted the container. “Blueberry Cobbler Iced Latte. Forty-eight ounces.”
Ellis blinked. “That sounds disgusting.”
Jack pointed at her. “Thank you.”
You gasped. “Ellis.”
Ellis glanced at Jack’s face, then at Shen, then at you. “Why does this feel like I walked in on something personal?”
“Because you did,” Jack said.
Shen shook his head. “It’s not personal. It’s a product review.”
Jack looked at him. “You announced a suspended marriage pact.”
Ellis looked delighted. “What else is in the paperwork?”
Jack pointed at her. “Do not encourage them.”
Shen cleared his throat. “There is the intimacy clause.”
Jack went completely still. Ellis’s chart lowered another inch.
“The what?” Jack asked.
“The intimacy clause,” you said, very seriously.
Shen nodded. “One night of passionate lovemaking per calendar year to maintain the marriage.”
Jack stared at him.
You nodded along solemnly. “For the health of the union.”
“And morale,” Shen added.
Jack’s head turned toward you. “Morale.”
“It’s important,” you said.
“Vital,” Shen agreed.
Jack pointed at the bucket. “Dunkin.”
Shen blinked. “Yes?”
“Never use the phrase ‘passionate lovemaking’ in a sentence about my girlfriend again.”
Shen considered him. “Would ‘annual intimacy maintenance’ be better?”
Jack looked at him, “No.”
You pressed your lips together. “Less romantic.”
Jack looked down at you. “You are not helping.”
“I’m grieving the clause,” you said.
Jack stared at you.
Ellis made a strangled sound behind her chart.
Shen took a slow sip from the bucket. “This is difficult for all parties.”
Jack closed his eyes. Dear God, grant me patience, Jack thought. Because if you grant me strength, Shen is not making it out of this emergency department.
Then Shen set the bucket down and hooked an arm around your shoulders. You did not miss a beat. You slid your arm around Shen’s waist and leaned into his side with a grave little nod. “Privacy would be appreciated during this difficult transition.”
Jack opened his eyes. Ellis’s mouth opened slightly.
Jack pointed between you and Shen. “Separate.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
“Immediately,” Jack said.
Shen looked down at you. "Our bond threatens him.”
“I am threatened by nothing,” Jack said.
You patted Shen’s stomach. “It’s okay. He’s processing.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. “You have three seconds.”
Shen’s arm stayed exactly where it was. “Before what?”
Jack smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
Shen removed his arm.
You removed yours too, biting your lip hard enough that Jack could see the fight not to laugh all over your face.
“Smart,” Jack said.
Shen picked up the bucket again. “For the record, that separation felt hostile.”
Jack looked at him. “Good.”
You let the moment hang for exactly one second. Then you slid right into Jack’s side, your body fitting against his like that was where you had meant to be the whole time.
Jack’s eyes dropped to you.
Your smile went soft and wicked at the same time. “Better?”
Jack held your gaze. He was still annoyed. He was still trying not to look pleased. He was still failing.
“Marginally,” he said.
You hummed and smoothed your hands over his scrub top. “Only marginally?”
His hand settled at your waist before he could pretend he wasn’t going to touch you. “You’re pushing it, sweetheart.”
You grinned. “Don’t worry, Jack. You’re hotter than him.”
Shen’s head lifted. “Rude.”
Jack didn’t look away from you. “Dunkin.”
“Yes?” Shen replied.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Drink your muffin soup.”
You laughed into Jack’s chest. His mouth twitched despite himself, and his hand tightened gently at your waist.
“Better,” he admitted, quieter this time.
Ellis finally gave up pretending she was working. “Can I try the divorce coffee?”
Jack’s eyes shifted to her. For the first time since Shen walked in, Jack looked almost pleased.
“Divorce coffee,” he repeated.
You brightened. “Oh, that’s good.”
Shen nodded. “Accurate, but emotionally painful.”
“It is not emotionally painful,” Jack said. “It’s legally clarifying.”
Ellis held out a hand. “So can I try it?”
“Don’t,” Jack warned.
“Yes,” you and Shen said together.
Jack looked down at you. You smiled up at him, bright and delighted. Jack looked at the bucket. Then at Shen. Then at you. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Okay,” Jack said.
You blinked. “Okay?”
Jack nodded toward the other end of the nurses’ station. “You’re coming with me.”
Your mouth fell open, offended and delighted at the same time. “What?”
“I have been very patient,” Jack said.
“You have,” you said solemnly.
He continued, “I tried the muffin soup.”
“You did.” You agreed.
“I tolerated the cheek kiss,” Jack added.
You nodded, “You did.”
“I tolerated the work husband,” Jack said, almost with a grimace.
“Barely,” Shen said.
Jack pointed at him without looking away from you. “Temporary husbands do not get commentary.”
Shen nodded. “Understood.”
Jack looked back at you. “And now I’m taking my girlfriend ten feet that way so I can remember why I love her without Shen making tax comments.”
You glanced back at Shen, then at the bucket in his hand. Your face went dramatically mournful.
“No,” you whispered. “My husband. My coffee.”
Jack went completely still. Ellis made a sound behind her chart.
Shen looked down at you with grave sympathy. “I’ll miss you.”
Jack’s head turned slowly toward him. “Dunkin.”
Shen lifted one hand. “Right. Sorry.”
You pressed your lips together, shoulders shaking.
Jack looked down at you. “You are walking away with me, or I am confiscating the coffee.”
Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would,” Jack replied.
You frowned, “You hate it.”
“I hate many things about this situation,” Jack said. “That has not stopped me yet.”
Shen hugged the bucket closer to his chest. “For the record, I object to seizure of communal property.”
“It is not communal property,” Jack said.
“It’s divorce coffee,” Ellis said.
Jack pointed at her. “Helpful.”
Ellis smiled. “Thank you.”
You slid your hand into Jack’s. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Jack’s fingers closed around yours. “Thank you.”
“But under protest.” You added.
Jack nodded once, “Noted.”
“And I want visitation rights.” You said.
Jack looked at you. “To Shen or the coffee?”
You looked genuinely torn. Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“The coffee,” you said quickly.
Shen nodded. “Hurtful, but wise.”
Jack tugged gently on your hand. “Move.”
You let Jack lead you away, still laughing under your breath. Halfway down the nurses’ station, you glanced back over your shoulder.
Shen mouthed, I miss you.
You coughed to hide your laugh.
Jack stopped walking. You froze.
He looked down at you. “What did he do?”
You replied quickly. “Nothing.”
Jack turned. Shen looked immediately busy with a chart, one hand still wrapped around the bucket.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “Dunkin.”
Shen did not look up. “Yes?”
“Do not make me come back there.”
Shen nodded, still not looking up. “Of course.”
Jack stared for another second, then turned back to you. You smiled up at him, innocent and hopelessly pleased. Jack shook his head, but his hand squeezed yours.
“You’re trouble,” he said.
Your smile brightened. “You love me.”
“I do,” Jack said.
You stepped closer, sliding your free hand up his chest again. “And I love you.”
Jack’s irritation loosened instantly. He hated how fast it happened.
No, he didn’t.
He loved it. Loved the way you could tug him out of himself with three words and one hand on his chest. Loved the way you smiled at him like he was exactly where you wanted to be, like Shen and the coffee and every ridiculous thing you had said were only funny because Jack was there to react to them.
“Even if John brings me forty-eight ounces of coffee,” you said.
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“Even if he’s my work husband.” You continued.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Former work husband,” you corrected.
Jack nodded once, “Better.”
You smiled and rose onto your toes, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re my actual everything.”
Jack went very still.
Behind you, Shen called, “Rude.”
Jack didn’t look away from you. For once, he didn’t even answer Shen. His hand slid more firmly around your waist, and his voice dropped low enough that only you could hear it.
“Yeah?”
You nodded, still smiling. “Yeah.”
Jack’s expression softened completely. Then he dipped his head and kissed you, quick but warm, like he couldn’t help it. When he pulled back, he looked almost annoyed with himself for melting so fast.
You grinned. “Better?”
Jack exhaled, thumb brushing once at your waist. “Much better,” he said.
pairing: jax teller x female reader
setting: pre-canon, before wendy. late 2000s. they're texting on a flip phone okay.
warnings: nsfw, 18+. sexting. oral, p in v sex. breeding kink, possessive behavior, power dynamics (consensual)
words: 1.4k
a/n: thanks to @daryldixonpls for the inspo on how this post is formated. decided on trying something a little bit different this time around. honestly this entire fic is inspired by a tiktok video i came across. given this is set in the late 2000s, emoji's are not a thing BUT in terms of funsies here, i used them just once to add to the ambiance. they're not mentioned though, if that makes sense lol. enjoyyy. ps: i did not proofread this and i also wrote it in like 2 hours' time, so...
tag list: @daryldixonpls @bellaxgiornata @laurfilijames @tinyshyteacup @secretlysamcro @slowburnsins @rideandruin @tragicalkindredsamcro (if i forget anyone else please let me know!!)
Jax stared at the text longer than he should’ve. Parked behind the wheel of an unmarked black van on the edge of Charming, he was supposed to be watching the road and not his phone. One of Unser’s trucks was headed out to Nevada, and with theft spiking along the route, SAMCRO had stepped in to babysit. Call it private security. Call it paying back a favor. Either way, his eyes weren’t where they should be.
His eyes shifted once up to the empty road ahead and then back to the phone burning a hole in his hand.
YOU: Can I trace the veins with my tongue, baby?
Normally, he'd laugh and text back something filthy or smug, because that's just how they played. She'd flirt, he'd bite, they'd find a way to meet up later and burn it out of their systems. That's the way it'd always been.
But today had been absolute shit. One of the guys had been picked up on some bullshit warrant. Gemma had been stirring the pot again, constantly dropping blatant hints that she wanted Jax to have some babies. Clay was being a dickhead, like usual. Tig was kissing Clay's ass, following him around like some lovesick puppy.
He began typing out a response.
JAX: Where you at?
Admittedly, you frowned at his text. Not from sadness but the ripple of disappointment. It was lacking the usual filth that you'd become spoiled with any time the two of you had a round of sexting together.
YOU: Your house.
For a moment, you paused and contemplated sending the second portion as you tipped back a shot of whiskey. Then, you typed it out because... fuck it, right?
YOU: You cranky today or what?
Jax glanced down the second his phone buzzed, brows furrowing. He glanced up again, watching as Unser's truck left the warehouse lot without a hitch, then back down to your text message.
JAX: No.
I'm just trying to not blow my fuckin' load right now.
Your hand tightened slightly around the spare key that'd been swirling around the corner as you waited for him to show some sort of zest in the conversation. That fuckin' response did it, made your stomach flip and your thighs clench.
Here you were, in his fuckin' house surrounded by Harley memorabilia and his bourbon, causing the prince of Charming to almost bust a nut clear across county lines.
YOU: Yeah, don't. I want to swallow it. 🍆💦
Jax could've left two minutes ago, but he was still parked on the side of the road, toothpick perched between his lips as he ground his molars.
JAX: Nah. I'm fucking that pussy and cumming inside it. You want to taste something? You can taste it leaking out of you after.
He hit send and tossed the phone into the cupholder, then put the van in drive and drove straight to his place. Usually, he'd detour at Charming to drop off the van and then ride home in his bike, but he had other pressing matters to tend to.
She barely had time to turn around in the kitchen before Jax was inside. His hoodie was half-zipped, jeans hanging low, jaw set like he hadn’t taken a full breath in hours.
“Jax-”
“Shut up.”
His voice was low and dangerous. Not angry but definitely wound tight. His blue eyes swept over her body like it pissed him off how much he wanted her, like every breath she took was one more second that he had to wait.
He kicked the door shut with his boot and stalked toward her; every step measured like he was keeping himself from snapping. The air shifted.
“You wanna send me texts like that?” he asked, eyes locked on your mouth. “You wanna say shit, like you’re gonna trace the veins with your tongue?”
You swallowed. Heat bloomed low in your belly, stumbling to formulate a coherent response. “I-”
He grabbed her chin, tilting her face up hard enough to make her gasp. “Nah. No backing out now. Get on your knees.”
Her legs moved before her brain did, knees hitting the hardwood just as he tugged his belt open with one hand.
“You don’t get to tease me all day and not back it up.” He pulled himself free, thick and already aching hard, tip flushed. “You wanna trace something?”
He stepped forward, cock right in front of your face now, and let out the softest, filthiest groan when your breath hit it.
“Then fuckin' trace,” he growled. “Start with the vein running up the side. You know the one.”
You did. You leaned in, tongue dragging slow and deliberate from the base up along that thick line of pressure, and his hand fisted in your hair immediately, hips twitching forward on instinct.
“Fuck. That’s it.”
His voice cracked around the edge, throat tight like he was holding something back. Like letting go too soon would ruin him and the filthy reputation he'd built up until this point.
“Yeahhhh… just like that. Make me regret not burying it in you first.”
Your tongue moved slow, tracing that thick vein like you promised you would. You felt his hand twitch against the top of your head where his hand rested now, all while a low groan escaped his mouth.
You hollowed your cheeks, and you took him deeper, just to prove you could. That about made him come undone completely, voice stuttering for a moment, the kind that cracked him open just enough. His breath quickened, his hips bucked forward as he clenched his hand around the counter.
You gagged just once, eyes fluttering as you looked up at him with more determination, and then you repeated the same movement again, swallowing his entire cock with ease this time around, causing that same vulnerable whimper to leave him.
His head had tipped back now just for a split second, hand bunching around your hair while his hips bucked forward again. He was on the verge of an orgasm, you could feel it. The way his cock throbbed against the roof of your mouth, the way his thigh clenched right where your hands rested. Your mouth got him worked up twice in one night and that, that was a badge of honor you'd wear with the utmost pride.
It's like he could sense the fucking pride behind your tongue. The second you backed off and glanced up at him with tear pricked eyes, intending on taking him in your mouth again.
He grabbed your arm and yanked you up to a standing position, putting a halt to your plan. He crashed his mouth with yours, all tongue, teeth, and amicable frustration now. Your ass hit the counter and you think he's going to take you right there, but instead, he growls against your mouth.
"Bedroom. Now."
You took a few steps, but he was already behind you, hand wrapping around your wrist to tug you faster, guiding you straight through the hallway.
He shoved the bedroom door open and kicked it shut with his boot.
You turned to face him, but before you could speak, he was on you again, hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he lifted you like it was nothing and dropped you onto the mattress.
“You think you can just say shit like that?” he said, crawling over you, his necklace dangling low between you as he settled between your thighs. “Send me those texts."
You smirked, breath catching. “Maybe I like getting you worked up.”
He scoffed, hand gripping your jaw. “Yeah? Then you better take what you started.”
And then he was there. Inside you in one long, slow push that had your eyes rolling back. No warning, no teasing this time. Just thick and deep and hot, his forehead pressed to yours as he held still for a second, barely breathing.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, dragging his hips back just to sink in again, deeper. “You feel that? That’s mine. You’re mine.”
You whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.
He kissed you then but not in a hurry like before. This one was deeper. Heavier. Like he needed it.
“You said that you wanna swallow me,” he whispered against your mouth, “but I’m gonna fill you up instead. Gonna come so deep you’ll be leaking by the time I’m done.”
He started moving. Slow, purposeful strokes that had your hands clutching the sheets, his name falling from your lips over and over.
“Say it again,” he grunted, pace building. “Say what you want.”
“I want you to come inside me,” you breathed, voice trembling. “Please, Jax.”
That did it.
He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, hips grinding deep as he came. Hard, low groans spilling from his chest as he gave it to you, everything he’d been holding in since you sent that damn text.
Daddy kink with Jax, him catching you waiting up for him after a late night with the club, wearing nothing but his shirt in the kitchen. Also can it be the first time you call him daddy and he’s absolutely intrigued.
Sitting Pretty.
unspoken desires can only stay unspoken for so long.
jax teller x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing. daddy kink. jax is somehow so degrading but so loving at the same time.
a/n - YEEEEEEEEEAH. murphy writing a daddy kink… who would’ve thought they’d see the day. anyway i’d call this man anything he wanted me to x
masterlist. inbox.
It’s a bad habit, the waiting up.
He tells you not to do it. Says honey, I don’t want to keep you awake. I’ll just come to bed when I get home in that gruff voice of his. He uses that persuasive tone, the one that makes you weak at the knees. I don’t know what time I’ll be back, baby. I don’t want to keep you up.
And yet, you do it anyway.
You occupy your time with tv shows, movies, books. Cleaning, tidying, cooking. Anything that’ll keep your mind from racing, wondering what Jax is doing, what the club are talking about, if they’re in trouble yet again.
But there’s none of that tonight. Tonight, you’re sat on the couch in nothing but a t shirt that belongs to your boyfriend, staring into empty space. All because you can’t stop thinking about something that happened this morning.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
The glass had slipped from your hand before you could stop it, shattering all over the clubhouse floor. A chorus of patronising but amused sounds echoed around you, coming from all of the guys sat at the table.
Jax jumps up from his seat immediately, standing up to see if you’re alright.
“Ooo, Daddy’s disappointed.”
The quip has come from Tig, to no one’s surprise. You look up from your knees to see that actually, Jax doesn’t look disappointed. There’s a sparkle in his eye that you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s mischief and curiosity and self satisfaction all at once.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s replayed in your head all day.
That damn look in his eye.
At first, you thought that maybe it was because you were on your knees on the ground. He’s been very vocal about how he will never, ever, get sick of the sight of you staring up at him.
But the more you think about it, the more there’s no denying that the twinkle in his eye appeared when Tig had called him Daddy. Or maybe you’re just convincing yourself to twist the situation to fit the fantasies that swirl around in your head day in, day out.
You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t hear the side door open, footsteps rumbling across your kitchen floor.
“Baby, what have I told you about waiting up?”
“Hey,” you breathe, always happy to see him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Too busy daydreamin’,” he observes, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Wish I could read your mind.”
“You don’t,” you laugh, securing your arms over his to squeeze him tight. “It’s not very interesting.”
He smells like gasoline and smoke, all musky and masculine. The scent of him drives you insane, like some sort of instant aphrodisiac designed just for you.
“Missed ya,” he whispers in your ear, pressing his body into yours. “Been thinking about you all day. Was secretly hoping you’d be sittin’ all pretty for me when I got back. And here you are, wearing nothing but my shirt, lookin’ like a goddamn angel.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“What did I do to deserve a sweetheart like you, huh?”
You hum, leaning back into the firm warmth of him.
“Now tell me, my little daydreamer… what have you been thinking about?”
His hands migrate from your waist, skimming up your body so they’re massaging your tits.
“Just you,” you breathe. “Always you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He’s hot and heavy against your back, grinding his hips into your ass to relieve some of the friction that’s driving him insane.
One of his hands winds it way around your neck, squeezing ever so gently to make you even dizzier. His other hand is slipping under his shirt that you’re wearing to cup you over your panties, his middle finger swiping along the seam to feel how wet you are.
“You’re fuckin’ soakin’,” he groans, all deep and raspy. “Fuck, you’re nothing but a desperate whore after midnight. Sittin’ here, thinking about all the things you want me to do to you when I get home…”
You seem to have lost your words, rendered speechless as you buck your hips to try and get him where you want him.
“What d’ya want, baby? Tell me.”
“Fingers,” you choke. “Please.”
He whips your panties down your legs before you can even process it, kicking your ankles apart to give him better access. His fingers are dragging through your core in an instant, gathering your slick and sliding right in without any protest.
Jax curls his digits and buckles your knees as he does it, while you grip onto the countertop for dear life.
“Right there? Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Filthy girl. Filthy fuckin’ girl.”
All you can do is whine, panting for breath as he slides his fingers in and out, his pace utterly relentless.
“Oh, baby. Can you feel it dripping down your legs? Can you feel it soakin’ my hand? My favourite little whore. Just can’t think straight when I’m touchin’ you, can ya?”
He’s rasping the words right into your ear, his breath tickling your neck and giving you instant goosebumps.
“Jax.”
“Atta girl. Say my name, darlin’. Let everyone know who you belong to.”
You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s curling his fingers, or the honeyed words he’s rasping down your ear, or the fact that he’s claiming you as his so brazenly that it makes you dizzy, but it slips off your tongue before you can even think about stopping it.
“Daddy.”
His movements halt completely, both of you frozen in place. You figure if you don’t move a muscle or make a sound, he’ll carry on like nothing occurred in the first place.
That doesn’t happen.
Instead, Jax pulls you flush to his body, plastering you to his chest. One hand is still in between your legs, the other one tightening its grip around your throat. He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, body vibrating with animalistic need.
“Oh honey… what was that?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, smart girl.”
You shrug, which is the wrong move entirely.
“Nuh uh, you ain’t getting away that easy. Repeat yourself, baby. Tell me what you said.”
You’re still hesitating, reluctant to potentially embarrass yourself. Jax dips his head so his mouth his resting against your ear, teeth nipping at that spot on your neck he knows makes you weak.
“Spit. It. Out.”
“Daddy,” you breathe, somewhat relieved to not have to bottle it up anymore. “Fuck, daddy.”
“That’s my girl,” he purrs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “That’s my fucking girl.”
His hand that was around your neck twists itself into your hair as his other hand pushes you firmly between your shoulder blades, bending you over the kitchen counter. He kicks your ankles apart, folding himself right over you.
“Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, pretty girl. Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember anyone’s name but mine.”
Both of you groan when he slides inside with no resistance. You grip the edge of the countertop for stability, knowing you’ll fly over it if you don’t hold on.
“Fuck, you feel like heaven. A filthy fucking angel.”
“Jax,” you choke. “You feel so good.”
He presses a gentle kiss to your head before setting a brutal pace with his hips, his pelvis slamming into your ass with every thrust. It takes everything in you to stay upright, knees buckling every time he pulls back and re enters.
“All mine,” he growls as he tugs your hair so your back arches. “Who do you belong to, hmm?”
“You,” you manage to squeak out. “You.”
“Hmm? Who?”
“You, Jax.”
“Say that again?”
“You, daddy. Fuck.”
“There it is. Perfect girl.”
He’s changed his angle ever so slightly to tilt his hips upwards, meaning he’s hitting exactly the right spot every time he slams into you. You’re dizzy with it, overwhelmed in the best way, gasping for air as your climax gets closer and closer.
“You wanna come? Yeah?”
All you can do is nod your head frantically, desperate for the release that’s been building up all day.
“Ask for it. Beg me like the whore you are.”
“Please,” you instantly start babbling. “Please, Jax. Want it, please.”
“So polite,” he laughs, tone dripping with condescension. “That’s not what I want to hear though, and you know it.”
You take a deep breath, willing yourself to think straight for one minute.
“Please let me come, daddy.”
That’s all he needs. He pulls his hand from your hair and slides it down your front, rubbing quick and firm circles on your clit to throw you over the edge. It does the trick instantly, your legs turning to jelly as your head tilts back and your back arches. Your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, uncontrollable and all consuming in the best way.
You’re squeezing him so tight that Jax can’t hold on any longer, coming inside you with a deep groan that rumbles through both of your bones.
All that can be heard is two sets of lungs heaving for air, both of you half collapsed on the cool wood of the countertop. Jax wraps his arms around you, cushioning the impact as he hooks his foot around your ankle to take you both down to the ground. You melt against him on the kitchen floor, revelling in the warmth of his body against the cold bite of the tiles. Your boyfriend presses a kiss to your hair, fingertips tracing absent minded patterns across any skin he can reach.
You’re not sure if you’ve been laying there for five minutes or an hour when Jax speaks.
“So how long have you been sitting on that one, huh?”
“Shut up,” you whine, burying your face in his chest.
“Nuh uh, daddy wants an answer,” he teases, squeezing you as tightly as he can.
“I hate you,” you laugh, trying to squirm out of his grip to no avail.
Summary: With neither of you prepared for your hookup, Jax takes advantage and can’t resist finishing inside you, fucking you raw and giving in completely.
A/N: I don't have any way to defend myself here 🙈 this idea has been a fantasy of mine for a WHILE and I finally put it into words. A huge thanks to my bestie @puffins-muffins for all her help with this one 💗 Enjoy!
---
Jax was King.
The President patch stitched into the worn leather on his chest was just a mere physical indication of his rule, the way he walked into a room and owned everything in it a more subdued sign of his regency.
His kingdom was anything but righteous, full of lies, crime and dirty money, and within it you were a pawn, something for him to toy with when he got bored, but every time his piercing blue eyes landed on you you could've sworn you were his Queen.
You didn't mind being used, not by him, the way his ringed fingers felt on your skin and his lips left their mark on you made it anything but cheap, and you couldn't imagine ever denying him wanting you.
It was usually planned, meeting each other day or night at what usually felt like the snap of his fingers, but even if it was unexpected or last minute, you were always prepared.
Prepared, safe, and right now this was anything but.
He showed up unannounced, the roar of his bike vibrating the blood in your veins that instantly burned hot the moment you heard the familiar rumble, watching through your window as he stormed up to your door and busted right in as if it was his to do so.
Jax was feral, someone or something getting under his skin that was more than likely a result of club business that you had no business asking about, and now he was your problem.
“Fuck, darlin’, I need you,” he hissed against your neck, his teeth scraping over your thrumming pulse.
You cursed yourself for not having gone to the store when you intended to, knowing you and him had used the last condom you had only two days ago, and you swallowed hard as you readied yourself to break the news to him.
“I um, fuck– I don’t have anything,” you breathed, angling your head slightly to see his face.
The disappointment and hint of annoyance couldn’t be disguised on his features, a huff blowing out of his pink lips that were glistening from yours.
“Do you?” you hoped, your fingers gently sliding down the soft leather that covered his heaving chest.
The lift of his eyebrows creased his forehead as he gave you a look that said ‘you’re kidding’ more than speaking the words could, and when he smirked and shook his head slightly, you ached even more for him.
“Sorry,” you whispered, hating that you were letting him down and denying him the one thing he clearly needed.
You could feel his energy coiled up so tightly, practically buzzing through the layers of clothes he wore beneath his kutte, his body heat radiating onto your palms, and his eyes flashed with a hunger and primal need that ran deeper than just letting off some steam.
“Hey, don't worry about it,” he assured, his tone lighter than you expected. “We can just hang out.”
His eyes flickered down to your lips, his thumb reaching up to press against your lower one before leaning in for more, his moan pouring into your mouth that made your knees go weak.
You should've known it was bullshit the second he said it, because the next thing you knew you were naked, sprawled out on your bed where he hovered over you still fully clothed, his fingers hooked inside you where he worked you with expertise.
“Remember my rule, sweetheart,” he drawled, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed hard, your effect on him undisguisable.
When you didn't answer, Jax retreated from you, standing upright where he peered down at you with a cockiness that you loved seeing, and peeled his kutte off his large frame.
You whined, the loss of him touching you turning you pathetic, and he reveled in it.
“What's my rule?” he demanded, his words holding more bite.
“Not to come until you let me,” you breathed, smiling as you warmed at the thought.
“Good girl.”
You watched as he continued to undress, his simple nod at you giving you the go ahead to touch yourself while he did, your promise to listen to his instructions about to be ignored when the sight of his cock bouncing out of his pristinely white boxers had you wrecked already.
Wearing nothing but his rings and the branded black ink that made him who he was as much as blood and breath did, he crawled over you, his eyes holding a softness you mistook as a promise.
“I just wanna feel you against me,” he whispered, his hand smoothing over your head before capturing your lips.
The truth in that remark was severely understated, the desperation both of you showed in being as close as possible to each other without fucking unlike ever before, and you knew part of the thrill of it all was in holding back.
You’d rarely seen him like this, obsessive and indulgent, completely undone as he laid on top of you, his hair hanging in his face as he made what seemed like every part of you from your lips to your chest raw from his beard.
His cock rested against you, tempting to push through, the threat of him being bare inside your cunt an allurement like no other.
You moved your hips, taunting and teasing, making his cock glide through your wetness so much that he almost slipped inside.
He growled something that resembled a curse against the hollow of your neck, pulling himself back just enough to look down at you, his eyes reflecting the torment that plagued him.
“You’re making this fuckin’ impossible, darlin’,” he warned, flopping himself down on the mattress with a huff.
You smiled, amused by his misery brought on by you, and moved to straddle him, your hands planted on his thick chest.
You had never felt more powerful, watching as you dissolved him down to a groping, deprived mess, the satisfaction in denying him what he wanted from you giving you radiance.
Your King, brought down by the sins of your body, bent around your will so effortlessly he turned into nothing but a man under your touch. But lingering just beneath the surface you knew better than to trust this confidence.
“Is it really that bad?” you asked playfully, grinding yourself on his throbbing length until he hissed and dug his head down into the pillow.
“Fuck…” he moaned, grabbing your hips so hard there would be bruises and bucking up against you. “You’re killin’ me.”
You leaned forward, your hands cupping his cheeks as you kissed him, rolling your tongue with his as you rode on his shaft.
His hands moved to your ass, gripping your flesh and spreading your cheeks apart as you continued to use him, the feel of him rubbing through you but not pushing inside almost as good as if he was.
With a slight shift of his hips, his leaking head pressed into you, making you gasp and jolt away like you were burned, his amusement clear on his face.
He bit his bottom lip, looking at you with warning before he spoke.
“You better be careful or you’re gonna get fucked.”
His threat made you shiver, heat crawling down your spine where it coiled deep in your core, and unable to think of a way to respond, you kissed him again, hard and needy while you continued to tease yourself on him.
The thought of him filling you with nothing but himself had you aching more than ever, nothing separating you from him, the intimacy in that danger turning it into something you suddenly wanted more than anything in the world.
You’d let him have it all if he wanted, feeling like you were dangling yourself right in front of him like a sacrifice, but Jax seemed to be loving the game just as much.
He moved his hips at the same time you rolled yours back, his hands locking on you to force you still the second his tip breached your entrance, the cruelness in his laugh reverberating through you as he kept your mouths pressed together.
You fought to lift yourself off, your cunt aching and dripping from that small stretch, wanting to fully sink down onto him and never remove yourself.
Your hands clawed at the side of his face, moaning into him as you deepened your kiss, still rocking along him where every so often he would slip inside, his body instinctively finding where it belonged in yours.
“Jax…” you whined, completely stupid from lust and desperation, your inhibitions shattering the longer this went on.
Again, and only the tip, Jax pressed inside your hole, a low groan coming out of him while a smug smile played on his lips.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said like a joke, letting you pull off of him before he drove in, further this time.
You closed your eyes and sat upright, lifting off of him again, grinding on the golden smattering of pubes that trailed from his navel to where he had been made sticky from you, pretending like you were trying to rescue that last bit of resolve even though you both knew it was futile.
There was no use in denying yourselves any longer, throwing caution out the window as you finally let yourself sit fully on it, his size always a shock, but the feel of him raw inside you was what had you gasping.
Your nails dug into his chest, the half-moon indents carved into his porcelain skin to be seen for days, and you hoped the memory of being buried bare inside you would stay imprinted in his mind for longer.
Jax immediately started thrusting up into you, his pleasured sounds unashamed as he grunted and moaned loudly, his praise something you would wear as proudly as a crown.
“Jesus Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he huffed, propping himself up off the bed enough to watch you move up and down on his naked cock, already knowing from the second he had you like this that he was fucked.
You basked in his worship, his gaze and his words enhancing the feeling of every detail of him being imprinted in you, his veins throbbing against your walls, his velvety skin encased in your warmth.
“Lay down,” he ordered, despite already making quick work of doing it for you, and the second you were splayed out in the sheets, he grabbed your body and flipped you onto your stomach.
Immediately sensing your loss of control in the situation, you turned your face and spoke, your words sounding more panicked than you wanted.
“Make sure you pull out, Jax.”
A wicked smile tugged at his lips, his head giving a cockier than usual nod as he shuffled in behind you on his knees, getting close enough that his cock was wedged between your cheeks.
“Don't worry, darlin’. I will,” he spoke after a huff of a laugh blew past his lips, the malice in his voice dripping off his tongue.
His hand that held the two rings that spelled out SONS spread your ass apart as he lined up, driving his cock in slowly, watching your body accept every inch of his girth and length.
Gritting his teeth together tightly, he bottomed out, loving the way your face screwed up almost in pain and your hands clawed at the bedding, your body shifting away from him as if you could escape.
He let out a cruel laugh, pulling your hips back down on him, his hands staying there to keep you on his dick.
Jax’s pace was deliberate and harsh, thrusting into you like a man possessed, everything that was pent up finally being released as he fucked you with everything he had.
He loved watching you take him on any other occasion, but seeing his unsheathed cock pumping in and out of you brought on a level of insanity he couldn’t compare to anything else. The sight of your cream coating him made his mouth water, and he knew for sure this was the best thing he’d ever laid eyes on, watching your pussy stretch to fit him while your other hole gleamed with your arousal.
Jax licked his thumb and brought it down to press against your ass, rimming it in tantalizing circles as he continued to fuck you ruthlessly, a satisfied laugh ringing out as you whined to this additional pleasure.
“Fuck, Jax,” you cried, squirming more in the sheets. “I’m getting close.”
He relished in knowing what he was doing to you, his head tipping back so his blushed face titled toward the ceiling, his hips continuing to pound against you as his thumb pressed in further.
“Fuck, baby,” he chuckled, “this pussy is the best thing I’ve ever felt.”
You heard the truth in his words, his praise making you soar and reminding you once again of your reign over him, the King, your rightful place at the throne beside him despite being at his total mercy.
You were teetering the line, feeling closer to the edge than ever and you knew if he kept up what he was doing or your thoughts worked to aid your body in getting what it needed, you would be done.
The absence of the smell of latex was making the intoxicating scent of sex more heightened to the point your mouth watered, and remembering once again that he was fucking you raw, you came hard, clenching like a vice around his dick that continued to slam into you fast and brutally.
Your spit stained the sheets, feeling it smear from your open mouth as you struggled for air, your orgasm extended as long as possible by him not letting up even for a second.
Everything was soaked under you, the sound of his hips slapping against you wetter and more obscene than before, his grunting making a shiver crawl down your spine.
“This cunt is mine,” he barked, the words greedy and vicious through his bared teeth.
His hand pushed down between your shoulder blades, pressing you into the bed more, your face smushed into your mess as his other collected both of your wrists and planted them at the small of your back, his rough grip making you wince.
There was no escaping his barrage now even if you wanted to, lifting your hips up as much as you could to give him more which allowed him to fuck you deeper, and he happily took the opportunity.
You knew he wouldn’t be far off from his climax, the thought of him waiting to the last second to pull out and wondering where he was going to aim his load making you shudder, and when he removed his hand from the center of your back and wrapped it around to your clit, you lost all control again.
You would've blacked out had you not wanted to feel every single second of it, crying out a broken scream ripped from you out of pure pleasure, the sound of Jax hammering into you to find his own release distant in your ears.
There was no way he was pulling out. Not with you like this, completely powerless to him and what he could give you. Part of him knew it was wrong but he didn’t fucking care, the grasp that greed had on him too strong to fight anymore.
He looked at you through blurred vision, hazy in his ecstasy, adoring how soft and accepting your body looked even as he treated you so disrespectfully, his heart aching in his chest as all of him succumbed to what it sought.
A slew of broken curses and guttural sounds spilled from his mouth, his hair hanging in his face as sweat dripped off his nose and landed on your back, his cock pulsing as he shot his big load deep inside your cunt.
Jax stayed there as long as he could as you both came down, loving the feel of being buried inside your full pussy, a smirk tugging at his lips as he waited for you to notice.
You whined as you shifted slightly, feeling the unmistakable warmth and thickness leaking out of you, realizing in a mix of fear and something else you couldn't place what he had done.
“Jesus, Jax,” you blurted, but even you were unsure whether you were upset or satisfied, your stomach doing a flip out of both anxiety and excitement.
Pulling out of you, he watched with pride as his milky white cum spilled out of your perfect pussy, your hole stretched and lips swollen from his cock and everything he had done to you.
The distinct smell of his cum hit you as you inhaled deeply, and you closed your eyes and took a second to savour the moment, basking in his act of possession, his selfishness quietly excused.
You rolled over, glaring at him with as much conviction as you could manage, though the way he was looking at you forced you to bite your lip to stop from smiling, and it took everything in you to disguise how much you really loved this.
“Well, what did I say?” he quipped, his expression as smug as his words, his head tilting to the side with amusement.
You sighed, about to retort when you were cut off, your witty words stolen as Jax’s two fingers swiped up his wasted load and pushed it back inside you.
You moaned and grabbed at the sheets beside you, closing your eyes as you relished in the feel of him fingering his seed in deeper, his blatant want for it to stay in you leaving no doubt of his claim over you.
“Good girl,” he drawled roughly, his cock already hard again from how accepting you were of this, the need he felt to keep you full of his cum at all times almost unbearable.
He positioned himself between your spread legs, forcing his cock back in your pussy with a hard push, watching a deranged smile dress your gorgeous lips.
“You’re dreamin’ if you think this is the last time I’m filling you up.”
Mrs Mill has walked over to your house from across the street, apparently there is a gas leek happening?
"Two blond guys came up and asked me to leave in order for them to figure out what's leaking," she explains to you. You were in the middle of preparing your food when she ran the bell.
"Really? I didn't know anything about it?" you say, as you look over to her house. The door is slightly open and a Blond guy is standing there. Slowly the neighbors started to show interest in the situation.
Just when you're about to ask her to come in, she interrupts you. "Can you go over and maybe ask what's taking them so long?" Just like that you give her a nod and start to walk over her house.
Sure, this is a safe neighborhood and all but lately all your friends and neighbors have been extremely careful. You never know what's gonna happen and taking advantage of the elderly is extremely easy.
While you head towards the house- you forgot to ask Mrs. Mill if she asked the construction guys for some evidence. She didn't just let them in without making sure there was hard proof right?
Before you can ask the blond guy about it, someone else steps in. While you're walking up the front yard, suddenly everything goes in slow motion.
A handsome man in standing there and talking harshly to the blond guy. Dark hair, no tan and he's wearing a lavender blue ish shirt. He's not the only one wearing that but the uniform makes him more attractive than the other guy. That literally is color, you think.
"Sorry ma'am but it will take a couple minutes for us to confirm the leek and we'll be out of here," hearing the handsome stranger say that makes you want to pound. You didn't even ask him about his name and he's already threatening to leave?
"Oh no worries, you see that old lady? She's my neighbor and she was wandering what's really going on?" you give him your doe eyes while looking up at him. He sure is huge up front.
"Our team got informed about this area being under the suspicion of a gas leek and we're here to help, miss?," his voice is calm.
You give him your name and he shakes your hand in return. He doesn't squeeze your hands tightly even though from the look of it, he totally could. There is something so calm about him, which makes you almost forget why you came here in the first place.
"I'm Andrew by the way," oh sweet god, now you know his name.
"Andrew? You know you kind of look like and an Andrew," you babble that out loud. You look up at him in shock because you didn't meant so say that out loud.
He gives you a soft smile and tilts his head, "what's that supposed to mean?" If you didn't come across as an idiot, now you definitely looked like one, because how the fuck says that to a guy after meting them a minute ago?
You gulp at his amusement over your stupidness, which makes you want to bury yourself alive. "I just- sometimes- you know how people give dog human names? And after hearing them it makes so much sense because for some reason it fits so well?
"So am I being compared to a dog in this scenario?" Oh god, you need to kill your self immediately because technically your explanation makes sense but saying it out loud sounds much worse.
"Uhhh I no no- definitely not! NO, of course not. I umm just-" he gives you a small laugh. Oh he's fucking with you and you're falling for it.
"I´m kidding, I know what you ment and thank you, I guess?" now you're the one giving him a sly smile.
"Do you have any questions or something I can help you with?" Why would you have any questions for him. It takes a moment for you to understand what he meant.
"I´m uhhh- um no, I don't think so, I guess I better head out huh?" your brain officially has turned into mush. Andrew gives you a tilted smile, you probably sound so dumb. Mrs. Mills asks you to help her out and get some information and because of a guy- who happens to be the most beautiful men in the world- looks at you and your brain shuts off. Great, just great.
"Hey, uh what are you doing later?" you turn around when you hear his voice again. There you are two seconds away from running back home and drowning yourself with wine in order to forget all about it but someone up there must have noticed your lack of having a love life.
"Nothing uhh not really much going on, why? I mean what are you doing later?" Smooth, real smooth, ughh you probably sound so desperate. Sure, you would jump his bones right now but what would that look?
"I was thinking, you and I could do something. Only if you want to," Andrew asks.
"Yeah sure. That's great and I would love to," There is a chance where he didn't even notice your awareness all or that's what you hope for.
"How about I come later to yours and I make you dinner," you're purely shock at his offer. Not only did you think you were ever going to see that man again but he offered to cook for you.
"sure, yeah- I´d like that very much Andrew," you give him a shy smile.
"Okey so I'll see you at 7?" you give him a small nod before heading back to your house. To your surprise Mrs. Mill is still standing in front of your door. For a second you totally forgot about her.
"What did he say?" she asks impatiently, were you gone that long?
"That he's coming over at 7 to cook me dinner," you give her the exciting news.
"What?" your left with a confusing look. Shit, that's not what she asked for now is it?
"Oh um he said that's important and something huge-maybe is going on and they are looking over it," you don't even know if what you said even made any sense.
"Okey, you sure?" she sounds hesitant. Fuck, she asked you to go over there and do something important and then you turn up with little to no information.
"Yeah don't worry, they're professionals and it's gonna be all right," you try to convince her. Andrew wouldn't lie to you, he just asked you out for gods sake.
Mis. Mill gives you a nod before heading towards the neighbors, who have reformed an army around her house. She'll tell them the same thing you told her and all will be well. Now you just have to tidy everything up and get ready. You smile at the thought him, while you make your way to get ready.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader (but this time, he's a serial killer and you're his stalker, whoops!)
Summary: You have been a pain in the ass since the moment you stepped foot into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for your residency but not for the reasons people might think. Everyone thinks you just annoy the shit of Dr. Jack Abbot, and you do. Because you know his big secret.
He kills people in his off time. And you stalk him on yours, which is how you found out.
So, how is he going to get you to keep quiet? By making you his.
Word Count: 12.1k
A/N: Oh no! I'm in love with a man who kills bad people for fun!
This fic is really just an excuse to write the copious amount of daddy kink I've been craving (also Jack calls you “baby girl” and you love it! because I do, sorry!), with a nice sprinkling of a little murder.
As always, you can check out all the warnings on my AO3. I would maybe classify this as a dark fic given the serial killer aspect but it's actually pretty sweet and mushy all things considered! With lots and lots of porn (who saw that one coming? ha!).
Hope it's a fun read ♡
Your therapist says it's healthy to have hobbies, to spend your free time doing something that sparks joy. You tell her you've been enjoying your new interest in photography very much.
Because you've been taking a lot of fantastic photos of your attending, Dr. Jack Abbot.
Your favorite photos so far are the ones from when he's on duty for SWAT. He looks the best in that uniform. You're kind of sick of seeing him in scrubs all the time at the hospital.
Though, he looks great in scrubs. Even better when he's chopping up bodies while wearing them.
Jack doesn't wear a mask when he's in his workshop. He likes the taste of blood, the way it feels when it splatters on his face.
Especially when his victim is still alive, still screaming.
“Shhhh.” He cuts another line straight down the abdomen, a beautifully even line that's perfectly parallel with his last one on this scumbag's chest using his trusty scalpel. “I'm not done yet. You've got at least four more to go. Though, maybe I should count the attempted rapes too. I know you have a few of those on record.”
You watch from the vent of the warehouse Jack owns. You found it after you hacked into the property records database to see where he lived. He was smart enough not to put it under his name. But you're smart enough to know Joel Barish is a character in one of his favorite movies. And “Joel” owns this warehouse.
It took you a while to find the right vantage point. He has cameras installed all over the place. You didn't have much time after you killed the power a few weeks ago to look around and see where you could hide when you came here. You luckily found this cozy little vent that you can crawl into from the outside. He never uses the HVAC system, thankfully.
He wouldn't be able to. You cut all the wires for it the moment you figured out how perfect it would be for your purposes. You store your equipment all over the vent system.
Jack has been overly cautious since that power outage. It was only for a few minutes before the back up generator kicked on but…when he did tests, every time the power got cut, the generator would always go on two minutes after.
It took seven that time. When it only took two every time he tested after that day.
He doesn't know if he's being paranoid or not.
He definitely isn't, but you're very good at being as quiet as a mouse.
Well, unless you're at work. Then, you're as loud as you can be. Just because you know it'll earn you an annoyed glare from your attending.
A glare that you wish you could capture on camera…but he only ever glares at you!
You sigh, grabbing your stuff from your work locker, reminiscing about all the death glares Jack gave you all throughout your shift. You will be getting that on film one of these days.
You close your work locker and let out a shriek when Jack is right next to you. “Dr. Abbot! You scared me…”
“I need to talk to you.” He has his backpack on. He's ready to leave.
“About what?” You tilt your head in confusion. “Did something happen with one of my patients?”
He lowers his voice, his lips almost grazing your ear as he whispers close, “just get in my truck.”
You try to contain your excitement, doing your best to hide the thrill that rushes through you at his proximity.
You should leave. There's no reason for you to listen to him. No one would bat an eyelash at you brushing him off and walking away from him.
Everyone knows he hates you and you love bothering him.
Which is why you don't hide the smile on your face as you whisper back, “did you find my gift?”
His jaw cracks, that glorious anger coloring his face.
You play with him a little more by loudly exclaiming, “oh thank you so much, Dr. Abbot! I really needed a ride home this morning. I knew you had a soft spot for me.”
You flash him a bigger grin, since you said that loud enough that everyone knows you and him will be leaving together. Meaning it won't look good if you don't show up for work later. He'll have been the last one to see you alive, after all.
“Of course.” Jack pretends to be nice. Then, he places his hand on your back and proceeds to shove you forward. “Come on, let's go.”
You hold back how giddy you are when you buckle into the passenger seat of his truck. Jack adjusts his rearview mirror, then turns to you, his eyes maintaining that glare of his.
“How long have you known?” He asks, starting his truck, the engine roaring to life.
“Known what, Dr. Abbot?” You feign ignorance.
“Oh quit it with that fake bullshit.” His words make you giggle.
“I have no clue what you're talking about.” You pout at him. “Am I in trouble?”
“It sounds like you want to be.” Jack doesn't understand why you keep testing his patience.
You do this with everything. You always question his decisions on the floor. You always talk back to him. You always second guess him. You always answer all his educational questions perfectly, even when he's trying to catch you off guard.
He wants to wipe that bratty look off your face. The face you make when he knows you're purposefully being a pain in the ass.
“Dr. Abbot, where are we going?” You ask him, pretending to be very confused. “I haven't told you my address yet. How do you know where I live?”
He scoffs at your acting. “You know where we're going and it definitely isn't your place.”
“You aren't going to murder me, are you?” You smile a little too wide. “I thought you only killed recently released rapists or violent abusers. I certainly don't match either of those descriptions.”
“There's a first time for everything.” He says through gritted teeth. “Maybe you'll be the first annoying little brat I kill.”
“What did I do?” You bat your eyelashes at him and he just lets out an annoyed grumble in response.
Jack doesn't speak to you for the rest of the drive. He always parks in the forested area a mile away from the warehouse, since he can pretend he's going on one of the nearby hikes if anyone ever sees his truck here.
It's a good workout for him to carry the limp body of whatever victim he has to his workshop.
Keeps him physically fit.
Which is why he is able to sling you over his shoulder and carry you as he treks towards the warehouse.
“I can walk myself, you know.” You don't mind the carry but it would be easier on him not to do this.
“Shut up.” Jack isn't in the mood to talk to you. Not until he is in the safe space of his soundproof workshop.
A safe space you have tainted.
Once he gets inside, Jack tosses you onto the stainless steel table he usually performs his torture sessions on. You have dreamed of laying right here, with him hovering above you. You try not to look too excited as he cuffs your wrists and ankles.
“You shouldn't be happy about this.” He doesn't get you.
How are you not freaked out? How are you so calm? He literally has you cuffed to the same table where he has killed people before.
And you're ecstatic to be here.
“I wish you could take a photo…” You let out a sad sigh. “But I know you don't bring your phone.”
He had you leave all your stuff behind too.
“Why did you take this?” Jack shows you the photo you dropped into his warehouse a few days ago on a whim. To spice up your life a little, and his.
It's a photo of him, sleeping in his bed.
“Because you look so peaceful when you're asleep.” That is the truth.
You like snapping photos of him while he's asleep. He never keeps his indoor cameras on while he's home. At least not the ones in his bedroom.
“Why have you been taking photos of me?” He shows you another photo, this one a bit more scandalous. He's covered in blood after a kill, doing that deadly smirk you like so much.
You didn't drop that one.
Oh no, did he find your—
Jack grabs your chin, making you look at him, “hey, I'm talking to you. Pay attention.”
“Please tell me you didn't destroy my cameras.” You have so much undeveloped film! “Those cost my whole check…”
“I haven't destroyed anything. But I will if you don't answer me.”
You breathe out a sigh of relief. You really did not want to lose all those photos. There's tons of gorgeous shots of him in his SWAT uniform during a particularly grueling raid last week that you haven't developed yet.
You love the look he has on his face when he's focused. You love his face, honestly.
That's why you answer so easily, “I think you're handsome.”
“What?” Jack was not expecting that.
He assumed you were planning to use this as blackmail of some kind for a letter of recommendation. You wouldn't need his, though. Any attending would write you one.
Despite how much of a hindrance you can be, Jack can tell you will become a great doctor. You're incredibly determined. You'll go on to do amazing things.
Which is why he doesn't understand you at all…like when you tell him, “I like you.”
The wires cross in his brain. He isn't sure he heard you right.
It gets particularly confusing when you add, “especially when you're mad. You look really hot when you're mad.”
“Are you fucking with me?” He's old enough to be your father.
There's no way you actually find him attractive.
But you do. “I stalked you for a reason. You don't think I'd stalk just anyone, right?”
“How the fuck should I know? I don't know anything about you.” Other than the fact that you like him apparently…
“I know a lot about you.” You list off a bunch of things and you chuckle at his shocked expression.
You know everything there is to know about Dr. Jack Abbot. He's the object of all your desires, after all. And when you latch onto someone, you don't let go easy.
“Why…me?” Jack doesn't see what is so attractive about him, especially given how much you know about his favorite pastime.
You find it cute that he can't see how drawn you are to him. To the intense drive he has towards any goal he sets his mind to. To the kindness he displays at work to those experiencing the toughest of times. To the murderous, sadistic high he gets from killing bad people.
It's easy to like him. “We're a lot alike.”
“We are not alike.” He rolls his eyes at you. The two of you are polar opposites, that much he is certain.
“Maybe I should phrase that better. We like a lot of the same things.” You say with a smile.
“I like killing people.” He is outright about that. He knows you know, so he's not going to sugarcoat it. “I like cutting them open, pulling out their organs one by one, before piecing them back together like a puzzle.”
“Yeah, I know. I've watched you do it.” You were going to buy a video camera next!
“You know. You've watched. And you still like me?” This must be some kind of ruse.
There's no way you actually like him when he is seriously fucked up…
“Is that bad?” You tug at your cuffs. “Should I start thrashing around, crying and screaming “oh please Dr. Abbot, don't kill me!”?”
Jack hates how his body reacts to that.
He hates it.
He hates it so much…because he hasn't felt that feeling in a long time.
The subtle twitch of his cock, the blood rushing there. He thought he wasn't capable anymore, something that just happened with age.
But he's realizing now it's because he hadn't encountered anyone who sparked the feeling in him.
But you have. Somehow.
With the way you're acting out right now.
You blink away fake tears, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, pretending to be scared, “please, I-I'll be a good girl, just don't hurt me, Dr. Abbot.”
“Stop that.” His hands grip the metal table hard enough that he can see his knuckles shine through. “Be fucking quiet.”
“I'm s-so sorry, p-please don't get angry with m-me.” You throw in a little hiccup, to really sell it.
What are you doing to him?
Why is he reacting to this, to you of all things?
His cock is throbbing in his scrubs. He hasn't gotten this hard in years.
“I'm going to kill you for this.” He doesn't know if he's being serious or just playing into the role you're setting up for him.
But it doesn't look like you care if you live or die. You just love that you get to spend time with him like this.
You'd do anything to spend quality time with Jack, including act out his darkest fantasies.
“No, no, no!” You shake your head, tugging at your restraints, the metal clinking in that harmonious way Jack loves so much. “Please don't kill me. I'll do anything you want. Anything.”
“Anything?” He licks his lips, giving you the same look he has on his face when he's about to go in for the kill.
It gives you such a rush seeing him look at you like that.
You nod furiously. “Anything you want, Dr. Abbot. I'm all yours.”
Jack has no idea why you saying that is enough for him to want you. Specifically beneath him, wriggling around, tears streaming down your face as he pounds his hard cock into you over and over again, your voice raspy from the moans he forces out of you.
He wants you to be all his. He wants to own you.
So, that's what he'll do.
“You're coming home with me.” He tells you, grabbing a hold of your face again. “You're never leaving my sight again.”
“Okay.” You don't want to look too eager but this is more than you hoped for. “I promise I won't be any trouble.”
“That's a lie.” He lets out with a low chuckle, smirking at you so beautifully that you wish you had your camera right now.
You smirk back at him. “See? You do know me.”
Jack unlocks your cuffs, letting you sit up. You rub your wrists and he grabs one of them, examining it. You have a few micro-cuts chafing your wrists from the sharp metal. He goes to grab some disinfectant and cleans your little wounds.
“You don't have to do that.” You tell him. “It doesn't hurt.”
“You're my property now. I take care of my property.” He checks your ankles, cleaning them too.
“Should I call you Master then?” You ask him, maintaining your happy grin at this development.
Jack seriously can't stand you. You and your fucking boundary pushing. Always testing his limits, always teetering him on the verge of insanity.
Well, if you insist on calling him anything…he might as well tailor it to his liking. He might as well mold you into the object of all his desires too.
“No, not Master.” He gets up from his kneel, then grabs you by the chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he instructs, “at home, you call me Daddy. Got it?”
“So, I'm just Daddy's property?” You want to make sure you're getting your role right, kissing his thumb. He bites back a groan when you let him push it past your soft lips, your tongue swirling around the tip of his thumb before sucking on it lightly, making him wish it was his cock instead.
“You're going to be Daddy's good little girl.” Jack can't believe how much he wants to fuck you right now. He has to pull his hand away from you or he might just give in.
He hasn't felt this kind of arousal in ages. But here you are, sparking such need inside of him.
“Can I still be a brat at work?” You ask with a cute pout. “Please, Daddy?”
He clicks his tongue, annoyed. But he probably shouldn't have you act any differently at work. People definitely don't need to know about any of this.
“Fine.” He agrees. “But only at work. You listen to me everywhere else. Including here.”
You beam at him then. “Are you saying I get to come here with you and help?”
“I could teach you a lot of medicine here.”
You'll get tons of hands-on experience you wouldn't be able to at the hospital. Since here, you don't have to worry about accidentally killing them. They're going to die anyway.
Jack can show you all sorts of procedures that you would otherwise never get to do. And he finds himself feeling a bit strange, because excitement blooms in his chest. He's excited to teach you, his eager student.
“I'd like that a lot.” You allow yourself to look very giddy now. “Thank you so much for the opportunity.”
“No more photos, though.” Jack will keep all your equipment here, for insurance. “And no stalking other people.”
“That's easy. I've only ever stalked you anyway.” But now you won't have to if you'll be living with him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jack is giving you an out. He'll turn a blind eye if you want to leave now.
But the moment you stay, you aren't leaving him until you die. He'll kill you himself.
“Yes, Daddy.” You hop off the table, walking up to him, arms open wide. “I want to be here with you. Can I have a hug?”
Jack hasn't really hugged anyone in a while. Not like this.
But there you are, standing in front of him, looking all precious, waiting to be held.
He can't possibly reject so he wraps his arms around you, cradling you in his grip, resting his head on top of yours. You squeeze him, rubbing your face happily against his warm chest.
You've always wanted to hug him, among other things. But you knew he'd be a good hugger. You were always jealous of the patients who got to hug him. Especially now that you've experienced how lovely it is to be held by him.
Jack doesn't like how fast his heart is beating right now. Or how much he wants this not to end.
So he has to guarantee it won't ever end. “You're not allowed to leave me, ever.”
“I won't.” You cross your heart. “I promise. You can put a little tracker on me if you want.”
If you were pressed up any closer to him, you would've felt Jack's cock twitch. He really likes that idea. He'll have to figure out how he wants to do that.
Should he embed it into your body? Where?
Maybe in your hip? Or your soft thighs?
His eyes trail down your body, desire flooding his senses.
“You should've taken the out.” He shakes his head at you. “You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.”
“If you want to touch me, you can touch me.” You invite him to do so, gesturing to your body. “We can fuck right here if you want.”
“No.” He won't do that. No body fluids traceable back to him here. He is very careful when it comes to his workshop.
“Will we?” You ask him. You want something else to look forward to besides living with him.
“Yes, once I get some protection.” He should probably buy condoms. A lot of condoms.
“You don't have to.” You point to your arm, pressing into your skin, showing him your implant. “I'm protected and clean. You can check my chart. Oh! I can also take it out.”
“You'd…take it out?” He's unsure if he's understanding you correctly.
“If you want me to.” You take a hold of his hand, laying it on your lower belly. “You own me, which includes right here.”
That does it. That's the straw that breaks him. He needs you desperately.
Jack hauls you over his shoulder immediately. You giggle as he walks very quickly back to his truck. He's ready to get home. He wants to fuck you right away.
He might just do it in the bed of his truck. At least once. Just to get it out of his system.
Fuck it, he will.
Jack drops you back there and you smile when his lips come crashing down onto yours. He hasn't kissed anyone since his wife passed. That was more than two decades ago. Around the same time he started killing people.
Isn't that also how old you are?
He's been killing people your whole lifespan. And you don't care at all.
You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your hands in his soft hair. He grinds his hips against yours and his cock hardens even more when you moan against his lips.
“I'm not going to last very long.” He warns.
It's definitely going to take him a while to get back into the rhythm of having sex so he wants to be realistic with you.
You don't mind at all. You're happy to accommodate him as best you can.
“Then, do you want me to put you in my mouth and you can fuck me when we're home?” You offer but he shakes his head.
“I need to be inside my baby girl's pussy.” He's not going to cum anywhere else.
“I'm ready for you whenever.” You don't mind if he just plows into you. It might hurt but you're his to use as he pleases.
“No, you're not.” Jack isn't going to fuck you until he has had a taste.
He tugs your pants off, laying them down beneath you so your bare ass isn't on the cold metal of the car. You spread your legs for him, making him groan. He can't stand how willing you are. You're too perfect.
His perfect baby girl.
You are not expecting him to just dive right now, keeping your thighs apart with his hands as his tongue drags up and down your folds, sending full body shivers through you. He likes how wet you are for him, how good you smell, how nice you taste.
If you're this delicious after a twelve hour shift, he knows he can eat you out whenever he wants. And he definitely wants to, a lot.
You're surprised at how quickly he learns what makes you feel good. He watches your reactions, figuring out exactly how to maneuver his tongue to get you grinding your hips against his face. But he doesn't let you cum.
He gets you close and then purposefully ignores your now swollen clit. You whine, wanting to finish but you can't.
“Please, Daddy.” You beg because you figure he wants you to. “I want to cum so badly.”
“Sorry, baby girl. You don't get to cum anywhere except on my cock.” He keeps edging you until tears are dripping from your eyes and you're wriggling in his hold, desperate for more friction.
“Please fuck me.” You want to cum. You need to cum. “Please, please, please.”
“I didn't realize my baby girl was so needy.” He flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue and you wish that was enough to send you over the edge but it isn't.
“I am.” You definitely are. “I need you.”
“Daddy's not ready yet.” That's a lie. Jack is harder than he has ever been. He could cum in his pants right now at how adorable you look all flustered and full of need.
But if he's going to finish quickly, then he needs to make sure you're going to cum like crazy the moment he puts his cock inside of you.
He waits until you're aching, dripping so much between your legs that there's no way he doesn't slip right in. It's only then that he finally pulls down his pants, letting you see his cock for the first time.
Relief floods your system, knowing he's going to fuck you and make you cum.
“Get on your hands and knees, baby girl.” He wants to look at your beautiful ass while he fucks you.
You listen without hesitation, needing him to take you already. He spreads your folds, lining his cock up, the tip of it pressing against your entrance.
Then, Jack rams the entire length of his cock inside of you in a singular thrust and stars flood your vision right away. You cum so hard that you're spasming around his cock, your pussy clenching tightly around him. He nearly cums right there but he holds it together for a bit longer so he can fuck you through your orgasm.
“Say my name as you cum.” He says, pounding into you from behind, reveling in the sound of you moaning his name over and over. “Good girl. That's Daddy's baby girl. Moan louder. Let everyone know who's fucking you.”
“Jack, I can't stop cumming—” It's like the moment he stopped edging you, your body couldn't hold it in anymore.
You start squirting when he cums inside of you, the feeling of his hot release triggering your own. You're gasping for air as your whole body shakes, wetness dripping down your legs. You don't know if it's his cum or yours but you feel spent either way.
Jack doesn't let you take a break, though. He pulls out of you then quickly replaces his cock with his fingers, teasing the spot the tip of his cock was ramming up against inside of you. He curls his fingers and you drench his hand in response, your orgasm uncontrollable.
“Oh god, Jack, please, I can't—” You're going to break if you cum that hard again.
“Who do you beg if you want it to stop?”
“Daddy, please, I can't cum anymore. It's too much, it's too—” You let out a cry when he starts moving his fingers side to side, pulling out another unbelievable orgasm that has you convulsing at his touch.
“One more time and then we'll go home.” He wants to see you make a mess of yourself once more and then he'll free you from his torment.
You cum so hard, squirting all over his hand, screaming his name. You collapse onto the bed of the truck once he pops his fingers out of you, your body unable to hold yourself up any longer.
Jack leaves and comes back with a pair of shorts, which he always keep in his backpack in case he needs a change of clothes, slipping them on you since you've ruined your pants. You let him lift you up into his arms and he helps buckle you into the passenger seat of his truck.
Then, you're both on your way to his place.
Though, you do convince him to stop by your place first, so you can gather some things to bring with you since you'll be moving in.
Jack lives in a rather modest house, despite his salary. He rarely spends money so he has plenty of it. He would rather save the money for his unconventional hobby of killing bad people. It isn't cheap to drive out to a prison the moment a known rapist finishes their time.
You have been in his house plenty of times but this is the first time you are a guest and not someone sneaking in.
He does ask you about it. “How did you get around my cameras?”
“I looped the feeds.” You know Jack doesn't watch his cameras often. He lives in a very safe neighborhood. The cameras are there mainly because of his time doing surveillance for the military. Better to have them than not.
“But that would require…”
“If I found out where you live and the warehouse you bought, do you really think I couldn't hack into your phone and your computer?” You chuckle at his astonishment. “You're lucky I want to be a doctor. I would've made a great hacker.”
“You hacked into my…” Jack understands now why you said you and him like the same things.
“We don't have to talk about the porn videos.” You smirk and he glares at you.
You know your interests align because while Jack rarely jerks off, he does, on occasion, like to watch porn in an attempt to. And all the porn he watches lines up very well with your kinks.
“No bratty behavior in my house.” He won't warn you again.
“I'm sorry, Daddy.” You walk up to him, giving him a hug. “I'll be good. Can we bathe together?”
“Would you like that?” He cups your face, loving the way you smile up at him as you nod. “Okay, baby girl. Go run the bath. You know where it is.”
You giggle at him saying that. Of course you know where it is. You know where everything is in this house!
You lean up to give him a quick peck on the lips before you skip away towards the bathroom. Jack lets out a little huff, his heart hammering in his chest from how cute you are.
It feels odd for him to feel so much. Usually he only feels something when he's at work or in his workshop killing someone. The adrenaline helps him feel more prominently.
But right now, he feels plenty even though he isn't rushing into danger, trying to save a life, trying to end a life, none of that.
He's happy just to be home with you.
Jack contemplates the warmth he feels while the two of you are bathing together. You made it a bubble bath, scooping up the bubbles in your hands and blowing, making them float in the air, laughing when they pop. Jack lays his chin against your shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you locked up against his chest. He hasn't been this close with anyone in a long time. Definitely not skin to skin.
“Everything okay?” You turn your head to look at him, seeing the sad expression on his face. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing, baby girl.” He gives you a kiss on the cheek. “Just tired.”
You know he's lying. You feel bad. You're enjoying yourself a lot. You wish he would too.
“Can we sleep together?” You ask because you've always wanted to. “I want to cuddle in bed with my Daddy.”
“Really?” That seems to perk him up.
So, he's feeling a little worried. You get it. He's been alone for a long time. Suddenly having someone want to be around him must feel unbelievable.
You have to help him believe in you. “I really like you, Jack. I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”
“Shouldn't you want someone your age? Someone who doesn't…murder people in his free time?” Jack sighs. He should let you go.
You're obviously a sweet girl. You're going to be a great doctor. Despite your attitude at work, he knows you're brilliant. Way too good for someone like him, who is weathered from too many bad things.
But you continue to surprise him.
“What's the fun in that?” You lean back into him, nuzzling the crook of his neck with your face. “Maybe I should be asking you if you want a bratty resident who stalks you to be bathing with you right now.”
“I do.” He admits, holding you a little closer. “Is that okay?”
“Of course.” You lean up to kiss him on the cheek then he leans down to kiss you on the lips, slowly deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth to play with yours.
You feel his cock hardening against your back. Jack is a little startled by it. He didn't think he'd bounce back to life so soon.
You don't ask for permission. You just turn around, straddling his lap. Jack grabs his cock and lines it up at your entrance before you sink down onto it. He groans into your shoulder when you tighten up around him.
“Let's do this often.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Bathe together or have sex?”
“Both.” You smile then lay your head against his shoulder. “I like both a lot.”
The two of you sit there a while, his cock buried inside of you, enjoying the warmth of your pussy, kissing each other. Jack doesn't know when he cums. He definitely does. But he's more wrapped up in how good it feels to kiss you, your lips so eager to meet his.
“We're like prunes.” You giggle when you and Jack are cuddling in his bed, looking at your fingers.
“I think I just look like that.” He knows he has plenty of wrinkles.
His heart skips a beat when you kiss the ones on his face, peppering little kisses all over him.
“I love your wrinkles.” You tell him. “Gives you character.”
“I wonder if you'll be saying that when you have them.” He pinches your nose and you pout.
“I would hope you like them on me.”
“You would be beautiful regardless.” His compliment throws you. He hasn't called you beautiful before. He notices your shock. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all.” You lay closer to him, snuggling him. “I'm just really happy you think I'm beautiful.”
“Anyone would.” It's why, even though you irritate him at work, he could never take his eyes off of you.
“I only care that you do.” You want to be special to him.
“You're my beautiful baby girl.” He presses a kiss onto your forehead. “Now let's sleep before our shifts.”
Jack sleeps so well that he almost sleeps through his alarm. But you shake him awake rather furiously, asking, “how do I turn that off!”
You've been trying to shut it off for the last minute and a half. The thing keeps blaring the most annoying sound! But it won't shut off no matter how many times you smack the snooze button…
“Oh shit.” He goes to grab it, solving the puzzle, then sets the alarm clock back down. “It's a puzzle box alarm. You have to put it together. Changes every time.”
“I see now why you're always so grumpy when you come into work.” You say with a yawn. “If that's how you usually wake up.”
“How should I wake up from now on, then?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you.
Though, he should've guessed what you'd do next. Your hand slips into his sweats, grabbing his hard cock, stroking it gently in your delicate palm.
“Are you always this hard when you wake up?” You tease, leaning up to brush your nose against his.
“I thought I told you, no bratty behavior at home.” He pulls your hand away from him then flips you around, putting his cock between your legs.
Jack is a little too impatient to put on his prosthetic so he'll fuck you from this angle. But only after he teases you for a bit, rubbing the length of his cock along your very wet folds.
“Are you always this wet when you wake up?” He says all low in your ear, his sleepy voice sending sparks through your body. You always wanted to hear what he sounded like when he just woke up.
“Only for you, Daddy.” You angle yourself, wanting him to sink inside of you already, but he doesn't, making you pout. “Are you seriously going to make me wait? We have to get to work soon!”
“I'm going to torture you for five more minutes.” He spoons you, his strong arms keeping you locked to his chest. “Then we fuck, have breakfast and get ready to go to work.”
“You mean dinner?” You chuckle then gasp when he smacks your clit. “Woah!”
“That was me being nice.” He rubs your clit more gently now, soothing the sudden rush that his smack caused. “Don't test me again, baby girl.”
“I'll be good…” You really don't want to be good. Especially when he's edging you again, his fingers playing with your swollen clit until you're close then pulling away, making you squirm. “Can I please cum?”
“I told you.” He nips at your earlobe. “You only get to cum on my cock.”
“Then, please put your cock inside of me.” You can't possibly wait anymore.
This is torture!
“Okay, since my baby girl asked so nicely.” He gives you no warning before he slams every inch of his thick cock inside of you, drawing out a raspy moan from your lips. “Does Daddy's cock feel good inside of you?”
“Yes, so good.” Your eyes roll back when he presses his fingertips into your lower belly, making you very aware of how deep inside of you he is. You cum the moment he starts rolling his hips, pushing right up where his fingers are pressing down. “Please don't stop, Jack.”
“I'll make you cum a lot, don't worry.” He places a soft kiss at the nape of your neck. “Let Daddy spoil you.”
His other hand slips down, playing with your clit again. He really is spoiling you. You rarely cum this much. Usually only when you touch yourself thinking of him.
Jack lasts a lot longer this time, much to his benefit because you're sweating and panting by the time he finishes inside of you, your body shaking from all the orgasms. He chuckles against your shoulder, nibbling a love bite right there that he knows will be hidden under your scrubs.
“Was that a better way to wake up?” He asks, snuggling you close.
“I don't think I can walk…” You're spent! He wrung you out…
“Wait a second.” Jack gets up, putting on his prosthetic, adjusting it until it fits properly, then stands, testing just to be sure he's all good before he scoops you up into his arms. You giggle against his chest, enjoying the princess carry a lot more than when he flung you over his shoulder yesterday.
He helps you into the shower, setting you down on his shower chair. You wash up while he brushes his teeth then the two of you swap, the routine oddly domestic. You are grateful he has one of those toilets that is in its own little room. You definitely had to go, so you don't risk getting a UTI. You will not be risking anything that would be denying you sex with Jack!
Once you're done, you meet Jack in the kitchen, where delicious smells are wafting all around. You knew he could cook. You've watched him cook plenty of times when you've hacked into his cameras.
You never thought you'd be lucky enough to eat his cooking one day.
“It's just leftovers.” A baked pasta dish he made yesterday. He always makes too much. He was planning to give the rest to Robby but now he has another mouth to feed so he's glad he made enough for you to eat now.
You enjoy it immensely. “This is so yummy. I can't remember the last time I ate a home cooked meal.”
“What do you normally eat?” Now, Jack is worried. Are you malnourished?
You definitely are when you tell him, “usually protein bars. It's convenient, since I was always chasing you around.”
“You can't live off processed foods…”
“You really are my Daddy.” You chuckle at the way he's going to lecture you. “I promise I'll be better now that I'm not stalking you anymore."
“I'm serious about that. It's unsafe that you were following me on my SWAT raids. You could've gotten hurt.” He saw those photos you took. You were closer to the action than you should've been.
“Good thing you're a combat medic, right?” Your comment earns you a smack on the ass. “Ouch!”
“What did I say?” He will not tolerate you being annoying at home.
“I'm sorry…” You lean your head against his shoulder, poking him with your knee since you both are sitting side by side at the kitchen island. “I promise I'll save all my brattiness for work.”
“You better or I'll edge you until you're crying again.”
Now is that really a punishment? You keep your giddiness to yourself.
“So, what do we tell people when they ask why we're carpooling?” You ask him when he parks at work.
“Robby knows I've been thinking about renting out my basement. So, now you're renting my basement, which is why I drove you home yesterday.” It's also a good excuse as to why you'll be at his house all the time.
“Do you want me to?” You're planning on breaking your lease anyways. “I don't mind paying rent.”
“You don't have to pay rent.” He doesn't need you to be paying for anything. He has plenty of money and you should save anything you make since residency is tough enough.
“Are you sure?” You don't want to be a burden.
“I'll take care of you.” He pats you on the head gently. “Now let's go to work.”
You'll blame it on the alarm clock blaring this morning but you are exhausted by the end of your shift, yawning every few seconds. You thought you slept pretty good, since you were snuggled up against Jack, but you're so out of it.
Then you realize it's because you're starving too.
“Hey, are you alright?” Jack places his hand on your forehead when the two of you are back at his house. You feel a bit warm. He should check your temperature.
“I'm fine. I just usually eat a protein bar whenever there's a lull in the action but I didn't have any.” You should go grab them from your place, along with the rest of your stuff.
Jack points his temperature gun at you and you're at a normal temperature so he's grateful it's not a fever. But he is worried about you, since food doesn't seem to help.
Could it be…
He might have overworked you a bit yesterday…
You brush off his concern. “If I can stalk you on a SWAT raid, I can handle some sex.”
“Those are on your days off, though. We just finished a shift after everything we did yesterday. No wonder you're exhausted.” Jack should be more tired.
It's impressive he isn't, though he does have a bit more stamina training than you.
“I'll be fine. Please don't worry.” You definitely don't want this to deter him.
But it does.
From then on, Jack decides he won't touch you on days you both are working. And especially not on days you're working and he's off. But you're only ever off while he's not…so he hasn't touched you at all since that very first day.
This might make you go insane. Like actually insane.
“Jack, can we please talk about this?” You ask him when he gets home from a shift.
“Maybe tomorrow. You work later.”
“You said that yesterday…” Though technically it was the reverse, where he said he was working later so…
Either way, it's getting on your nerves. It's the first time you've been annoyed with Jack.
“It's been more than a month.” You know because you've had a whole period since moving in with him, which just ended so there's no reason for the two of you not to have sex.
Jack is very aware of the fact that it's been that long. He is barely hanging on. He has taken to jerking off whenever he's off just to relieve the itch. He misses touching you. The only time he does is when the two of you happen to be able to sleep at the same time.
At the very least, he still cuddles you. But if you try to do anything about his hard cock rubbing against your back when he spoons you, he pulls away, telling you to go to sleep. So you don't do anything about it because you'd rather he hold you but it's torture to be laying next to him and not being able to do anything.
“We will have a day off together eventually.” He tells you and you scoff.
“Then what am I doing here? You can just call me when we're both off. I don't need to be here and—”
“You're not leaving.” Jack suddenly is right next to you, making you flinch. “You're staying put.”
“Why?” You can't stand this. You'd rather just stalk him than be so close yet so far from him…
“Because I said so.” Jack isn't going to let you go.
How is he supposed to let you go?
He hasn't slept this well in so long. He loves the smell of you on his sheets. He has a purpose to come home to, like cooking for you and making sure you stay on top of your health.
Can't you see that he's doing all of this for your sake?
You don't, because you think he's being absolutely ridiculous.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes, I am serious.” He is very serious when it comes to you.
He'll do anything to keep his precious baby girl healthy. Even if it means neglecting you in other ways…
You're over this, trying to play nice. You need to get him angry.
So, you give him an ultimatum. “If you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to walk out that door and you will only ever see me at the hospital.”
“I'm not going to fuck you when you work soon.” He knows your shift starts in a few hours. You need to go to sleep.
“Then I'll see you at work, Dr. Abbot.” You grab your phone off the counter and head towards the door.
Thankfully you hadn't broken your lease just yet, since there's only a few months left on it. Jack figured it would be better for you to keep the place so you could slowly move stuff in versus having to do it all at once. He didn't want you to make such a big commitment right away. Even though you want to. Even though he wants you to, deep down inside.
And now, he's watching you walk away.
All because he cares about you.
That frustrates him to no end.
Jack grabs you by your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “You are not leaving me.”
“Let go of me.” You yank your arm away but he only grips it harder. “I don't want to be here anymore!”
“You are so fucking stubborn.” He scolds you. “Can't you see that I'm doing this for you? You need the rest.”
Of course he wants you. Of course he wants to fuck you. He is dying to touch you, taste you, feel you—
“I don't need rest!” You shout back at him. “I need you. But you're too fucking blind to see that so let me go!”
Your words shock him so much that you're able to tug yourself free from his grip and storm out of the house. Only for Jack to pull you right back in, slamming the door shut before he presses you up against it, kissing you for the first time since that day.
Maybe it's because you're touch starved but you melt into his kiss way too easily, moaning when his hands slip under your shirt and start caressing your bare skin.
You can feel how hard he is against your thigh while his thigh spreads your legs apart, grinding upwards to tease you through your sweats.
“Fuck.” He breathes out onto your lips, his worried thoughts flooding out. “I should take off my scrubs, in case there's anything on them that can get you sick. I need to wash my hands too—”
“Jack, listen to me. You're overthinking this.” You grab a hold of his face, forcing him to look you in the eye. “I am not some fragile little girl. I can play that role for you but that's all it is, a role. I am a very healthy young woman who wants her Daddy to fuck her silly. Can you do that for me, please?”
He leans his forehead against yours, having missed you calling him that. “Is that what my baby girl wants?”
“Desperately.” You might combust if he keeps denying you. “I need you.”
“Where?” He rests his hands at your waist, tugging you closer to him.
“Buried deep inside of me. I miss cumming on your cock.” You can't believe he's made you wait this long to experience it again.
“I'm scared you're going to be exhausted later.” He doubts he can hold back.
Jack should wait until you have a day off. He doesn't mind suffering during his shift. He just doesn't want to put you through that because of his selfishness.
“I can handle a little exhaustion if it means I get to be close to you.” You lean up to kiss him and he lets you, which you're grateful for. “Please don't push me away, Jack.”
“I don't want to. I just…” He sighs, resting his forehead against yours, his anxiety clouding his thoughts. “I care about you, baby girl.”
“You do?” Your heart flutters hearing that, needing the words of affirmation.
“Yes. So much.” He wraps his arms around you, placing a kiss against your forehead. “That the thought of you sick scares me.”
“Jack, I'm perfectly healthy. And we're both doctors. I think I'm in good hands if I get a little cold or something.” You rarely get sick. That exhaustion was definitely just you needing more stamina, something you will work on. “Why don't we cross that bridge when we get there instead of worrying about it now and letting it get in the way of us?”
“Is there an “us”?” He asks rather nervously, his hands trembling. He's never felt so unsteady before.
Jack has had a lot of time to think over the last month or so the two of you have been living together. He just isn't sure he's worth it. He wants you here. He needs you here. But he doesn't feel like he deserves your presence. Maybe that's why he's been pushing you away.
Self sabotage is something he's very used to. Why else would he work a twelve hour shift and then agree to a SWAT raid knowing he'd only get a few hours of sleep before his next shift?
A part of him assumes you'll stop looking at him with so much kindness in your eyes one of these days and that'll break him. He'd rather lose you before then. But he is too selfish to let you go so soon.
“I've killed someone for you.” You say outright, making him pause his spiraling thoughts. “So of course I want there to be an “us”.”
“What did you just say?” Jack has no clue if his hearing has gone bad but did you really just say—
“You didn't notice. There was a car tailing you after you picked up a target of yours. The guy's brother. Similar rap sheet, but he got acquitted. Not enough evidence.” You let this out because it's about time for him to know the lengths you've gone to. To protect him. “I killed him before he could catch up to you. Staged it like a car accident. Which is why the police figured your victim died in the same accident, since they assumed he was the one who picked him up.”
When you tell Jack the guy's name, he blinks at you, recalling how long ago that was. “That was a year ago. You weren't even a resident yet…”
“Yeah.” You step closer to him, keeping his eyes locked on you. “There's a reason I had to get into your emergency department.”
“How long have you been…” He's genuinely baffled.
You smile at him, reaching your hand forward to place over his heart, feeling the way it's pounding in his chest. “Since you killed my father.”
You tell him your old last name. The one you had before you changed it. And Jack remembers instantly.
Your father was put away for manslaughter in a domestic violence “accident”. He was released a few years ago.
Jack especially hates men who beat their wives. He finds them beyond repulsive. And he had seen your mother in the emergency room before, countless times. He was there when she died from her injuries.
It was the only kill that could've gotten him caught, given how close to work it was, how personal it was.
But the police never questioned Jack about it. Because you had said that you were the one who picked up your father from prison and he had stormed out of the house and disappeared. He's still a missing person's case to this day.
No one else but you and Jack know your father is actually dead.
And you've been stalking Jack ever since.
He's the reason you went to med school. He's the reason you aren't dead or in prison.
Because if he hadn't killed your father, you definitely would have. And you wouldn't have been as clean as someone with decades of experience.
You lift your hand off his chest and back away, giving him a little space before you say, “I understand if this is too much for you. I…”
You let out a little sigh, biting your lip. You should get it all off your chest. It's better to let it out now, while it's still early enough.
Before your heart breaks.
So, you confess, “I never thought you'd ever…want me…in any capacity. I was content to just follow you around forever. But then I guess I got a little greedy, wanting your attention, and now I'm being really greedy, wanting even more than that.”
Jack has never seen you look like this. You're always so bright and confident. But right now, you're genuinely scared. Not the kind of scared you'd put on as an act, but there is real fear. Because you don't want to lose him. But you don't want him to hate you either.
You know you're fucked up for stalking him for so long. You understand that's creepy and not sane behavior.
But you don't know how to love any other way.
Neither does Jack. He doesn't remember what it was like to love normally, not after what happened to his wife and how that sparked him to start killing people.
But he knows that he loves you.
In his own messed up kind of way.
That's why he tells you, “you can be greedy, baby girl.”
“What?” You were not expecting that.
“You've waited a long time for me to notice you, haven't you?” His words send such ripples of unfamiliar feeling through you. “I finally gave you my undivided attention and then I ripped it away. That must've hurt. I'm sorry.”
You know what the feeling is now.
It is hurt.
You just didn't want to feel it because you didn't think he'd comfort you if you did. You swallowed it, suffering alone, to be courteous to him. But then you snapped because the pain was getting too unbearable. You need him too much now that you know what it feels like to be his…
“Come here.” Jack pulls you towards him, scooping you up into his arms. “Let me reassure you that everything's going to be okay.”
You lean your head against his chest as he carries you over to the couch, seating you right on his lap. There is a lot of comfort in being close to him. Comfort you're wary on taking. Afraid it'll all get ripped away again.
“I'm not going to neglect you anymore.” Jack tells you, his voice gentle and full of care. “You deserve to be held.”
“Where was this a few weeks ago?” You say with a pout then sigh. “Sorry, I don't mean to be a—”
“You can be a brat. Be yourself, baby girl.” He'll let you for today.
You then proceed to bite his neck hard, your teeth sinking into his skin. He has to tug you off of him by your hair, shocked by your actions.
“I said you can be a brat, not a fucking animal.” He can't see the bite mark but he's sure it's visible above the collar of his scrubs. That's going to be tough to explain at work…
“That's what you get for being so mean.” You glare at him, wanting to bite him again. “You fucked me and made me cum like crazy and then you edged me for over a month!”
Jack hadn't realized that technically that's what he did. He gave you a taste of the pleasure he could bring you and then promptly denied it. He can see now how frustrated you must be.
“I'm sorry.” He feels horrible… “I didn't think it through.”
“No shit.” You grumble, staring at the bite mark you made. “Now you owe me something for the trouble.”
“Alright. Anything you want. Tell me and I'll give it to you.” Though Jack would prefer it if you didn't bite him again.
“Tell me you love me.” You meet his eyes then, seeing the stunned expression on his face. “I don't care if you don't but I just want to hear it at least once in my life, please.”
Jack doesn't like the way tears are welling up in your eyes. You want to be loved so badly, especially by him. But you'll settle for him just saying it, even if he doesn't mean it. You just want to have the sound of him saying it etched in your mind.
“I love you.” Jack reaches up to brush the tear that escapes the corner of your eye. “I love you so much.”
You nod, blinking back the tears that fall after he says that. “Thank you.”
“I'm serious.” He cups your face with both of his hands, wiping your tears with his thumbs as gently as possible. “I love you and I'm never going to leave you either. I promise.”
“You don't have to tell me that.” You shake your head at him, your face rubbing against the palms of his hands. “It's okay if you don't.”
“I do.” He keeps reassuring you of how he feels. “How many times do I have to say it for my baby girl to believe me?”
You shrug. “I don't know. A lot.”
He chuckles. “Okay, then how about every day from now on?”
“But I've stalked you for years…”
“And I've killed people.”
“Me too.” Technically only the one person but that's more than most people ever do…
“You did it for me. That makes me love you even more.” He leans in, giving you a little kiss on the cheek. “My baby girl willing to do anything to protect her Daddy. How much prouder can I be?”
“You're proud of me?” This is hitting every part of your soul with so much warmth, hearing him praise you.
“So proud. You kept me out of prison. I owe you more than just my love.”
“Then you aren't allowed to edge me ever again.” You make him swear.
“What if you're like really annoying that day, though?” Jack's question makes you giggle.
“Haven't I suffered enough?” One month felt like a lifetime…
“Fine.” He pulls you in closer. “Maybe I'll just force you to cum until you're begging to stop. Better?”
“Much better.” You give him a big hug and he smiles against your shoulder, squeezing you tightly. “I've missed this a lot.”
Jack presses a kiss against the side of your neck before slowly trailing upwards, saying against your skin, “what else have you missed, baby girl?”
“Bathing with you.” You definitely want to do that first.
“We can do that.” He kisses you so sweetly, making your heart melt. “But first, you're going to call the hospital and say you're sick.”
“Oh?” You wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you back up into his arms again. “Is my attending being a bad influence?”
“You've never called out before. They can lose a resident for a day.”
“You mean a night.” You nip at his bottom lip after you say that, chuckling when he glares at you.
“Don't make me regret letting you be a brat.” He sets you down on the bed. “Now go call while I run the bath.”
“You love that I push your buttons. I bet you're hard already.” Your eyes stare straight at the outline of his cock in his scrubs.
Jack rolls his eyes at you, not responding before he disappears into the bathroom. You make the call, thankful that there isn't any push back. You wouldn't mind a nice night off, especially if it means Jack is going to spoil you.
And he really does spoil you, because the moment you get into the tub and straddle his lap, his lips are on yours in an instant.
“Let a girl breathe a little first.” You laugh in between his feverish kisses.
“I've waited long enough for us to have a day off together.”
“You mean night?” You giggle so hard when he starts tickling you as punishment. “Jack, stop!”
“I never thought I'd hear you say those words.” He does stop, but only because his hand slides lower, to graze your clit gently.
“Definitely don't stop now.” You hold yourself back from grinding on his hand.
“I won't.” He plays with your clit, swirling little circles around it, watching your reactions.
Jack is very good at figuring out what you like, how much pressure to use, how much friction you need before you're cumming all over his hand, your orgasm so intense since it's been so long. You lean your forehead against his shoulder, gasping for air, the steam from the bath making your mind fuzzy. He rubs your back with his other hand, comforting you.
“You're okay, baby girl. That was just your first orgasm in a while. Deep breaths.” He doesn't want you to pass out just yet.
“Not my first.” You say, a bit dazed, letting that slip out. You press your lips together, hoping he didn't catch that.
But of course, he did. “Have you been touching yourself without me knowing?”
“Can you blame me?” Your question is answered by him thrusting a finger inside of you all of a sudden. “Jack!”
“You're not allowed to do that anymore.” His voice lowers. He's stern about it. “If you want to cum, you ask me to help you, okay?”
“What about you?” You lean forward, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear. “Are you going to pretend like you didn't jerk off every night you were off and I was at work?”
He grabs your face with his free hand, making you look at him. You smile in his grip and he glares back at you, “did you turn on my cameras?”
Jack has had them off since you moved in, since he didn't want you to feel like you were being watched all the time. Which he is realizing right now is a little ridiculous considering you love watching him so why would you care if he watched you?
“If you have to ask, you know the answer already.” You chuckle and then whine when he pulls his finger out of you. “Aw, I didn't want you to stop…”
“You can't do that either.”
“Daddy's strict!” You must have pushed his buttons just right because his cock is throbbing under you.
“You're going to make my hair gray.’” He shakes his head at you.
“I think you're already doing that well by yourself.” You lace your fingers into his beautiful hair. “But I like it gray. My silver fox.”
“Please do not ever call me that again.” He groans at the way you're enjoying yourself a little too much. “After today, no more brattiness.”
“So I can be a big brat today?” You flash him a bright smile.
“Don't push it.” Him saying that makes you want to do exactly that.
So you do.
You get up out of the bath and Jack can't snatch you back in time.
Then, you play with fire. “I bet I can make myself cum before you can catch me.”
You quickly grab a towel then dart out of the bathroom. Jack's jaw clicks as he mutters under his breath, “this fucking brat.”
You quickly run downstairs, into the basement, since that's where you're storing your stuff right now. Jack is letting you do whatever you want with the basement since he wants you to have a place in his house that is all yours and undisturbed by him. That's why you have all your sex toys stored there.
You grab your favorite rose toy and lay down on the guest bed Jack has down here. You don't know what has you more heated: the toy sucking on your clit or the fact that Jack must be very angry with you.
It must be the latter because the moment you see that deadly glare on his face from the basement stairs, you cum so hard.
“You can be so fucking irritating.” He stalks towards you and his anger only increases when you cum again. “Did you really just cum from me being mad at you?”
“The toy helped.” You giggle, which only pisses him off more.
“Turn it off.” He commands.
But you're a bad listener right now, so you turn it up and close your eyes when it overwhelms your sensitive clit.
Jack can't help how hard he gets watching you use that toy on yourself. Maybe he should just stand here and watch you. But there's a part of him deep down that doesn't want you to cum without him.
So, he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you, and your eyes open wide when you feel him thrust two fingers inside of you, curling them right below where the toy is sucking on your clit. Your orgasm ripples through you all of a sudden and it doesn't stop because Jack curls his fingers right on that spot over and over again. You lift the toy off of your clit, since it's way too intense now that you've came a few times, but Jack quickly pushes it back in place with his other hand, holding it to your clit, letting it send you over the edge again.
“Jack, please let go!” You're too overstimulated. You're going to go crazy if he makes you cum again.
"And here I thought my baby girl was desperate for her Daddy to make her cum.” He adds another finger inside of you, filling you up more.
“I am but—” You wriggle beneath him, his fingers fucking you like his cock would. “Please slow down!”
“But you're going to cum so hard, baby girl. Just let it out. Don't hold it in.” Jack smiles at how quickly you unravel after that, drenching his hand with your orgasm. “There you go. Good girl.”
He frees you from the toy, turning it off. You let out a sigh of relief then squirm when he pops his fingers out of you all of a sudden.
You feel the wetness dripping out of you way too clearly now…
Almost as clearly as his cock sinking right into you without warning. Your toes curl instinctually, your breaths leaving your lips all airy.
Jack groans when he hilts, cursing under his breath, “fuck, you're so tight after you've cum a few times. Maybe I should make you cum first before I fuck you.”
“I won't complain either way.” You open your arms up. “Come kiss me, Daddy.”
He can't help the grin on his face at how cute you look, waiting for him to hug you. He hooks his arms under your shoulders before leaning in to kiss you, loving how easily you moan when he rolls his hips.
“If you hold out on me again, I'm going to tie you down and ride you myself.” You say against his lips and he chuckles in response.
“I'll have to teach you a few knots to use then, baby girl.” Jack licks his lips at the thought of tying you up.
“Please fuck me a little faster.” You're wriggling under him from how slow his strokes are.
“I said you can be greedy, not demanding.” He brushes his nose against yours, smirking at your glare.
“If you're going to go this slow, let me use my toy too.” You point to it.
Jack eyes it, debating. He wouldn't mind seeing you pace yourself however you'd like while he enjoys the show.
So, he nods. “Go ahead.”
He helps you grab it and you turn it on to the lowest setting, holding it over your clit, your back arching when Jack thrusts deep inside of you as the toy sucks on your clit.
Soon enough, you start grinding your hips up, meeting him halfway, losing yourself in your orgasm. Jack likes how unapologetic you are in bed, not afraid to show him how much you're enjoying yourself.
“I love watching you cum, baby girl.” He could stare at you with your eyes glazed over all day long.
“You don't have to just watch.” You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer. “I want to cum on my Daddy's cock.”
“Isn't that what you've been doing?” He raises a sly eyebrow at you.
“You know what I want!” You don't hide your frustration from him stalling.
“Alright. Turn off the toy. You'll need both hands to hold on tight if you want me to fuck you rough.”
You eagerly shut it off, tossing it aside before gripping the sheets below you.
You are rewarded with a thorough pounding. Jack hovers over you, body pressed down against yours, drilling his cock into you like you're just a toy for him to use. It's everything you've been dreaming of these last few weeks.
Wave and wave of pure bliss roll through you with every thrust, amplified by his lips on yours. You love kissing him so much, especially when he's fucking you like this.
You love everything about Jack.
Which is why you breathe out when you're close to cumming, “I love you.”
And he smiles against your lips before saying back, “I love you too.”
The orgasm you have when he finally cums inside of you fills you with delight. The warmth of his release is genuinely one of the best things you've ever felt. It's even better because you know now that he really does love you.
“I want to have sex after we kill someone.” You tell Jack when he plops down beside you once his cock is soft, pulling you to lay against his chest.
“This has to be the weirdest pillow talk ever.” He laughs, nuzzling your nose with his own. “We can fuck in my truck after.”
“Promise?” You bat your eyelashes all sweetly at him.
“I promise.” He seals that with a kiss against your temple.
“What if I just suck you off in your workshop? No body fluids?” You really want to touch him while he's chopping someone up. Just once!
Jack scoffs. “You may be crazier than me.”
“And you love it.” You snuggle happily against him.
“I do.” Because he loves you.
You and all your crazy.
“Maybe I can section off a place in the workshop that is easy to bleach.” He could create a whole shower system to do it for him so he doesn't have to scrub it down.
“Don't tease me with a good time, Jack.” You'd love to fuck in his workshop.
“If that's what my baby girl really wants, then I can deliver.” He wants to keep you happy and healthy.
“Well, what I really want is another kiss.” You lean up, closing your eyes, smiling when he pecks you lovingly on the lips. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“Anytime.” He happily kisses you again and again.
Like he plans to do for the rest of his life.
Maybe even while he's covered in someone else's blood…
A/N: In the original draft, I was going to include them killing someone together and then fucking after LOL but then I told myself maybe I'll just keep this fic loving and sweet instead since I've been writing plenty of other fucked up stuff as of late. This was truly just an excuse for me to write my unhealthy obsession with both daddy kink and being called “baby girl” and I loved it!
Summary: You crush over your older attending doctor and one day you end up confessing to him, which leads to a heated session at the hospital's supply closet.
Warnings: Controversial age gap (reader is in her 20s), inappropriate work relationship, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex and pulling out method (don't do that), poorly written, english not being my first language, inevitable grammatical errors, barely proof read, my inability to write short sentences
A/N: So, umm I'm down BAD for Shawn Hatosy (yes I'm super late to the party) and I felt the need to write some shitty self indulgent fic. But here is where it gets better because I've only watched the very first episode of The Pitt because I have this fear of medical/trauma stuff and felt like passing out while watching. With that being said, my perception of Jack Abbot is based on the 30 seconds of screen time he had on that episode, the tons of tiktok edits I've watched and the fics I've read in here. So, please excuse any inaccuracies regarding the way I've written him and the hospital setting in general. In conclusion, stay mad stay mystified. :")
P.s: In case anyone's wondering about the title it's from the Michael Jackson song.
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If somebody had asked you where you'd see yourself 4 months into your residency at the hospital, 'bent over against the wall of the supply closet getting fucked by your attending' would definitely not have been a possible answer.
And that's mainly because you never expected to find yourself in this kind of relationship with a man almost twice your age who happened to be your supervisor too.
But Dr. Abbot was different. He was impossible to not be attracted to. With that unique confidence and competence of his that made handling the entire night shift and its patients look easy. And that physique? Oh god... Those perfect salt and pepper curls, his sharp hazel eyes and those insane biceps you could see flexing with his every move. He had you feeling in a trance whenever you were in his presence.
Little did you know at first, however, that he was more or less on the same page. He'd noticed you straight away the very first day you came to the hospital. He sure had been sex deprived for a great while, yet it wasn't something he was seeking after, especially while being caught up in such demanding work schedule. Until you joined his team and had him feeling like a schoolboy all over again. Such pretty little thing, he'd think to himself, biting his lip, when his eyes were fixed on you from a safe distance. He knew this was inappropriate, disgusting even, to be seeing you in such way while being both older than you and in an authoritative position. But he couldn't fight those sinful thoughts each time his gaze would land on you and your perfect features. Or the irritability that stemmed from pure jealousy when he'd catch sight of any other male on the shift trying to hit on you.
Another thing you didn't really know, was how this dangerous subtle flirting between you was initiated. It had probably started with Jack never failing to praise you when you where handling a case correctly, with or without his instructions. To which you made sure to reply with a bat of your lashes and a seemingly harmless 'Thank you dr. Abbot.' that drove Jack insane and had him wishing he could have you right then and there. Then there were times when he'd be pushing you subtly more than others to do better. Making sure he pointed out a mistake in your charting or a patient's treatment. An those where the times where you'd hear him saying something like:
"Think it through." "Check this one more time." in that stern voice of his that never left any space for arguement.
Then it became a bit more evident when he'd leave snacks or coffee by your stuff in the break room.
"Figured you needed it." he'd reply with that nonchalant tone laced with genuine consideration when you'd ask him about it.
Then the boundaries where pushed even further when his hand started lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary, yet enough for you to notice, on your lower back or your shoulder as he'd brush past you. The first time you felt him so close to you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickled and time seemed to have slowed down before he moved away and you were thrown back into the crazy pace of the ER.
From that moment on, you only craved him and his touch more. You kept imagining how those skilled hands of his would feel on your bare skin, exploring, touching, pleasuring you. Sure enough your gaze gave all that away when you were eyeing Jack during a confident reply to one of his witty comments, but maybe just maybe this was exactly what you wanted.
Until it began being obvious enough for Dana and Trinity to notice and probably any other person who could see the way yours and Jack's demeanor changed when you were around each other.
"You'll get your heart broken, you know, it will not end well." Dana had told you with a tired pessimistic tone one day after seeing you swoon over Jack for the umpteenth time.
"What are you even talking about?" you paused your charting, your head snapping to look at her standing next to you.
"You, going after your attending... Not the most responsible thing to do." she gave your desk a pat for emphasis before walking away. There was nothing absurd in her words, you just didn't want to admit it. Especially seeing how Jack seemed to be playing along with you.
Trinity was the next in line to 'scold' you for your controversial choices, a couple of days later.
"I mean, I get it and at the same time I don't." she said, her eyes following yours that were fixed on Jack handling a patient in some room opposite you. "He's not for you and you're not for him. This won't lead anywhere." to which you simply sighed still not looking at her.
"Why don't you go on Tinder? Find a couple dates your age and you'll see this was weird all along." she finally got you to face her with a fed up expression.
"What? I've had 3 relationships thanks to that app" she defended herself.
"Well I don't see any of them having lasted..." you pointed out.
"That's not the point, the point is that you need someone your age ok?"
And thank god for that patient being brought in that exact moment, saving you from having to continue the conversation.
Her and Dana's words kept playing in your mind though and you found yourself reusing that dusty old tinder account you'd opened ages ago.
Resulting in you talking to dumb guy after dumb guy and going to boring date after boring date. An attempt to prove to yourself that your little infatuation was just a phase and you were perfectly capable of pulling guys your age and enjoy their company.
But none of them could make you feel throughout an entire night the way Jack did with just a single glance or brush of his hand.
A handful of such dates later, you were getting tired, bored but most importantly you had ended up thinking about Jack more than you did before, if that was even possible, and it was taking a toll on you.
"What's gotten into you today?" Jack's slightly gravelly voice startled you as he entered the break room one day at an unusually quiet part of the shift, around 3-4am. You kept your back facing him as you leaned against the counter. Apparently your attempts to compose yourself and be professional had been rather unsuccessful and deep down you were painfully aware of the fact that you seemed off that day.
Of course Jack had picked up on it immediately. Your lack of patience, the fact that you were on edge and the complete absence of those brief flirtatious looks you always reserved for him.
You couldn't deny how sick and tired you were of trying. Trying to distract yourself from how down bad you were for him. Trying to find men your age so you could have something that felt a bit more normal, more appropriate.
"I'm fine." your response came sharply as you turned to face him.
"Don't lie to me sweetheart, cause the way you're acting out there says otherwise." he stayed exactly were he was, gazing at you as he moved his hands behind his back. His tone firm, yet not scolding, leaving you space to explain your situation. Seeing you avoid his eyes and keep quiet as if searching for a good enough excuse to have him out of your way as soon as possible, however, he decided to insist.
"Is it one of those assholes you've been finding online?"
He got his answer once he saw your eyes widening and upon seeing how you were trying to collect your thoughts and make sense of it all, he added:
"I heard you and Santos talking about it a few times." earning him a deep sigh and an eye roll on your behalf.
"God, I'm sorry for that..." you quickly became aware of how awkward it must have been for Jack to hear those conversations with Trinity.
"Nothing to be sorry for." he reassured you as he contemplated his next words, the ones that were more important. "But I want to know if anyone has been inappropriate..." he trailed off thinking he was probably being too nosy, demanding too much information from a part of your life in which he wasn't included.
"No, no, no reason to worry about anything like that." the nervous laugh and the way you kept avoiding his eyes, however, was telling him exactly the opposite.
"So there is something to be worried about?" two strides is all he needed to reach you. And now it felt like he was suddenly too close for your sanity.
"Jack..." you began without any clear thought of what you were going to say. But oh how his name sounded off your lips. You only referred to him that way during rare moments of the shift you shared alone, yet he longed to hear his first name in your sweet voice more often.
"Look, I won't force you to talk if you don't want to, but if there's anything going on just know that you can always talk to me." his genuine concern was evident. After all, he had been through enough in his life to want to protect the people he cared for as early on as possible.
You remained silent, just getting lost into his deep hazel gaze for a quick second. Wanting to tell him everything and nothing at the same time. Perhaps this was finally your chance to chose the first option.
"Have you ever badly wanted something, that you could not have and should not even be wanting to have...?" you knew that once those words were spoken out loud, there was no going back.
You kept going.
"And you try to find any substitute you can to forget about it and move on..." your pulse was quickening, your voice threatening to lose its steadiness. "Yet nothing works because nothing can compare and you're just left feeling hopeless and desperate?" you weren't sure if this subtle confession was more liberating than nerve wracking as you waited for Jack's reply.
"More times than I would like to admit." his expression softened yet his answer felt calculated and intentional just like his every move when he was out there saving lives.
"And what's your solution?" you could swear that at some point he must have taken another step towards you because now it felt like he was standing impossibly close. Or was it you who involuntarily had moved, pulled in by his scent- a mix of sandalwood, coffee and something entirely him?
"Depends on what it is that you want." Jack was no novice, he was well aware of the direction this conversation was taking.
"You promise not to think any less of me if I tell you?" the thumping of your heart was so intense you were sure it could be heard across the room at this point.
"Sweetheart, that would take a lot more if it were to happen, trust me." there he went again calling you that dulcet name, with that reassuring tone that drove you insane, as if it was the most natural thing to do.
"You. I want you." you almost hadn't let him finish speaking before you finally confessed. A number of diffrent scenarios were playing in your mind during the miliseconds that followed. Jack could very simply reject you. The whole shift could find out about this conversation. Hell you might even have to change shifts or hospital altogether.
But none of it was in Jack's response, because that didn't come in the form of words, but through a hungry and long awaited crash of his lips on yours.
Your mind instantly enetered autopilot not being able to comprehend the situation. Your body moved of its own accord as you kissed him back and your hands found purchase on his strong shoulders, the moment you felt his grip on your waist.
It was maddening, dizzying, the way his lips molded with yours, but he broke the kiss just as he had initiated it. Reminding you both that you were in a room that anyone could walk in any minute.
So you agreed to move things to the nearby supply closet, which could be locked from the inside. Still risking people looking for you but at least not walking in on such scandalous scene.
Once the door was locked safely, Jack was backing you up against it, resuming the feverish kisses that were soon travelling down your neck. You couldn't stop tracing his toned body, from his freckled arms, to his scrub cladded shoulders and the curls on the nape of his neck.
"Tell me to stop and I will." his husky voice brought you back to reality, as he squeezed your hips in an attempt to wait for your reply before allowing himself to indulge and explore your body further.
"I don't won't you to stop." you panted pulling him impossibly closer, You wanted every inch of him against you. Next thing you knew, with the grip he had on your hips, he was pulling you to back you up against the nearest empty wall.
"I know this is probably wrong, what we're doing, but I've been waiting for it since the moment I layed eyes on you." you whined at his words combined with the hand that slid to apply pressure on your clothed core.
"Show me. Show me what you were thinking about." growing needier by the second you moved in unison with his hand, chasing the friction, all while letting him ravish your neck.
"I would need more time than we currently have, but I could start giving you a taste if you'd spread your legs a bit for me." the hand that had been cupping you moved past your waistband once you gave him more space. He earned a gasp the moment two of his fingers started spreading your arousal, toying lightly with your clit then gliding all the way to nudge at your entrance.
Truth was Jack wanted you on his bed, all spread out for him so he could spend all the time in the world getting to know your body. Feeling your skin against his palms and how different it was on your thighs, your breasts, your pussy. Paying attention to how you reacted to his touch as he changed the spot, the pressure, the rythm.
Such thing was not possible in the restricted space of the supply closet, but he was determined to make you both feel good after months of pent up sexual tension.
"May I?" the pads of his digits circled your entrance with a medical precision to request permission to continue their venture.
"Please..." voice almost shaky with need, you bucked your hips to get him to move, maintaining a strong grip on his shoulders to keep yourself grounded. When he finally did move, a deep exhale tore through you in unison with his low groan.
"Is that what you wanted all along? For me to stretch that tight little cunt of yours with my fingers?" he was curling and pumping his digits in a way that had your knees going weak. "Because I definitely did." he added a thumb on your clit and shushed the moan that left your lips immediately after. "Shh shh. Stay quiet for me. Don't want anyone hearing us." and his lips went back to devouring yours, his stubble adding a heavenly edge to the kisses.
"I always imagined how you would feel inside me." your mind was clouded with pleasure, as your hand reached for his clothed bulge eliciting a hiss against your lips once you began palming him.
"Be patient, sweetheart, I need to get you ready first." he was evidently growing impatient himself. Your delicate hand on his painfully hard cock making his breath labored.
Soon, you were grabbing his wrist to stop the relentless pace of his fingering moments away from your orgasm. If you were to come whithin your given time restriction, you much preferred it to be on his cock.
"What am I gonna do with you, hm?" was all he murmured upon hearing your request, voice straining with desire. But before he allowed himself to continue he made sure to lick clean the fingers that were glistening with your arousal. His lust filled gaze never leaving yours as a content groan rumbled deep within his chest upon tasting you. "Now turn around, hands on the wall." he comanded using the same tone he did when giving you instructions during a case on the shift. Naturally you obeyed, palms coming in contact with the hard surface of the wall, your back arching so your still clothed ass was on full display for Jack.
He wasted no time in lowering your pants and underwear until they pooled at your feet. One rough hand reaching to knead your backside, while the other freed his cock and pumped a few times. A pathetic whine of his name left your lips when his tip slid on your wet folds. "Use your words, tell me what you need." he urged you in a commanding manner while squeezing your hips.
"I need you..." you tried to chase the friction of him against your pussy.
"Need me to do what?" it was ridiculously easy to hold you still until he got an answer.
"I need you to fuck me." a pause "Please..." you added before he asked.
"There we go, that's my good girl." that was the moment he finally started pushing inside you, having you both trying to supress the most explicit sounds. Halfway in he paused to check in on you. "Is this okay?" "Yes." you sighed getting accustomed to the deliciously intense stretch.
That was all he needed to carefully slide all the way in until he bottomed out. He stopped once again, giving you time and letting you both feel each other as close as you've ever been. When his mouth found its spot on the side of your neck for the umpteenth time, he started touching his way up your torso, under your scrubs, until he reached your bra cladded breasts and kneaded them, causing your pussy to clench.
That worked as his signal to begin moving with languid deep strokes that he soon was speeding up seeing the way you were pushing back, aching for more. "Does that feel good?" part of the pleasure for him was making sure you were comfortable and enjoying it as much as he was.
"Good girl, you're taking me so well." he added after your reassurance, picking up the pace and withdrawing one of his hands from your breasts to bring it to your swollen clit.
The sight was obscene - you, a resident doctor bent over against the wall of the hospital's supply closet, arched like a cat while Jack, your attending was thrusting in and out of you, with his hands on your most private parts.
And it was about to get even more obscene as your orgasm was undeniably approaching. Jack was close too, with the way he was struggling to keep quiet and his thrusts were getting desperate.
"Come for me sweetheart. Come on, you did so well, let me see you." he knew you were close by the uncontrolable flutter of your walls around him.
The soft praises that he practically whimpered in your ear combined with the sweet pressure of his cock and the circling of your clit had you reaching your orgasm with a string of profanities mixed with Jack's name falling from your lips. Your nails clawed at the wall as your vision turned white and Jack held his own release through gritted teeth to help you ride yours. Seconds later, he was pulling out and releasing in his tight fist with a guttural groan.
"Next time, I'm buying you dinner first." he was the first one to break the silence as you were catching your breaths, trying to get cleaned up and dressed to return to the chaos of the ER as soon as possible. "And then you're coming to my place, to treat you the way you deserve." a new excitement started blooming within you hearing him say that.
"That's right sweetheart. So I better not see you running after random assholes." he was reaching for the door, his professional demeanor slowly returning.
"Alright doc." you gave him a playfull smirk to which he replied with a quick cheeky wink before exiting and closing the door so no one caught you together. Leaving you in that post-sex high and with a promise that had your head spinning.
i always see pope stories where they mention his hands being calloused like baby no. that man would have the softest hands ever he uses the best hand lotion he can find!
Doppel-banger: a double of a living person who you wouldn't hesitate to tap
summary: five times you think you stumbled upon jack abbot vs. the one time it's actually him
tags: shawn hatosy universe, brett richards, sammy bryant, andrew "pope" cody, terry mccandless, titus dandforth, jack abbot, terry is lowkey creepy, titus mentions sacrificing somone, brett sammy and pope are all nice, canon pope staring, second hand embarrassment, younger fem!reader but age is not specified
notes: okay, so I had this idea of making a full oneshot about a reader mistaking pope for a concussed jack for an entire day, but the I thought it'd be really funny to make a collection of all the major shawn characters. i haven't seen any of the tv shows, but i read so much fan fiction, I am sorry if some of them are ooc, if you'd like to join my permanent taglist please comment on this post ! enjoy!
word count: 9.6k
By the time you finally escaped into the ambulance bay, the Pitt had descended into the fog that made everyone vaguely mean and snappy to each other.
A car had decided to plow through the front of a convenience store three blocks away just before noon, which somehow evolved into a gas leak, a grease fire from the kitchen next door, multiple smoke inhalations, and one man who’d managed to impale his own hand on a display rack while trying to “help.” The Pitt had been drowning ever since with no floaties in sight. Stretchers lined the hallways, Robby was barking orders over the chaos, and a med student was getting publicly destroyed for contaminating a sterile field.
Your entire body ached with exhaustion, and it wasn’t even 2:30 yet. Your scrub top clung uncomfortably to your back, your ponytail was halfway falling out, and the iced coffee you’d brought six hours ago had long since melted into a watery disappointment sitting untouched at the nurses’ station under Dana’s watchful eye.
You only stepped outside because you needed thirty seconds where nobody was actively bleeding near you.
The bay smelled faintly like smoke and gasoline, engines rumbling low beneath the distant screams of sirens out in the city. Paramedics moved around in practiced patterns, unloading equipment while firefighters lingered near one of the firetrucks parked crookedly next to an ambulance. You barely paid attention at first, too busy rubbing at the ache gathering behind your eyes.
You had started to walk back toward the Pitt but stopped entirely when you saw him; well—the back of him anyway with his broad shoulders and dark, soaked curls resting against his nape. Even if you couldn’t see his face, he somehow was able to stand out in a crowd even surrounded by firefighters in full turnout gear. One hand braced against the side of the engine while he spoke to someone beside him, his jacket stretched over his shoulders.
No matter what, you’d always be able to spot Jack Abbot in a crowd.
Your eyes dragged slowly over his newfound bright yellow firefighting gear, the reflective stripes glinting. The heavy boots and radio clipped to his chest had you pausing and staring for a solid three seconds, mind trying to process how exactly the man had apparently gone from night shift attending and SWAT medic to volunteer firefighter without mentioning it to anyone.
But more importantly, mentioning it to you.
Actually, when you thought about it, knowing Jack, the change tracked perfectly. The man already had a self-sacrificial streak a mile wide. Of course he’d look at one incredibly dangerous side quest and think You know what would make my life even better? Fire.
A deeply offended laugh escaped your lips, and without thinking too hard about it, you started moving toward him.
“Seriously, Abbot?” you called out over the noise of the bay. “You take one shift off and suddenly you’re fighting convivence store fires now?”
The man beside him glanced over first, obviously confused, but Jack turned more slowly, still halfway shrugging out of his jacket as you continued your approach.
“No, because SWAT clearly wasn’t stressful enough for you,” you continued, tired enough that the words just kept coming. “You looked at armed standoffs and thought, wow, my life is missing a little spontaneous combustion.”
By the time you reached them, the stranger standing beside him was openly staring at you in amusement. Meanwhile, Jack had gone very still.
That should have been your first warning.
But against all self-preservation, you planted your hands on your hips and kept going. “Do you know how insane it is that this is how I’m finding out? I had to see you standing next to a fire engine like some kind of hot, emotionally unstable calendar shoot—”
Jack finally turned fully toward you, and your brain stopped functioning completely.
Because the man in front of you was not Jack Abbot.
In your defense, he was close enough to knock the air from your lungs for a second. He had the same dark, hazel eyes, the same rough kind of handsomeness that looked better the more exhausted and grimed up they got. They even had the same intimidating build that made people move out of their way without a second glance.
But somehow, this man looked older that Jack, more self-assured in a way that only grew as he looked deeply entertained by your humiliation already unfolding in real time. The silence stretched until the firefighter next to him snorted loudly into his fist.
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
“I’m flattered you think I’m hot.” The not-Jack’s mouth twitched slightly. “But is it a bad time to mention my name’s not Jack?”
Heat flooded your face so fast it physically hurt. “No,” you breathed, horrified out of your mind. “No, no, no.”
Now the firefighter beside him was fully laughing, turning away entirely as though witnessing your embarrassment firsthand had become too much for him to handle.
You covered your face with both hands. “I need someone to hit me with an ambulance immediately.”
“That feels awfully dramatic,” the man said.
Your eyes found him through the slats of your fingers. “You have my attending’s face.”
“I’m starting to gather that.”
“You even stand like him,” you accused, voice muffled by your palms. “Which is apparently enough for me to lose all critical thinking skills.”
He laughed softly, low and rough enough to make the situation somehow worse. “Well,” he said, “in fairness, you seemed pretty confident.”
You lowered your hands just enough to glare at him. “Because I really thought my friend had secretly joined the fire department.”
The stranger folded his arms across his chest, turnout jacket hanging loosely from one hand while he studied you with open amusement. “So this Jack guy—he always gets yelled at like this by you?”
“Only when he does something stupid.”
“I’m starting to think I should meet him.”
You shook your head, hands finally dropping back to your sides. “You abso-fucking-lutely should not. I think seeing both of you in the same room might kill me instantly.”
He grinned wildly, quick but devastatingly effective enough it sent tingles up your spine.
Great. Fantastic. Love that for you. One Jack Abbot was hard enough to not stare at as is; having them both in the same room would actually cause a spontaneous combustion of your body.
You sighed heavily, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay. Wonderful. I’m gonna go crawl into oncoming traffic now if you don’t mind.”
Before you could make your great escape, he stuck out his hand toward you. “Captain Brett Richards.”
You looked at it suspiciously for a second before taking it. His grip was warm, firm, and rough with callouses in all the right places. You gave over your name reluctantly, still unable to fully look him in the face without feeling embarrassed all over again.
Unfortunately for you, he spoke again, timber all deep and ragged. “For the record, I was gonna let you keep going.”
Your eyes snapped to his hazel ones. “What?”
“I wanted to see how long it took you before you noticed.”
“You are a bad person, Brett Richards.”
“I’m a curious person. There’s a difference.”
“You stood there and listened to me accuse you of having a hero complex.”
“Seemed important to you.”
“I’ve been publicly humiliated!”
“Just humiliated between me and my friend. I don’t think that counts as the public.”
You pointed at him accusingly. “You’re creepy.”
“What?”
“The tone you’re doing right now.”
Brett blinked. “What tone?”
“The exact same tone he uses when he thinks I’m being ridiculous.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sound exactly like him too.”
Now he looked offended. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do. You’re even doing the whole arms cross and puffing out your chest while simultaneously stretching your neck to look taller.”
The other firefighter chimed in. “Honestly, Brett? She’s kinda right.”
Brett looked over, absolute betrayal on his face. “Whose side are you on?”
“Definitely not yours.”
You laughed loudly, fatigue finally cracking enough to let something lighter through. At the same moment, your phone buzzed in your scrub pocket. You pulled it out, eyes widening at the incoming message.
Jack:
Running late. Scene turned into a disaster. Save me a trauma room before some other resident does something stupid.
“I bet you two text the same,” you grumbled, shoving your phone back into your pocket before looking back up at him.
He laughed outright at that, shoulders shaking slightly. “Sounds like you know this man intimately. Do you possibly have a type? Or do you grumble at every silver fox in your area.”
You glared at him as best you could. “I don’t have a type. Do not make this my problem.”
“Feels like your problem already.”
“Oh, we absolutely aren’t doing this today.” Still, a smile grew on your face before you started backing toward the ambulance bay doors again. “I’m leaving before this gets more psychologically damaging.”
Brett called after you easily, “Tell Jack Abbot I’m apparently his hotter firefighter version!”
You stepped dead in your tracks and slowly turned around. “. . .You know what?” you said thoughtfully. “I actually think saying that out loud near him might start a physical fight.”
Brett’s grin widened. “Now I definitely want to meet him.”
_______________________
The worst shifts always seem to end quietly and not anywhere close to peaceful. The Pitt, you liked to think, was incapable of achieving peace. Even now, close to midnight (almost five hours after your shift “officially ended”), you left behind blaring monitors, patients in needed of doctors, and exhausted coworkers who had just started to trade sarcastic insults at the station just to stay awake. But compared to the disaster the evening had started, the hospital had tasted almost manageable to where you believed they had everything handled.
Your feet dragged as you stepped out through the ambulance bay doors, the night air cool against the lingering heat trapped beneath your scrub jacket. The city smelled faintly damp from rain earlier in the evening, asphalt still dark under the lights.
You leaned against the brick wall beside the entrance for a second, closing your eyes briefly.
Today had been brutal in the particular way only emergency medicine could manage. There had been too many patients, too many families crying in the halls, too many moments where things almost went wrong before somebody caught it at the last second. You’d spent more than twelve hours keeping yourself stitched together with caffeine and momentum, and now that things finally slowed down enough, your brain had apparently decided to stop all regular functions, effective immediately.
Which was probably why, when you spotted a familiar figure standing near one of the patrol cars parked on the other side of the street, the pieces fell into place, your brain beaming Oh, Jack just left too?
Jack stood with his back partially toward you, shoulders slumped slightly beneath a dark jacket while one hand rested against the roof of the cruiser. His head tilted down toward the coffee in his hand, dark curls shadowed in the lack of street lights.
You didn’t even think before walking toward the warm, familiar build that held the same tired posture Jack adopted after a nasty shift, almost preparing his body to show up the next day anyway.
“Please tell me,” you called out tiredly, “that your shift was somehow worse than mine so I can feel better about my life choices.”
Jack glanced over at the sound of your voice, but you kept talking before fully seeing his face.
“Because if I have to hear one more over pompous med student stay the words ‘technically speaking,’ I’m actually going to commit a felony.”
A low huff of amusement answered you. “Long night?”
“Long life is more like it,” you corrected, finally stepping slow enough to see him properly.
You froze when he fully turned, because the universe apparently had a personal vendetta against you for probably your past life’s sins. Because once again, the man standing in front of you was not Jack Abbot. Yes, he was close enough to make your stomach drop for a second. His eyes glinted with the same sadness Jack’s did. He even had the same rough exhaustion written lines around his mouth. However, this man looked like someone who absorbed the weight of things instead of fighting against them.
Also, now that he was turned to you, his officer badge and uniform stuck out like a sore thumb.
And unlike Brett earlier in the week, this stranger didn’t look quite as amused by your mistake. He just looked tired.
You stopped short of the cruiser, horror crawling slowly up your spine. “Oh.”
He blinked once before taking a slow sip of coffee. “Bad start to the conversation?”
“Fuck me; I did it again,” you muttered to yourself.
“Again?”
You covered your face briefly with one hand, humiliation already blatant on your face. “There’s apparently two other guys walking around Pittsburgh with your exact face.”
“Well, that sound concerning.”
“I’m very concerned for my mental status.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, subtle enough you almost missed it.
You let out a defeated sigh, face turned toward the sky, before gesturing vaguely toward him. “You are not Jack Abbot.”
“Nope.”
“Perfect.”
“You wanna try my name instead?” There wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in his voice. If anything, he sounded mildly curious about the situation unfolding in front of him.
You laughed weakly, hands lightly tapping your thighs. “Honestly, I think I should just stop talking to strangers forever.”
“You always this extreme when mistaking people for another?”
“Only when I keep finding multiple emotionally exhausted men who all look exactly like my attending.”
That earned you a slightly more noticeable smile as he pushed away from the patrol car, holding out one hand toward you. “Sammy Bryant.”
You shook it, still staring at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Officer Bryant, but this is all still genuinely ridiculous to me.”
Sammy glanced down at your hospital badge as you gave him your name. “You work inside?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Late shift?”
You shook your head. “You could say that. I started at seven this morning.”
His eyebrows lifted. “And you’re still standing?”
“Barely.” You looked down at your body. “I think my soul high tailed it out of there around hour nine and never came back.”
A soft laugh escaped him, quieter than Brett’s hand been, but still holding the same warmth that made you feel comfortable.
You mentally made a decision before leaning back against his patrol car beside him, rubbing at your eyes with one hand. For a moment, neither of you spoke and just listened to the faint noises of the night.
Sammy took another sip of coffee before nodding toward the hospital. “Was it busy today?”
A long, shuddering breath whistled through your lips. “One trauma after another. Half the city apparently decided today was a great day to make terrible healthcare decisions.”
“Sounds about right.”
“And one student almost gave a patient the wrong dosage because he was trying to impress our boss.”
“We caught it before it happened, but still.” Your hair moved slowly across your forehead as you shook your head tiredly. “At some point though you just start wondering if everyone should stop touching things altogether or find some patience before they kill someone.”
He hummed softly in agreement, hazel eyes drifting toward the street. “You probably already know, but that feeling really doesn’t ever go away.”
You glanced over at him, taking in his face properly. Like your Jack, Sammy seemed to carry the same heaviness about him, like emergency services hadn’t been kind to either of them.
“How long have you been on the force?” you asked quietly, taking his uniform details in as your eyes roamed.
“Twelve years.”
“Explains your expression.”
At least he didn’t sound offended when he asked, “What expression?”
“The one that says humanity was a big mistake.”
He chuckled lowly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “You nailed that one perfectly.”
A faint smile hooked onto your lips before your head tipped back against the cruiser window behind you. “Jack has that look too.”
Sammy looked over. “The guy I apparently share a face with?”
“Yep.” You looked down at your hands, fingers picking at the skin around your nails. “Him and this firefighter named Richards.”
“What does Jack do?”
“He’s the night shift attending, and he volunteers as a SWAT medic during his free days.”
Sammy nodded along, understanding settling across his face as he listened. “That tracks.”
“You say that like you know him.”
“Don’t need to.” He shrugged. “You can tell what kind of person someone is by the jobs they stay in too long.”
For a second, you watched him quietly beneath the moonlight, struck again by how strange this whole thing felt. It wasn’t because he looked like Jack—though that continued to be deeply unsettling—but because talking to him felt easy in the same dangerous way talking to Jack always did; honesty dripping from their mouths the more tired they got.
Similarly, Sammy studied you for a moment before speaking again. “Are you okay?”
His question caught you off guard. Again, that genuine earnestness they both seemed to have bled through even if Sammy had only met you moments ago.
Your eyes traveled back down to your hands for a second before a half laugh bubbled softly under your breath. “You ever have one of those days where you think maybe everyone should stop needing things from you for like . . . twenty-four hours?”
“Yeah,” Sammy answered. “More than once. My ex-wife used to call me all the time, and I just begged for break.”
It was now your turn to wince. “Logically, I know it’s a terrible mindset to have as someone working in healthcare, but after the fifth screaming family member and the third guy trying to leave with an IV still in his arm, I’m starting to reconsider my commitment to helping people.”
“You’re tired,” he said simply.
“I think cranky is a better term for what I’m feeling right now.”
“You’re human.”
You glanced back up at him. “You know, you’re both annoyingly and suspiciously good at this whole peptalk thing.”
“Me and Jack?”
“Yeah. You have this calm voice thing. It’s irritating.”
Sammy smirked into his coffee cup. “Maybe you just trust guys who look too tired for life.”
“Maybe I need therapy.”
“That too.”
You laughed a bit harder at that than the joke deserved, but exhaustion always made you a bit slaphappy. Once the sound subsided, the two of you fell back into a comfortable silence. Sammy stayed leaned beside the cruiser, quiet in a way that didn’t feel awkward, and you realized that the comfortableness was probably the strangest part of the whole ordeal.
As a senior resident, most people demanded every ounce of energy from you. Conversation. Reassurance. Attention. They picked it all apart until a hollow shell of yourself went home to recharge for another day. But standing here with him felt easy in the same way standing beside Jack did after a nightmare shift. There wasn’t pressure to perform, zero expectation to be cheerful, just silent understanding between two people trying to survive difficult jobs.
Sammy finally glanced toward you again. “Whoever this Jack guy is,” he said casually, “he must be worth confusing strangers over.”
“That’s still up for debate.”
“But you still like him.”
You opened your mouth to argue before realizing you had no real defense against that, and Sammy absolutely noticed. A knowing sort of amusement flashed briefly across his face before he looked back out toward the street and the Pitt again, giving you an out without pressing further.
You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately I do. He’s annoyingly competent.”
“Dangerous trait to have.”
And he does this thing where he acts like indifferent while actively solving all the problems.”
“Real terrible guy.”
You rolled your eyes fondly. “He’s just the worst.”
Sammy laughed quietly, and you smiled before finally pushing away from the cruiser.
“I should probably head to my car before somebody sees I’m still here and decides they need me to pull a double.”
His eyebrows rose. “Probably.”
“It was nice to meet you, Sammy.”
“Likewise.”
As you started in the direction of the parking lot, Sammy lifted his coffee slightly in farewell.
“And hey,” he called out after a few steps.
You paused and turned back toward him with a raised eyebrow.
“If you run into another one of us,” he said dryly, “maybe lead with the name first!”
Your laugh echoed across the bay as you flipped him the bird to which his boisterous laughter also joined in with yours all the way to the parking lot.
_______________________
By the fifth twelve-hour shift in a row, the Pitt stopped feeling real.
Time blurred through patient rooms. Daylight disappeared without warning. Meals became whatever you could hork down before another trauma alarm went off. Entire conversations slipped from your memory the second someone started coding. By three in the afternoon, the Pitt finally settled into a lapping wave instead of a tsunami, something easier to wade through instead of drown in.
You’d be done in four hours.
That’s all you could think as you found yourself wandering the full surprisingly empty area near radiology with a vending machine coffee clenched in one hand and your pager clipped crookedly to your scrub pants after catching another consult.
The coffee tasted burnt enough to qualify as chemical warfare.
You drank it down anyway.
Your shoulders ached as you rounded the corner toward the quieter hallway leading to imagine, gravity pulled extra heavily at your limbs. Most of the overhead lights had dimmed this far from the trauma bays, leaving the corridor washed in soft blue-gray shadows only broken by the occasional flicker of a light lucky enough to have had its bulbs changed recently.
That was when you spotted Jack sitting alone against the wall near the windows.
Your steps slowed automatically.
Even half-curled into one of the uncomfortable chairs that had been brought in from check-in, you found the familiar dark curls along his forehead and broad shoulders hunched beneath a black sweatshirt. His long legs stretched out in front of him while his hands rested loosely clasped together between his knees.
Your mind should have caught up by now that there was a 95 percent chance that the Jack in front of you was not actually Jack. The past two times, the odds had been against you. Even as you approached, you honestly weren’t sure if he actually was Jack.
But his Jack-Abbot shape and Jack-Abbot demeanor mixed with your weighted exhaustion overrode every caution light fast enough you continued to walk steadily towards him.
“You know handoff’s not for another four hours, right?” you asked tiredly. “Or are you here early again to save the day?”
Jack’s neck twisted as he looked up at you, and for one brief second, your brain short-circuited again.
Three and oh.
You found yourself truly wondering if you had the most absurd luck in finding the men who shared unsettling similarities (hazel eyes, rugged kind of handsomeness, a stillness that carried respect that could command a room) or if you were just unfortunately a Jack-Abbot-doppelganger magnet.
In this instance, you wished for neither because this one looked sad.
Where Jack’s exhaustion usually kept him sharp and tightly wound, this stranger looked just as weighed down as you felt. His expression stayed completely unreadable as he stared at you, hazel eyes fixed so intently on your face that you had stopped walking altogether.
You paused in front of him. “Oh no,” you whispered. “I did it again.”
The man continued staring at you silently, and you stared back. After a beat, he slowly tilted his head just slightly to one side in a movement so subtle it almost felt animal-like. Your stomach dropped.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re name isn’t Jack.”
Still, he said nothing; such a stark difference from Brett’s flirty amusement and Sammy’s conversational abilities. He just watched you.
You laughed weakly into the silence. “Okay, statistically this is getting insane.”
He blinked once before his gaze dropped briefly to the coffee in your hand before lifting back to your face. “Is that good?”
His voice was the thing to catch you off guard. Where Jack could bark orders quicker than he could blink, this man spoke slowly, careful with his words like he though each one over before letting it leave his mouth.
A startled exhale flew from your mouth. “No. But, I think I’m legally dead at this point, so what I put in my body really doesn’t matter.”
Another long pause settled in the space between you, and he didn’t seem bothered at all by it. If anything, he seemed pretty comfortable inside it unlike everyone else you knew (including yourself).
You shifted your weight awkwardly. “Sorry. Again. I thought you were someone else.”
He methodically nodded once, already having figured that part out. “The same someone else?”
“Damn, there’s enough resemblance now that people are starting to notice patterns.” You glanced toward an empty chair beside him before looking into his eyes with uncertainty. “Can I sit, or will I disturb the quiet zen you have going on back here?”
Another pause.
“You can sit.”
You lowered yourself carefully into the chair beside him, fatigue instantly sinking deeper into your bones the second you stopped moving. The burnt-gas-tasting coffee warmed your palms while the quiet hallway stretched around you, distant hospital noises muffled enough to sound almost unreal this far away from the Pitt.
Beside you, the stranger sat perfectly still like he was scared to breach an invisible wall of containment. After a few moments, you began to noticed the differences between him and Jack. He avoided looking directly at the lights. His fingers slowly rubbed against each other every few seconds like he needed the repetitive motion to stay grounded. He kept a careful distance between himself and you.
“Are you waiting on somebody?” you asked gently.
His eyes shifted toward you, intense enough that it almost felt like physical pressure.
“My brother,” he answered after a second. “He got hurt.”
Concern softened through your exhaustion. “Is he okay?”
He gave another small shrug. “He’s alive.”
His words may have been flat, but you could sense the ache badly enough that you heard it anyway.
You nodded. “That’s usually a good start around here. Can’t do much on a dead guy.”
A small almost-smile curled his lip.
You took a small sip of your coffee and grimaced before the liquid even reached your throat. “Holy fuck that’s terrible.”
His eyes looked down at the cup.
“How can anyone call this coffee when it tastes like somebody filtered dirty water through cigarette ash,” you informed him.
He stared at you for a half second longer than most people would have before asking unexpectedly, “Why are you still drinking it?”
You giggled softly. “Because I still have a few patients to get through before handoffs.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. I feel the same way.”
A silence settled again, soft and comfortable where you found yourself glancing sideways at him occasionally while you sat there. Up close, the resemblance to Jack somehow became even more unfair. However, you guessed this is how Jack looked around 10 years ago with brownish-red hair and fewer wrinkles. But yet, the same feeling that both men carried too much responsibility around like extra weight strapped to their shoulders pulled at your heartstrings.
Also, where Jack’s emotions tended to sit close to the surface—irritation, protectiveness, frustration—this man kept everything buried so deeply you almost wondered if he realized that his expressions gave him away at all. Because despite how blank his face stayed while he either stared at the floor or stared at you, his eyes were devastatingly easy to read.
Lonely, your brain supplied.
You tore your eyes away. “So,” you said quietly after a while, “do you have a name, or should I keep mentally referring to you as Not Jack the Third?”
He pursed his lips. “Andrew.”
No nickname.
Not even a last name.
Just Andrew.
You smiled faintly. “Well, Andrew, for what it’s worth, you’re significantly less judgmental about mistaken identity than the last two.”
“The last two?”
“Long story.”
He nodded once like that answer satisfied him completely. Another few minutes passed quietly before your pager suddenly buzzed against your hip hard enough to make you jump. Andrew’s eyes tracked the movement carefully.
“Do you need to go help people?”
“Yep. Part of the job’s charm.”
“You’re tired.”
“There’s no rest for the wicked.” Your head tilted. “Or me for that matter.”
He looked at you again with that same strange, steady focus. “You should sleep more.”
“You sound like Jack.”
Andrew tilted his head slightly. “Is that good?”
“Yeah,” you answered softly. “It’s very good.”
His gaze lingered on your face for another long moment before he finally looked away first. You stood slowly from the chair, adjusting your pager against your waistband.
“I should go save the hospital from itself,” you muttered sarcastically.
Andrew nodded once. Then, just before you turned away completely, his voice stopped you again. “You looked happier when you talked about him . . . your Jack.”
You blinked before slowly looking back at him. Andrew sat exactly where you’d left him, hands loosely clasped together, sad eyes fixed on you under the dim hallway lights. He wasn’t flirting or trying to charm you; he was just stating something he’d noticed. His honesty hit harder than it probably should have.
You smiled warmly back at him. “Have a good rest of your day, Andrew.”
His gaze followed you all the way down the hallway until you disappeared around the corner and back into the Pitt.
_______________________
By now, you should have known better.
Key words: should have.
Three separate incidents should have been enough to teach your brain not to immediately trust broad shoulders and tired hazel eyes in low lighting, and yet apparently your never-ending exhaustion had burned away whatever survival instincts you normally possessed. At this point, the universe seemed committed to producing endless variations of the same emotionally damaged man just to see how many times you’d embarrassed yourself before learning.
Unfortunately, tonight really wasn’t helping your judgment.
Rain hammered steadily against your windshield as you pulled into the near-empty parking garage attached to the hospital, the concrete levels echoing faintly with the sound of tires and distant thunder. Your night shift was supposed to start soon, give or take an hour, but a last-minute emergency surgery had called you in early just in case Jack was held up or if the rain got too much for you to drive safely in.
All you wanted was to get inside, get your Dunkin from Shen, and live through this shift so that your following two days off were nothing but pure paradise.
Instead, you killed the engine and sat there for a second staring blankly through the rain-streaked windshield while tiredness settled heavy behind your eyes.
The parking garage was mostly empty this late at night. Lights buzzed overhead, washing the concrete levels in pale gray while rainwater dripped steadily from the ceiling near the ramps. Somewhere farther down the row, a radio played faintly form another parked car.
You grabbed your bag from the passenger seat with a tired sigh before climbing out into the cold damp air. The moment you were at full height, you spotted Jack leaning against one of the concrete support pillars a few rows over. You froze, hand still gripping your car door.
At this point, his face shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was, your stomach dropping every single time you got to lay eyes on him and his salt-and-pepper curls and sexy build partially hidden under a dark jacket while one hand rested causally in his pocket.
The faintest hint of This is probably another horrifyingly convincing copy of him. And honestly, who even knew anymore.
Jack glanced up at you as you started to walk; your footsteps echoed slightly. His face was partially shadowed by the buzzing lights. And before your brain could fully catch up, your own mouth betrayed you first.
Et tu, Brute?
“If you turn out to be another stranger, I’m actually gonna lose my mind.”
Jack’s eyebrows lifted slightly before the corner of his mouth curled into something that looked far too pleased.
“Well now,” he drawled, voice salted with a southern accent that instantly threw you off balance, “that ain’t usually how good-looking women start conversations with me.”
You stopped short, because absolutely nothing about that voice sounded like Jack or confident Brett or sweet Sammy or quiet Andrew. This one was different with something slick underneath his drawl like he found the entire interaction entertaining before it had even properly started.
“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath, arms wrapping around your middle to somehow protect you from his eyes.
The now stranger pushed off the pillar slowly, watching you with open amusement as he stepped fully into the lights. And unfortunately, the resemblance to Jack got worse the closer he got. Same face shape? Check. Same hazel eyes? Check (but his sent the wrong kind of chill up your spine).
However, unlike the others, this man looked at you like he already knew exactly how attractive he was, and that automatically made him the worst one to be around.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Gotta take a wild guess and say your name isn’t Jack Abbot.”
A wild grin slowly spread across his face. “No, ma’am but sounds like I oughta thank him for the introduction.”
You actually groaned aloud. “I cannot keep doing this.”
“Doin’ what?”
“Finding men who all have the same face.”
“That so?”
“Yes, and frankly it’s getting psychologically damaging.”
The stranger laughed softly, low and self-satisfied enough to make your skin prickle slightly. The same quiet internal warning that told you when patients were about to become aggressive before security even notices was sending a tingle up your arms.
You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder. “Okay. Great. Nice meeting you, mysterious parking garage man, but I’m gonna go before this gets more embarrassing for me.”
“Funny,” he said casually, “seems like you started this conversation pretty confident.”
You paused. “That was before you spoke.”
His grin widened somehow. “Little disappointed?”
“Concerned, actually. Very concerned.”
He laughed again, stepping away from the pillar entirely. “Damn, darlin’. You always this mean to strangers?”
The nickname landed wrong in your chest. Just the way he said it felt off. It wasn’t flirty, it was possessive, almost like he’d skipped straight past normal conversation and decided familiarity for himself. It all felt wrong; he felt wrong. Caution slowly sharpened under your exhaustion.
Still, you forced a polite smile. “Only the ones lurking dramatically in a hospital parking garage.”
He pouted, bottom lip jutted out dramatically. “You hurt my feelings a little.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Oh, I think I will.” His hazel eyes trailed up and down your body while he spoke.
Your stomach tightened faintly. This man felt dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with physical violence and everything to do with manipulation. Every work out of his mouth seemed like he’d already calculated it before he said it. The others had felt human and even awkward at times, but they had been grounded below it all.
This one, you understood a bit too late, was that he’d realized you were uncomfortable almost immediately and was enjoying watching you squirm under eyes that normally made you feel safe.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes moving over your face with unsettling ease. “So this Jack guy,” he said conversationally, “boyfriend?”
You sneered. “That’s none of your business.”
“Mhm.”
“Do you ask invasive questions to every woman you meet in parking garages?”
“Only the pretty little ones.”
You physically recoiled a little. “Ew.”
Somehow that only amused him more. “Do you always look this suspicious, or am I special?”
“You’re definitely something.”
Another slow grin spread across his face, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. You took a small step backward instinctively, and his gaze dropped to the movement. The awful feeling that he noticed everything tightened your chest.
“You got a name?” he asked.
Normally, under any other circumstance, you would’ve answered immediately. But something stopped you this time. The hesitation must have shown on your face because sick amusement flashed across his face and morphed into a look of interest.
“Smart girl,” he murmured.
Your spine stiffened.
The man straightened slightly before offering you a lazy, sleazy half-smile. “Terry. Terry McCandless.”
You nodded once carefully. “Okay . . . Terry. I’m gonna leave now.”
“Before tellin’ me yours?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly at your blunt answer before he laughed under his breath, shaking his head like you’d surprised him. “Well,” he drawled, “now I’m definitely curious.”
You started backing slowly toward the Pitt, grip tightening around your bag’s strap. Terry noticed that too. For one long second, neither of you spoke. Rain echoed heavily through the garage, the entire level suddenly feeling far too empty. Terry tilted his head slightly again, studying you with blatant interest.
“You know,” he said casually, “most women would’ve already left.”
You forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Most women probably have better instincts than I do.”
“Mm.” His gaze lingered on you another second too long, so unlike how Andrew had watched you with a quiet curiosity. Here, Terry looked at you like he was hungry. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Suddenly, you understood with startling clarity exactly how dangerous his personality could become with the wrong person.
You took another step backward. “Goodnight, Terry.”
He smiled again, easy and handsome and entirely untrustworthy. “Night, darlin’.”
You didn’t breathe properly again until you got through the doors leading to the Pitt. And even then, as you walked down the hall and took a glance back toward the concrete pillar where he’d been standing, Terry was watching you the whole time.
_______________________
You hated when Robby voluntold you to attend hospital fundraising events.
The Pitt survived on donations almost as much as caffeine and trauma surgeons with superiority complexes. New equipment, expanded programs, research grants: all of it depended on wealthy people occasionally deciding to feel generous for tax purposes. However, that didn’t mean you wanted to spend your Friday night pretending to enjoy lukewarm champagne while hospital executives paraded donors around like show dogs ranked somewhere below “paperwork” and slightly above “food poisoning” on your list of favorite activities.
The ballroom glittered obnoxiously around you, gold light reflecting off crystal chandeliers while a string quartet played softly near the stage. Doctors mingled through clusters of wealthy sponsors in expensive dresses and tailored tuxedos, all perfectly polished smiles and practiced networking.
Meanwhile, you stood near the bar in horrifically high heel that you knew were actively trying to murder your feet and wondered if you could fake your own death before dessert was served.
“You look positively thrilled to be here,” a familiar, deep voice sounded behind you, causing you to sigh in desperate relief.
Without even turning around, you lifted your champagne flute toward him. “Jack, I swear if you’re actually not you and just another man with your face, I’m walking directly off the roof of this hotel.”
“Well now I’m interested.”
Your stomached dropped as you turned around slowly.
At this point, it honestly felt biblical like a divine comedy staring you as the leading role.
The resemblance hit just as hard as the others had: same hazel eyes, same shoulder width, same cutting-edge jawline, same good looks that apparently existed in endless horrifying variations across Pittsburgh. But where Brett had been charming and Sammy had been grounding and Andrew had carried that quiet sadness around him like a shadow and Terry had been intensely creepy, this man looked completely insane.
Sure, he exuded a I’m probably the wealthiest mother fucker in this room attitude. His black tuxedo was tailored perfectly across his shoulders, curls styled to perfection away from his face, large ring-adorned hands holding a crystal whiskey glass. He was rich, polished, and handsome enough that half the women in the ballroom had probably already given him bedroom eyes twice.
But there was something deeply unwell behind the hazel glint.
He smiled slowly. “How many of us are there?”
You stared at him in exhausted belief. “Enough that I’m considering neurological testing.”
“How funny it is that you’ve met them all.”
“I wouldn’t say funny. One of your little clones in a parking garage looked like he might actually kill me to swing a jury.”
Instead of reacting like a normal human being—wincing or flashing sympathy—the man had the audacity to laugh a rich, warm, delighted sound that absolutely did not match the deeply unsettling energy radiating off of him.
“Oh, I already like you,” he announced.
You took a cautious sip of champagne. “Somehow that made me less comfortable instead of more.”
“I get that a lot.”
You hummed. “Yes, I’m sure you do.”
He stepped closer easily, like your personal space was more of a suggestion than a rule. “And what exactly did this Jackdo to earn so such a reaction?”
“His face apparently exists just to humiliate me in public.”
“Do you seek his face out often?”
“Seems like it’s seeking me out more.”
“Ah. One of those situations.”
Your eyes narrowed questionably. “You say that like you know what I mean.”
“I know what obsession looks like, little dove.” Before you could respond, he extended his whiskey glass slightly toward you in a mock toast. “Titus Danforth.”
Oh.
Oh no.
For the first time, you actually recognized the same; not personally, obviously, but the Danforth family practically owned half the city at this point. Generational wealth that seems sketchy with endless political influence and charities where people pretended billionaires cared about humanity because they funded pediatric wings occasionally.
You straightened your shoulders and mused over his name in your mouth. “You’re that Danforth.”
His grin widened. “Now, don’t sound too accusatory, or I might think you have a deep resentment towards me already.”
“Who’s to say I haven’t always had a deep resentment.”
“Good.” He took another sip from his glass without breaking eye contact. “Most people here are too scared to insult me directly.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
“It mostly entertains me.”
You glanced toward the ballroom crowd again, briefly trying to find Robby and considering escape routes. However, Titus seemed to carry Terry’s unnaturally uncanny ability to notice things like that.
“Relax,” he drawled lazily. “You look like I’m planning to sacrifice you to Satan or something.”
A chill ran up your spine. “Are you?”
He looked down at you over his nose. “I’m still deciding on that.”
You blinked at hi, slowly. “I’m sorry. What?”
Titus looked downright delighted by being one the receiving end of your scrunched up face. “Oh, come on. You’re at a billionaire fundraiser. You have to know at least half these people are one blood ritual away from immortality.”
A look of horror washed over your face as your blood ran cold. He stared back, visibly trying not to laugh.
“You’re joking,” you finally decided on with a small, uncomfortable laugh.
“That’s the fun part.” He tilted his head slightly. “You really can never tell.”
Oh, absolutely not.
Every single alarm bell in your body started ringing simultaneously in a way that hadn’t happened yet. See, Terry hadn’t felt as dangerous as he was calculated and manipulative. Titus felt like mad chaos draped in designer fabric, like someone had handed a deeply unstable man unlimited money and simply hoped for the best.
“You have the exact same face as someone I trust,” you informed him cautiously, “and you’re doing irreparable damage the longer this conversation continues.”
“How will you ever recover?”
“Hopefully the moment we go our separate ways.”
Titus laughed softly again before gesturing out toward the ballroom. “So, what’s your role here? Underpaid attending? Morally exhausted nurse? One of those residents constantly on the verge of collapse?”
“You guessed all of those so confidently it’s a bit concerning.”
“I donate to hospitals constantly, and I’ve watched enough caffeine addictions develop in real time to identify the species.”
Despite yourself, a small giggle escaped, to which Titus noticed instantly. And the look on his face afterward morphed into something even more dangerous.
“So you are capable of laughing,” he murmured. “You look less miserable when you do that.”
The words hit unexpectedly hard because Andrew had said almost the exact same thing days earlier. However, when Andrew said it, it sounded like he did out of a deep concern, but when Titus said it, it sounded like you were a small bug under a microscope. Apparently, this entire cursed lineup shared one collective personality trait, and it was psychoanalyzing you against your will.
You pointed at him. “No. You don’t get to do that.”
His eyebrows lifted innocently. “Do what?”
“You are not allowed to suddenly become emotionally observant when you were just talking about devil sacrifice thirty seconds ago.”
“Is it a sin to be attentive?”
“It’s a sin to act like you care when obviously I’m merely just a game to you.”
Titus grinned into his glass. “Oh, I definitely like you.”
Before you could spit back another insult, another man suddenly appeared beside you with the kind of smooth interruption that felt almost rehearsed. You silently thanked everything that could hear you when the familiar height towered over you.
“There’s my favorite resident,” Robby announced as he took your right side.
You glanced over at him and tried not to melt at the sight of his navy suit that looked slightly less expensive than Titus’s but worn with significantly more exhaustion in the way Robby existed in. His expression softened as he looked down at you. You could have hugged him on sight.
Robby’s brown eyes, normally filled with kindness, bore fiery into Titus’s. “You don’t mind if I borrow her for a moment, do you? I think one of our department heads was looking into speaking to us on behalf of our emergency department.”
His lie was painfully obvious but deeply appreciated on your side. You started stepping away before Titus could start another conversation about ritual sacrifice, however, the sound of his voice made you pause and look back just as Titus was pulling out a sleek black checkbook from inside his tuxedo jacket.
Double oh no.
He scribbled something quickly before tearing the check free and holding it out toward you between two fingers. “For your hospital.”
You stared down at the number and tried not to faint on the spot.
“Titus—”
“What?” He looked genuinely amused now. “You people keep fixing rich idiots after yacht accidents. Consider it gratitude.”
“That is way too much money.”
“Probably.”
“You cannot casually hand people checks equivalent to a small lakeside house in Italy.”
“Sure I can.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “Watch me.”
You hesitated before slowly taking in.
Robby clanged at the amount over your shoulder and physically winced. “Holy fuck. Gloria’s going to be floored.”
Titus lifted his glass again with a lazy smile. “See? Devil worship pays well.”
You backed away after that. “Okay. I’m going to leave before you buy me a cursed mansion that makes me blow up or something.”
“How did you know that was next on my list?”
“It seemed very on brand.”
Thankfully, Robby took the break in conversation to steer you safely toward the other side of the ballroom, champagne still in one hand and a horrifyingly large Danforth charity check in the other.
Once the gap was large enough, Robby leaned down enough to whisper, “Tell me I’m not seeing things, and that he didn’t look exactly like Jack.”
You let out a large, exasperated sigh. “Robby, you have no idea.”
_______________________
At this point, you genuinely believed the universe was mocking you. There was no other sane explanation for the past few weeks.
One doppelgänger had been weird coincidence territory. Two had been unsettling. Three had crossed into psychological combat. Four had nearly gotten you murdered in a parking lot. And the fifth had tried to recruit you into what might’ve been a satanic cult before handing you a charity donation large enough to make a hospital board cry (Gloria did indeed faint as well).
You were simply done.
Officially. Completely. Done.
Which was exactly why, when you stepped out of the hospital just after sunrise (the result of a last-minute night-shift swap) and spotted a familiar figure leaning against the hood of a dark truck across the street, your immediate reaction wasn’t relief but unequivocal annoyance.
The city still looked half-asleep around you, pale morning light stretching across damp pavement while your exhausted coworkers shuffled toward their cars clutching coffee cups like lifelines. Your overnight shift had run disastrously long, leaving you tired enough that your thoughts felt wrapped in cotton. The added lack of a Jack Abbot didn’t do well to settle any wants of seeing the man again with your own two eyes.
And standing there beneath the weak gold light of sunrise was yet another salt and pepper-curly-haired man with nice shoulders and light hazel eyes.
Unbelievable.
You didn’t even break stride this time.
“Nope,” you called out while crossing the sidewalk. “Absolutely not. I’m not doing this again. You can’t pay me enough.”
The Jack-a-like straightened at the sound of your voice.
You pointed at him warningly before he could speak. “I don’t care if you’re emotionally repressed, weirdly observant, secretly corrupt, or involved in a ritual sacrifice. I’m done talking to Jack Abbot doppelgangers.”
A long silence followed before he said one word.
“What?”
You frowned at his voice and the way it felt familiar in your ears. None of the others had ever quite managed to get Jack’s timber down correctly. Your steps slowed, and the man pushed away from the truck fully now, confusion pulling at his features while dark circles sat heavily beneath his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days.
Your chest tightened achingly so, because that—that was Jack Abbot, actually Jack Abbot.
Your Jack.
For one horrible second, your brain refused to process it properly. After weeks of running into twisted reflections of him everywhere, seeing the real thing suddenly felt almost unreal itself. It made you suspicious.
You scoffed at him. “Okay. Which one are you?”
Jack stared at you with somehow even more confusion, your name coming out oddly through his lips. “Excuse me?”
“The firefighter was flirty. The cop was emotionally stable. The quiet one stared at me like a sad shelter dog in one of those ASPCA commercials. The southern one was definitely corrupt. And the rich one threatened me with devil worship.” You pointed accusingly at him. “So what’s your thing, and please make it quick because I obviously need more than six hours of sleep.”
Jack stared at you in complete silence.
“. . . You met a rich version of me?”
“You have no idea how bad this has gotten.”
“Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”
The utter bewilderment in his face finally settled something inside you, because none of the others had ever looked at you like that.
Brett had looked entertained.
Sammy had looked understanding.
Adnrew had looked curious and quietly lonely.
Terry had looked scheming.
Titus had looked delighted with a new play thing.
But Jack?
Jack looked at you like he’d been waiting long enough out here for you to start getting worried, like seeing you finally emerge from the Pitt had made him relax just enough. Suddenly, it all clicked at once.
“Oh.”
Jack’s brow furrowed deeper. “What?”
“You’re actually him.”
“Yeah?” He sounded almost offended. “Who else would I be?”
A helpless laugh escaped you before you could stop it as you visibly deflated, exhaustion and pure relief tangling together so suddenly it made your eyes sting.
Jack took a step closer, your name falling from his chest. “Hey. You okay?”
His immediate instinct to take care of you was what did it. It wasn’t his face or his voice or his tired eyes or broad shoulders or any of the things that the other had shared. His concern for your wellbeing that had seemingly been stitched directly into his bloodstream no matter how tired he got. Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
Jack’s expression softened as he moved closer. “What happened?”
“You happened,” you informed him weakly.
“That really didn’t explain anything.”
“It does in my head.”
“Which is terrifying.”
You laughed again softly, rubbing tiredly at your face before looking back up at him. Now that the real Jack stood in front of you, the differences felt almost embarrassingly obvious. Brett had been warm but too easygoing; Sammy had been grounding in a way that felt comforting but oddly distant; Andrew had carried gentleness around him so openly it hurt to look at; Terry had weaponized familiarity until it felt dangerous; and Titus had turned charm into performance art.
But above all, Jack felt safe.
Even as he was standing there exhausted and grumpy in front of you sleep-deprived with yesterday’s hoodie thrown over a wrinkled scrub top, something about him always made your world quiet enough to where it felt manageable, like you could get anything done without worrying about the next moment.
You stared at him for a long moment before realizing he was still waiting for an explanation. So, unfortunately, your exhausted brain chose honest-to-God honesty.
“You know what the worst part was?” you asked softly.
Jack crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m scared to answer that.”
“They all looked like you.” You voice quieted slightly. “But none of them were you.” You glanced away, trying to organize thoughts that had apparently been building for weeks now. “Brett was nice. Sammy was . . . easy to talk to. Andrew was sweet in this sad kind of way. Even the crazy rich one was weirdly funny.” You huffed out a tired laugh. “And every single time I kept thinking maybe that was why my brain kept confusing them for you.”
He stayed quiet.
“But each time, they failed horribly at being Jack Abbot for longer than a two-sentence introduction.” You looked back up at him with glassy eyes. “Because all they had was just your face. They didn’t have the way you make everything feel less awful when you walk into a room. They didn’t have the way you pay attention to people even when you pretend that you’re annoyed. They didn’t have the way I never have to wonder if I’m safe with you.”
Jack looked caught off guard.
“I kept meeting all these parallel versions of you,” you continued softly, exhaustion making everything spill easier than normal, “and every time something still felt missing.” Your mouth twitched faintly. “Turns out it was just . . . you.”
He kept quiet for a long moment as the morning traffic hummed somewhere down the street while patients and employees alike trickled from the Pitt’s doors. You bit your bottom lip, waiting with anticipation for him to say something.
Finally, very quietly, he spit out, “You compared me to a satanic billionaire before saying all that.”
A tired giggled burst out so suddenly it nearly doubled you over. “You can’t believe how thankful I am that it’s actually you this time.”
Jack shook his head slowly, but you caught the way his mouth softened slightly. “C’mere.”
The words barely left his mouth before he was reaching for you, hand gripping your forearm lightly before pulling you forward against his chest with the kind of familiarity that made your entire body finally relax for the first time in days.
That was another difference too.
None of the others had ever felt like home.
You buried your face against his chest with a tired groan. “If another man with your face talks to me this week, I’m filing a police report.”
Jack’s chest shook slightly beneath your cheek. “Again me?”
“Wouldn’t be entirely you,” you mumbled. “Just your face.”
A quiet laugh rumbled through him before his hand settled against the back of your head.
“C’mon,” he murmured. “I’m taking you home before you start hallucinating more versions of me.”
You tilted your head back just enough to look up at him. “You promise you’re the real one?”
Jack stared down at you for one long second.
“Did any of them kiss you?”
A blooming warmth covered your face. “What?”
“The firefighter,” he said evenly. “The cop. Satan guy.” His jaw tightened. “Did any of them kiss you?”
“No,” you admitted quietly. “Wouldn’t let them either because they weren’t you.”
His hand slid gently against your jaw before he kissed you like he’d been thinking about it the entire conversation. His lips felt warm; the kiss careful and tired in the same way you both were but all the same steady.
When he finally pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his, nose brushing along the skin right under his eye, you smiled weakly.
“Okay,” you said softly out of breath. “Yeah. Definitely the real one.”
Jack laughed quietly against your mouth. “Are you 100 percent sure?”
You pretended to think for a second before shaking your head. “Nope. Gotta kiss you again just to be sure.”
He smirked before pulling you back into another soft kiss.
i always think about the line from your 'experimenting' pope fic where he's like "i'm good at sex, right?"
it made me laugh the first time just because of how unexpected it was in the moment lol. but anyway, maybe another fic exploring something new he saw? like maybe he was watching a movie and there was a sex scene. and there was something in the scene (up to you!) that got him hard and he's like. kinda embarrassed about it, but reader helps him explore it by recreating the scene <3
oh my dear sweet inky i love the way you think >:3 (thank you for the submission btw <3)
contains: sexually curious! pope, teasing but indulgent! reader, poor guy just does not have a filter if something bothers him enough, premature ejac, fingering, MIRROR SEX????? I THINK YES.
word count: 1.4k (i def got lost in the sauce, did not mean for it to be this long)
i'm trying so hard not to think about the fact that this is a smut drabble and this pic above is literally andrew at church with amy HELP ME T-T
it was another cozy night in the living room, you and pope snuggled together under a blanket while watching a romance movie. he'd never even touched the genre before he met you, the hopeless romantic you tended to be. what neither of you realized until you were already in the moment, was how raunchy the sex scenes would be. it felt like they were showing everything legally possible without the movie being uploaded to pornhub instead of a streaming platform.
you were about ready to turn the crazy shit off, but stopped short when you felt pope go eerily still next to you. you glance over at him, then back at the screen and took note of the scene. the couple on screen had positioned a floor length mirror in front of their bed. the woman was in doggy, hair being yanked back so she was forced to watch herself get pounded.
you had to admit, it looked really... hot. you look back at pope, whose eyes are still on the screen. you see the way the blush creeps over his cheeks, and that's when you start to feel something poking your thigh that was draped across his lap. you stifle a chuckle, which causes his gaze to snap towards you.
"why are you laughing at me?"
he frowns, his hands squeezing possessively at your thighs.
"seems like you really enjoyed that scene, andrew."
you can't hold back the smirk on your face, which honestly gets pope even harder against you.
"we have a mirror in the bedroom."
you blink, caught off guard by his unintentionally bold statement.
"yeah, we do."
he takes your unreadable expression as a sign of disinterest and slightly deflates, looking back toward the tv. you watch as a subconscious pout starts to form on his lips, something that you'd never tell him out loud because you know he'd never let it happen again. you reach over, placing a hand on his cheek as you slowly turn his face back toward you.
"are you saying you want to watch yourself while you fuck me?"
his eyes widen ever so slightly at your question. he could never get used to those filthy words that escaped such a beautiful, innocent-looking face. unable to even muster up a verbal response, he leans into your soft palm and nods slowly. his pupils are blown in the dim lighting from the television, telling you everything you needed to know. you smile at him as you swing your legs over and stand from the couch.
you extend a hand to him, watching as he tosses the blanket to the side. that's how you knew he was ready, not even taking the time to fold the damn thing before you two left the room. you walk with him into your bedroom, making a beeline for the floor-length mirror that sat in the corner. before you can lay a finger on it, he's there and carrying it over to its newly-desired spot.
"here...?"
he looks up at you after carefully setting down the wooden frame.
"only one way to find out."
you chuckle, climbing onto the bed. you position yourself right in front of the mirror, sat back on your heels with your thighs slightly spread. pope freezes when he sees your reflection, willing himself not to blow a fucking load in his pants at the sight. he climbs into the bed behind you, noting how he still managed to loom over you even on his knees. you glance over your shoulder at him, taking in his lustful expression.
he's not ready for what you do next, sitting down on your ass and slipping off your pants before spreading your legs wide open. you planted your heels on the bed, looking up at him through the reflection of the mirror. he glances at you nervously, unsure of what to do with his hands despite knowing exactly what he wanted to do.
"i'm getting cold sitting all spread out like this, you know?"
you feign annoyance, but he doesn't miss the smug tone in your voice. he relents and finally sits behind you, spreading his own legs just enough to fit around yours. you lean back against his chest, and he feels all the air rush out of his body. you looked fucking perfect like this, not being able to hide a single part of you. his hand slithers its way to your front, massaging your clothed center. he can't decide whether to focus on the way his hand looks between your thighs or to look at your face and the way it contorts in pleasure.
"keep touching me like that..."
you spoke softly, eyes trained on his, finding his focused expression really sexy. he starts to rub circles into your clit through your damp panties. he feels his cock twitch as he observes the growing wet spot in the fabric. you rest your head back against his shoulder, hips slowly grinding against his touch. fuck, this was a million times more steamy than anything they could put in a movie. gathering up some courage, he hooks his fingers into your panties and slides them down your legs, tossing them aside.
you shiver at the rush of cool air against your soaked core. but you aren't able to dwell on the feeling as you feel two of pope's thick fingers plunge inside you. you let out a surprised moan, thighs twitching as he curls them just right to hit that sweet spot. the combination of you clenching around his fingers just right and your hips subsequently rubbing against his growing bulge has him coming in an instant. you look up, hearing the harsh grunt that just came out of his mouth.
you see the look of embarrassment on his face and immediately can tell what just happened. he withdraws his fingers from you, already practically curling in on himself.
"i'm sorry, i tried not to."
he spoke weakly, eyes unable to meet yours out of shame.
"hey, it's okay..."
you spoke softly as you turned around to face him. you cups his face in your hands, kissing him softly as reassurance. he lets you straddle him right as his tongue greedily slips into your mouth, his momentary worry from before now completely vanished. you moan into his mouth, grinding your soaked cunt against the wet spot in is jeans.
"please... i need these off of you."
you plead with him, already undoing his zipper and button of his jeans. he immediately slides them down without having to move you an inch, followed by his boxers.
"watch me take it in."
you whisper in his ear, allowing him to peer over your shoulder and take in the way you looked while straddling him. he can't fight back the needy whimper that escapes his lips at seeing you like this. he wasn't sure he could ever go back to sex without a mirror after tonight. the way your curves sat so perfectly, round ass on full display. he moans loudly as you sink down onto his cock, his eyes trained on the spot where your bodies connect.
seeing the way you struggled to slide down on him whilst he stretched you out had his brain going fuzzy. he placed his hands on the globes of your ass and helped lower you down all the way. you looked even better in his hands like this. he was starting to feel euphoric, the sight of you now bouncing on his cock driving him crazy. he was all moans and whimpers, not even trying to hold back anymore.
"s-so pretty taking me... you look so f-fucking pretty."
he mumbles against the soft skin of your shoulder, hands gripping you tightly as if you might disappear. he starts to rock your hips against his, watching the way your back arched into him. you looked as though your body was made to be against his, your forms fitting together perfectly. he knew he wasn't going to last much longer, but neither were you when he moaned like a fucking girl in your ear like that.
"you first..."
he pants, placing soft kisses on the side of your neck. you start to rock your hips against his faster, your clit just barely grazing the skin of his lower stomach. you were falling apart around him within seconds, clinging to him with your nails digging into his back. no sooner than you clench tightly around him, he's coming deep inside of you. he rocks you gently through your orgasm before managing to lift you off and lay you down in front of him.
he plants himself on top of you, glancing up at the two of you in the mirror one last time before giving you a sweet kiss and cuddling you against his chest.
anyways- yes i got carried away... no, i don't care. EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU INKY FOR THE WONDERFUL IDEA!!!!! <3
taglist: @nyxmoretti @popecodysgirl @romantic-insomniac (thought you guys might like this one <3)
divider creds: @/saradika-graphics and @/cursed-carmine
summary: the three times you decided to flirt with pope cody and the one time you decided to take it one step further.
content/warnings: in my mind this takes place like during s4 but there's nothing really specific about it, pope calls himself andrew in his mind, canon typical violence/drinking/drugs, all the cody boys are here but mostly craig, reader is drinking alcohol and has hair/wears dresses/heels/perfume, sub!pope, fingering, a good ol handy, a little dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie, really just an unseen amount of fluff from me tbh NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 10.2k (oops)
notes: omg my popey.... i love him so much. i got carried away with the plot (kinda a first tbh) but i wanna take care of him so bad. i need to bite his arms. only slightly proofread so proceed at your own risk
credit: gif taken from this set by @wesandresons :)
—
The first time Andrew met you, it was in his bedroom.
Throughout Andrew’s life, many people have come and gone through the doors of Smurf’s house. It would take another lifetime just to count them all.
The parties started when he was young and never ended. The faces blurred together for Andrew now, not that he could really bring himself to care all that much in the first place. Just like Craig’s girlfriends or Smurf’s boyfriends, nobody was ever really a permanent fixture in Andrew’s life. Not if they weren’t family.
He knows that everyone thinks that he’s different. That he’s weird. He notices their looks when he lingers around the pool, in the kitchen, when he’s just sitting on the couch. His own brothers even, a lot of the time. Everyone eyes him like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for him to go off.
Andrew doesn’t really mind, though. Or, if he did, he'd become numb to the feeling a long time ago. In fact, he’s probably become numb to a lot of feelings. But Andrew doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s just Pope and he has been for a very long time.
This party in the Cody household wasn’t different from any other. Booze, drugs, and a big mess Andrew would definitely have to clean up later. The music is loud, bass turned up too high, and Craig is attempting to jump off the roof into the pool again. Amidst the cheers, Andrew thinks about the rest of his brothers and wonders for a moment where exactly it went so differently for him, or if he was just simply born that way.
His brothers seem okay with being in the spotlight. Even his nephew seemed to fare better than him, assimilating perfectly into every situation that arose, especially when people were involved. Andrew was never like that.
J must have gotten it from Julia.
Andrew was never a people person. He was always out of place, like the Cody that just didn’t quite belong, all jagged edges. The parties always send him into the corners of his mind that he didn’t really like venturing into.
The pounding of the bass is getting to him.
He pulls open the door to his bedroom hoping for a moment of silence, when he’s greeted with a pair of bare feet hanging off the edge of his bed. The figure doesn’t stir when he enters, so he creeps in further and shuts the door quietly. He turns his head, scanning now that he has a better view of who exactly is in his room.
You’re laid on his bed, eyes shut, hugging your phone to your chest like a stuffed animal. You’ve clearly come to escape the crowds of the party, same as him. Andrew can’t help as his eyes drag up your legs all the way up to where your short dress shows just a little too much of your thighs. He notices your heels as well, placed nice and neat beside the bed.
“Who are you?” It comes out a bit more gruff than Andrew anticipated and your eyes finally flutter open. It takes you a minute to notice him but when you do you’re shooting up to your feet, spine rigid. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you panic. You startle like a small puppy.
“Oh my god,” you squeak, clearly embarrassed. Your hands fall to adjust the hem of your short dress, much to Andrew’s disappointment. He gives you a once over; it’s half assessing what exactly you’re doing in his room and half just taking you and your skimpy outfit. “I’m so sorry. Is this your room?”
Andrew gives a small nod and you wring your hands nervously. You’re taking him in now, a Cody brother here in front of you, live and in the flesh.
“So which one are you?” you ask, head cocked. Now that you know this is his room, he notices you assessing him in a different light. People always do —it didn’t bother Andrew much anymore but with you he feels a twinge of shame in his stomach. “Deran? Or, um…”
Andrew knows that you’re searching for his name. His nickname. It had to be since there was a short list of people who called him by his real name. Pope Cody is known by everyone in Oceanside. Andrew Cody, on the other hand, is not.
“Andrew.” he supplies, voice softer than before. Now you’ve been added to that very exclusive list. You repeat his name back to him, voice a little warm, no doubt from one of the many drinks that the Cody’s provided. Then you introduce yourself and Andrew attempts to burn your name into his memory.
“Okay, Andrew. Are you hiding too?” Now that he hasn’t kicked you out, you take a seat on the edge of his bed. He notices the compression of where your body laid just a few minutes before on his neatly made and pressed sheets but doesn’t say anything. He likes the sound of your voice too much to interrupt you. “Or just making sure nobody is defiling your room.”
“I’m not hiding,” he replies, crossing his arm over his chest. The strap of your dress falls and Andrew tries not to get distracted. “This is my house. I’m free to go where I please.”
“Fair enough. I’m hiding,” you shrug. A beat of silence passes and you pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit on his own bed. Andrew is curious enough to oblige, sitting on the other end of the bed, putting distance between you. He doesn’t miss how your shoulders drop slightly in disappointment. “My friend is here with Craig and they’ve conveniently disappeared... I don’t even want to know what they’re doing.”
“I have a few guesses.” Another one of Craig’s girlfriends. The giggle of a girl coming from Craig’s room that Andrew had heard when he was walking by suddenly made a lot more sense.
He wills himself not to flinch when you scoot closer to him, closing the distance he deliberately put between the two of you. Andrew was interested, too interested, and that worried him.
Pope Cody wasn’t allowed to want.
“Is it okay if I stay here with you?” you ask, and Andrew’s heart flips. He clears his throat, hoping that you don’t see the blush that’s creeping it’s way up his neck. “I’m just not really sure how long it’s going to take and I would much rather be in here.”
With you, hangs unspoken in the air.
“Sure.” Andrew likes the way you smile when he answers, a small flash of teeth. You scoot even closer and tuck your bare feet under you. You’re so close now that your knee is nudging his thigh. He can smell your perfume from here and it’s heavenly compared to the sweat and chlorine laced air outside. “I don’t really want to be out there either.”
“So, Andrew,” His name sounds like honey when it’s falling from your lips and he wonders how often he can make you say it. The feeling that settles in his chest when you say it is too addicting for him to live without it now. “Not really a party person?”
“No. But my brothers are.” He gestures vaguely to the door, the music pounding on the other side of the wall and then his hands retreat back to his lap. He can feel your eyes on him, but not in the usual way he always tends to notice. You scan him with a kind of curiosity that he hasn’t felt in a long time.
“I’m not really a party person either,” you agree, glancing at the door he had just gestured towards. You look a little sad, even. It makes Andrew’s fingers twitch.“My friend said she needed some moral support coming to meet this guy. So I came, and then she ditched me like an hour ago.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a shitty friend.” Andrew says plainly and he’s caught off guard when you let out a laugh.
“Yeah, I guess,” You shrug, shoulders still shaking with remnants of laughter. Andrew has turned his head fully now to look at you but he doesn’t really understand why you’re laughing. “But maybe it’s like fate, or something.”
“Fate?” Andrew echoes, even more confused than before. You lock eyes with him and he has to resist the urge to break it, enthralled enough by your gaze to ignore the awkward feeling settling in his chest.
“Yeah. Like maybe it’s fate that she left? Because then I wouldn’t have hidden in a cute guy’s room and got to talk to him.” He can tell that your mind is elsewhere, but his eyes are still on you. There’s a dreamy look painted on your face and he’s so distracted he almost misses the fact that you called him cute. Almost.
He opens his mouth to respond but your phone beats him to it, the shrill sound of your ringer filling the empty room. You look at him sheepishly and turn your head to answer as if that would give you the privacy you were looking for. It doesn’t work because as soon as you hit accept, he can hear what he assumes is your friend’s voice on the other side of the line.
You get up and he watches you nod along to the conversation. You’re not doing a lot of talking, but your friend definitely is; he can tell by the murmur of her drunken chatter and the sound of the music pulsing on the other side of the line. You’re kind enough to let her continue on for a bit longer before you let her know that you’re coming, don’t move!
Then you’ve turned back to Andrew, tapping your phone on your palm as you try to find the right words to say. You look genuinely apologetic —for what, Andrew doesn’t know. The silence stretches long, and Andrew is the first one to break it.
“You don’t have to stay,” he says plainly. You don’t really owe him anything, although the look on your face makes him feel otherwise. You take a step closer, poised like you want to take a seat next to him again. Andrew wants you to, but he won’t admit that part out loud.
“I know. I want to-” you start, but your phone starts buzzing like it’s possessed, cutting you off. A quick glance is all it gets; you’re quickly scanning the messages before returning your attention to him. Your phone doesn’t stop vibrating. “It’s hard to leave when you’re looking at me like a lost puppy.”
Andrew chooses to ignore that comment, instead turning to grab your shoes from the side of the bed next to him. He offers your heels to you, arms outstretched, closing the distance between you just like you had before. You give him a small smile as you take them from him, fingers brushing his just a beat too long. The way it sets his nerves alight is also something that he chooses to ignore.
“Thank you,” you say, slipping your strappy heels back on. Andrew looks everywhere but you as you bend down to tie them up, feeling the blush creeping up once again. Once you’re straightened up he gives you a small smile in return, watching as you pull your phone back out again. “Sorry for messing up your bed. I’ll make it up to you next time.”
You say it so definitively, like you somehow know there will be a next time. Before he can reply, you’re giving him a shy wave goodbye, sliding out the door. The music leaks in for a moment when you open it, blending in with the cheers of partygoers outside. When you close it he’s back to the silence of his room, alone. He had come in there looking for a moment to himself but now that you’re gone, he can’t help but want the opposite.
Andrew really hopes that there will be.
—
The next time Andrew met you, it was in Deran’s bar.
He could count on one hand the amount of times he actually sat at Deran’s bar for any other reason besides work. It was rare that he ever got to enjoy a beer, much less have a moment of free time. But between Deran’s insistence and Craig’s staggering frame, Andrew agreed to stay for one drink.
He’s on the dregs of his beer when he notices Craig straighten up in his seat and saunter over to the front door of the bar. Andrew’s head turns and suddenly he’s glad he came, perking up the same way his brother had just moments ago. A girl comes out to greet Craig, looking like his usual type, and he slings an arm over her shoulders, steering her towards the bar with a sly smile.
Then you walk in and Andrew almost falls off his stool in surprise. You’re dressed differently than when he first met you, softer and more casual. Both of you look like you’ve just come from the beach, donned in shorts and tanks, hair curled from the salt water in the air. It makes his heart skip a beat.
You walk in far more hesitantly than your friend, like you’re not too sure if you belong or where to put yourself. Andrew can empathize with the feeling. He watches as you scan the bar; maybe for your friend, or maybe for another place to hide. You lock eyes with him once you finally notice his presence at the bar and you begin to make your way over. Andrew isn’t sure if he should break eye contact but he can’t help it, eyes darting away before they make their way back to yours.
“Fancy meeting you here,” You take the seat next to him, flashing him a grin. Andrew mumbles something under his breath, but you’re not deterred. In fact, you scoot your stool closer to his. You’re laying it on real thick, but he has to admit that he kind of likes it. “You come here often?”
“You know Pope?” The moment is interrupted by Deran, who sets down a full glass of beer in front of you. He’s got a bemused look on his face, eyes darting between you and his brother. Andrew tries his best not to frown, especially at the use of his nickname when you only know him by Andrew. From the expression on your face, he can tell that he’s failing. Your eyes flicker with some kind of recognition, like you were suddenly recalling the name that you had forgotten the last time you met.
“Yeah, I do,” you nod, not even acknowledging the fact that his own brother had just called him by a completely different name. You gesture to his empty glass, the one that he had set aside to fully focus on you when you approached. “And I think I owe him a drink.”
“You do?” It slips out of both Deran and Andrew’s mouths, disbelief on both their faces. It comes out a bit rougher for Andrew, while Deran inquires like you just told him that unicorns were real. You handle both questions with grace.
“Well, I said I’d make it up to you next time,” You smile, pulling the glass that Deran set down closer to you. His brother leans in closer, clearly interested in what exactly was going on between the two of you. Andrew tries to shoot his brother a glare before you look back at him but he doesn’t have enough time. “So, are you going to have a drink with me, or what?”
“Yeah.” Andrew says, perhaps a bit too eagerly as Deran snickers under his breath. He slides him a beer as well, a knowing look painted all over his features. Andrew takes it with a scowl, but his expression softens when he looks back at you. You bring the beer to your lips with a smile and Andrew can’t help but smile back.
Two and a half beers later, Andrew’s face is a lot warmer and you are a lot closer. You’re so close that he can feel your shoes scuffing the edge of his newly polished boots, but he can’t bring himself to care. He likes when you giggle at his jokes; the way that your eyes shine. Andrew can feel his brothers’ eyes on the two of you; he even catches his nephew looking his way a few times.
But for the first time in a while, Andrew doesn’t really want to shrink away. He’s tuned out the background noise, even your friend’s obnoxious drunk laughter at Craig’s pretty mediocre jokes. Because, in reality, Andrew is not the type of guy that a lot of girls like. And Pope especially, is not. But here with you, he lets himself believe that maybe just this once, he’s allowed to have something just for him.
“I like your smile,” You break the silence the two of you were sharing once the conversation you were having earlier came to an end. Andrew hadn’t even realized that he was smiling. He had really just been using the silence to soak in your presence; you still smell the same as you did when you met the first time. Wearing the same perfume that you left on his sheets and pillows just a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to admit how many times he shoved his face into them, chasing your scent before it faded. “It’s cute. I like your teeth.”
There it was again. That word. Cute. It’s not a word anyone used to describe Andrew, probably not since childhood. Or possibly maybe never. He almost wants to swing his head around to see if the rest of his family had heard.
“You really think I’m cute?” He can’t help but ask. It might be the beers or the way you look at him or the fact that he can feel your body heat, but his brain is a bit fuzzy. You look over at him, eyes a bit glazed over from the alcohol. Now he can feel you examining him again, looking him up and down.
“I guess cute isn’t really the word for a guy like you.” His heart sinks at that, wondering what you really think about him now that you know Pope and not just Andrew. He knows the stories that circle around Oceanside about him and he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear the ones that you’ve heard.
“A guy like me?” Andrew echoes, trying his best not to sound so sad. His mood perks up when he feels the heat of your gaze taking him in, seemingly a bit unguarded, presumably from all the alcohol.
“Yeah. You’re all built and…” You look around, trying to place a word to describe him. Then you lay a hand on his arm and Andrew stiffens for a moment but he softens quickly, leaning into your touch. You look pleased that he allowed you to do that, smiling like you’re ready to take a bite of him right then and there. “I don’t know. Strong. Thick. Handsome.”
Andrew is sure that he’s red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He’s also pretty sure that he saw Craig choke on his drink at your comment a few stools down from you, but he decides that’s a later problem.
“Thanks,” he says gruffly and it’s really the only word that he can get out of his mouth, embarrassingly. You shoot him a smile, and it’s all sweet and a little too enticing. Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if he was leaning into you, ass halfway off his stool.
“Sorry, I’m being a bit forward, aren’t I?” you say, swirling whatever was left of your beer. He tries to shrug nonchalantly but it doesn’t really work. “I just get flirty when I’m tipsy.”
“So you don’t think us meeting again is fate?” He’s teasing, half smile tugging on the edge of lips. You giggle and Andrew basks in the sound. He can’t remember the last time someone made him feel like this. The last time he wanted to be so close to someone.
“I never said that,” You’re hiding a cheeky grin behind your glass and Andrew desperately wishes that he could see it. “You do believe in fate then?”
Andrew has to think about it for a moment. He’s not sure, really. Lots of fucked up shit has happened in his life and it would be cruel world if that was the fate that the universe had in store for him. Then again, he’s done some terrible things as well, so maybe it was what he deserved.
“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. Andrew stares into his drink and reflects on all of the things he’s done, the crimes he committed. Julia. Cath. They swirl around in his mind, weighing on his conscience. Then he looks at you and they all seem to float away. “Maybe.”
“Well, let me know when you decide.” He thinks that you can probably sense his hesitancy or the spiral that it sends him down when he thinks about it too hard, so you pump the breaks. He almost can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, eyes wide open and curious. Andrew is unsure of which version of him that you’re seeing or what exactly is going through your head. He doesn’t have the courage to ask.
“Okay.” he says, a bit too distracted by the pieces of hair that have fallen in front of your face as you turned to take another sip, shielding his view. His hand flexes as he resists the urge to push them away.
Then, like you could read his mind, you tuck them behind your ear and shoot him another look. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by Craig, who is steering your friend in your direction. Andrew’s hand flexes again as this time he suppresses the urge to hit Craig for cutting in.
“She just puked in the plant over there, and I’m pretty fucked up, so…” Craig isn’t subtle in what he’s asking and Andrew notices the worry flicker across your face as you take in your friend, who can barely stand up on her own without his brother gripping her shoulders. You mutter under your breath and he thinks he hears you basically cursing out Craig.
“Okay, just… take her outside. I’ll be out in two minutes.” you say, and Craig stumbles off, your friend in tow. Then you turn to Andrew, an apologetic look on your face that’s becoming all too familiar to him now.
“Is she going to be okay?” His gaze wanders to the door swinging shut behind the pair. You wring your hands nervously, standing up from the stool. Gathering your things a little frantically, you shrug. Andrew deflates a bit as he watches.
“Yeah, I think so. She’ll probably just puke into her purse on the way home or something,” Once you’ve gathered everything in your arms you give a deep sigh, turning your full attention towards him. He notes that you seem a little deflated too, but he’s not sure if it’s because you’re leaving him or because your friend and Craig seem to be deeply irresponsible individuals. “I’m sorry. Again.”
“It’s okay.” Your lips curl with a small smile, still tinged with a bit of anxiety. It’s cute when you lift your free hand up in a small wave, the same way you did last time, and then you’re gone. Your perfume is still lingering in the air when Andrew turns back around and it’s his turn to smile. It melts when he sees Deran standing behind the bar, a smug look on his face.
“You got it bad, man.”
—
After that, Andrew sees you a lot more often.
Your friend and Craig seemed to have made things very exclusive, because now she’s basically living at Smurf’s house. Which means that, since you’re her best friend, she invites you over quite frequently.
You two haven’t been able to have a moment alone since that night at the bar, much to Andrew’s disappointment. The brothers have been busy planning a job, which meant that he was in and out pretty often. His mind was elsewhere though, distracted by the way you brushed arms in the hallway on his way out or when your eye contact lingered longer than usual.
So, maybe that was why the job went a little awry.
They got what they needed to, but not without a fight. The boys trail into the backyard one after the other, everyone bruised and cut up. It always annoyed Andrew when his brothers were impulsive; he was the one that was always suffering the consequences.
He quickly notes that you’re laid out next to the pool in your swimsuit, your body shimmering with sweat under the sweltering sun. Andrew watches a bead of sweat drip from your neck to the valley between your breasts. Time slows as he watches, licking his lips. He barely has time to drag his gaze away before Deran is wheeling on Craig.
“Why are you always pulling this crap?” Deran almost has a finger in his face, gesturing angrily. Craig just rolls his eyes in response, pushing past him and giving him a glare. Andrew can see the tension tight in their shoulders as they both seethe.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.” Craig shoots back, making his way back to the house. Tension has been high between the two lately, just like always, trapped in a toxic cycle.
It seems to snap for Deran, especially after the job, and he jumps on Craig’s back, knocking him over. The commotion is loud, Craig hitting the ground with a loud thud. Deran throws the first punch and Craig’s skull cracks hard against the pavement. Craig is quick to recover though, probably due to his size, and it’s a full blown fist fight in seconds.
The two exchange blows for a minute before Andrew and J rush forward to pull the two of them apart. They don’t put up much of a fight and the two of them stalk off in different directions; Craig into the house and Deran out of the yard. J shakes his head and follows after Craig, hands shoved into his pockets.
A quick glance proves that the pool chair you were on just moments ago is left empty, your drink still sitting on the ground next to it. He assumes that you snuck out once his brother hit the floor, probably wise enough to know how the situation was going to unfold. He can see your figure in the window padding around the kitchen, blurred from the distance.
Andrew closes the sliding door behind him when he enters the kitchen and he finds you there, skimpy bikini and all. You’re rummaging through the fridge and he takes the opportunity to take in the view before you shut the door.
You’re holding the carton of orange juice when you turn, finally taking in Andrew’s state. The cut on his eyebrow, the bruise beginning to bloom on his cheek and his torn up knuckles. You make your way towards him, your brow furrowed in concern.
“Are you okay?” He hides his hand instinctively when you ask, which you definitely notice. You rub the back of your neck with your free hand, a bit sheepish. “I heard, uh, your brothers fighting.”
“Oh.” Andrew frowns as embarrassment clouds his thoughts. Will this deter you from coming back? He really hopes not. He’s silent as his eyes follow you as you grab yourself a glass and begin pouring.
“Yeah, oh.” You shoot a glance in the direction of J and Craig’s rooms, eyebrows raised. “So, back to my question. Is everything okay?”
Andrew contemplates his answer for a second, not sure how much detail to go into. You eye him in the same way that you always do and he is suddenly keenly aware that this is the first moment alone you’ve had together in ages. Pushing that thought aside, he settles on two words: “It’s complicated.”
“Right,” you scoff, making your way around the kitchen island. Andrew can’t help but watch you move, all bare shimmering skin and he shifts a little as all his blood flows downwards. He sucks in a sharp breath as you settle in beside him, resting your arm on the counter. Your sweat and tanning oil smears all over the stone island but he’s too focused on how close you are to be bothered by it. “That’s why you guys all look like shit. Did you guys get in a fight or did you guys do that to each other?”
“Like I said, it’s complicated,” he repeats and you set your glass down, a serious look on your face.
“Andrew, I know who you guys are,” you say and now he’s shifting uncomfortably instead, the sentence shattering any sort of lust filled haze he was just on the precipice of falling into. “I can keep a secret, don’t worry. I just… want you to be careful, okay? That’s all.”
“I’m always careful,” he replies and you huff in disbelief, but it also seems like you can’t help but smile. It’s a nice sight and it even makes him brave enough to take a step closer to you, finally being the first to lessen the gap between you two.
The proximity and the way you look up at him has the haze settling in once more. Andrew wants to reach out and toy with the strings of your bikini bottoms but he thinks better of it. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he almost has to physically shake his head to rid himself of the thought.
“I’m sure you are,” You scan him up and down, examining his cuts and bruises. Though, Andrew swears that he can feel your gaze linger on his arms and his chest. It makes a shiver run down his spine. “But if this is you careful, I’d hate to see when it gets messy.”
“I don’t do messy,” he emphasises, his mind wandering back to the oily smudge you’ve left on the counter. You give a familiar giggle and your hand comes to rest on his arm, and he immediately forgets all about it again. This is the first time you’ve broken the touch barrier between the two of you on purpose and Andrew’s stomach flips at the thought. The heat of your hand is searing through his shirt and he’s glad you can’t feel the goosebumps that are rising under your palm.
“I know, Andrew. I’ve watched you clean,” you joke. Andrew loves hearing you say his name, his lips parting as you do so. He tries to pull his mind away from all the different things he would do to you to keep hearing it slip from your lips.
“Where’s your friend?” he asks, desperate to change the topic to anything but him and his family’s line of work. You let out a sigh, making your way back to the fridge. The door swings open and you start rummaging through the freezer like you lived at the house. Really, at this point, you kind of do.
“I’m not sure,” you say, voice a bit muffled from behind the freezer door. “Her and Craig are probably doing lines off each other’s chests or something.”
You pull out a bag of frozen vegetables, shutting the door behind you and approaching Andrew once more. You hold it out to him and he cocks his head in confusion. Rolling your eyes, you grab his bad hand and place the bag on top of his knuckles, still bloody. The cold dulls the stinging that Andrew had learned to ignore too early on in life.
“Why do you hang out with her?” He all but blurts out, but he can't help it. There was plenty of time for Andrew to watch you two interact when you were over, and you seemed more like a tired mother than a best friend. Plus, Andrew figured that if he could keep you distracted with conversation, you wouldn’t let go of his hand just yet.
“She’s been my best friend since, well, forever…” Pressing the bag into his knuckles further, your hand grips his gently and he can’t help but look at you while you fiddle with the frozen bag. “And if I don’t take care of her, who will?”
“I know the feeling.” Andrew says sincerely. He can’t remember a time in his life when he wasn’t a protector, an enforcer, a guard dog. You look up at him now, eyes soft. He feels his gaze soften in return, lips parting.
“I can see that,” you hum like you’re contemplating his words. “Is there someone taking care of you?” The question catches him off guard and he almost jerks his hand back reflexively.
“I don't need anyone to take care of me.” It's a statement that doesn't fully ring true; he thinks about the people who have tried and what he’s lost. It's better off this way, perhaps. But he also thinks you probably wouldn't like that answer.
“Everyone needs someone, Andrew.” Coming from anyone else, he thinks he would refuse. But from you, he feels a bit more inclined to agree. You sound sincere, he feels. Or he just likes you too much to think about disagreeing.
Maybe he does need someone, but no one was ever up for the job. At least no one that knew him —all of him.
A door slams in the distance and you flinch at the loud noise. Not a moment later your friend is rushing past the pair of you, clad in a similar bikini to yours. She’s crying though, mascara streaking as she pushes her way into the backyard. Andrew watches as your head turns to follow her, eyebrows pinching in concern. She sits down on one of the lounge chairs outside, shoulders shaking as she cries silently. You look back at Andrew with a frown and just like always, he knows you have to go.
Maybe his fate is that the universe just wants to cockblock him forever?
“She and Craig probably got into another fight,” you sigh, chewing your lip. You take his uninjured hand and place it on top of the bag, looking up at him. Your face is stern as you speak, like he’s a dog that got caught chewing on the couch legs. “Keep it iced, okay? I’ll talk to you soon.”
You pat his hand gently, soft smile on your lips. You always say that. Soon. Like you know that you're going to cross paths again. That he’s a permanent fixture in your life.
He watches you walk away, eyes on your swaying hips in your cheeky swimsuit bottoms. He’s still staring when you sit down next to your friend, rubbing her back comfortingly.
Andrew stands alone in the kitchen, half hard, frozen bag of vegetables still pressed to his torn knuckles. The worst part is, he’s not even sure what exactly had made him hard; the sight of your body in your tiny swimsuit and the feeling of your hand in his or watching you take care of your friend so tenderly.
Yeah, Deran was right. He is so fucked.
—
If Andrew thought that he couldn't get you off his mind before that afternoon, now you were all he thought about.
When he was making lunch, when he was cleaning his guns, when he was fisting his cock in the shower, trying to keep quiet. All he could think about was you. Your perfume, your smile, your body. Your touch. He wanted to feel it all over his body, soft skin against the raised bumps of all his scars.
So the fact that you weren’t around as often anymore made things more difficult for him. Your friend and Craig seemed to be on the rocks, which means she was around less and less. Which means that you were barely around.
You said you’d talk to him soon and then promptly stopped being invited around, and the thought of how exactly he would get to see you again had him pacing. He didn’t want to scare you off, so he had to pivot towards more conventional methods. Which meant waiting around until Craig had finally got bored enough to start texting your friend back again.
Weeks passed and he rarely saw you, just in flashes; by the pool, walking through the front door, lounging on the couch. He barely had the chance to look in your direction lately, much less have any type of conversation with you. The distance made him hungry, desperate enough to try to flip the odds in his favour.
“What about a party?” He suggests to his family one afternoon, all of the Cody’s crowded in the living room. All three of them turn their heads, looking at him like he’s grown an extra limb. The room is silent as they all try to process the words that came out of his mouth. “What?”
“Pope wants to throw a party.” Deran states, like saying the words out loud may help him truly understand them. “Why?”
“Don’t worry about it,” He crosses his arms over his chest, aware that he’s become a bit too defensive just a beat too late. All pairs of eyes are still on him and he shifts on his feet uncomfortable. “Just do it.”
“You won’t hear me complaining, man.” Craig says on his way out, clapping a hand on Andrew’s shoulder before he goes. The remaining Cody’s watch him go, and then eyes are back on him. He doesn’t want to answer any other questions, so he turns on his heels before they can ask any and follows his brother out.
So that’s how he ended up here.
This party was the same as the rest. Andrew wasn’t around for most of it; he had some loose ends to tie up for his family and he always elected to be out of the house whenever there was something going on, especially now that he had the choice. When he returns, he sees the same damage as always; trash in the pool, people passed out on the lawn, empty solo cups and wet footprints littered across the hardwood floors.
And Andrew does what he always does. Starts cleaning up. He wasn't really sure what his plan was, if he's being honest. He knew you always liked to linger once the parties were done, to make sure your friend was okay. Andrew was hoping that you were a creature of habit with this idea. Seems like right now, it's just delegated him to the role of janitor with no reward.
He starts out by the pool; toeing the stragglers to wake up and get off his property, sifting the garbage out of the pool and throwing the random discarded bikini tops into the trash bag right after it. It’s already the late hours of the morning when he finishes up outside. The neighbourhood is silent besides the sound of the chlorine water softly lapping at the tiles of the pool. Then he makes his way inside and starts tossing out everything in the kitchen, trying not to think about exactly what was occurring when he was gone to make this sort of mess.
“Do you need some help?” A small voice asks and he whirls around on instinct. He turns to face you and he almost wants to drop the black trash bag he’s holding out of shock. Andrew gives you a once over and you look so similar to the first night that he met you that it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. A short dress and barefoot, except this time your heels are nowhere to be seen. You seem a bit groggy, dark make up smudged around your eyes. He oscillates between dwelling on how beautiful you are and wanting to get on his knees to see exactly what you got on under your dress.
“It’s late.” Is what he says instead, continuing his job of cleaning up. There’s a thousand unsaid things with those two words and it seems like you somehow know him well enough to answer all of them.
“Craig said I could crash on the couch,” you say, beginning to collect some of the empty cans off the kitchen counter. Andrew tries to level a look at you, to let him do it, but you give him a look straight back and continue. “And I want to help you. Doesn't seem like anyone else is.”
He accepts that and you two clean in silence for a few moments, working alongside each other. His eyes can’t help but follow you as you flounce around the kitchen, picking things up and tossing them into the bag into his hand. And then you speak. “So, why am I the only one helping you?”
He furrows his brows, pausing for a second as your words catch him off guard. Andrew glances over at you once more and you’re looking at him expectantly. He can’t help but feel compelled to answer, although your big fluttery eyes may play a small part in that. Trying to ignore the blood rushing downwards, he answers. “What do you mean?”
“Um, I mean there’s like, at least two or three other people who live in this house,” He can basically hear your frown as you speak, unceremoniously throwing another piece of trash into the bag. “Why am I the only one helping you clean up? The mess of a party that they threw?”
Andrew has never really thought about it before. He supposes this has always been his role, cleaning up after his family. Solving their problems. Making the bad things go away. Doing the messy work.
“I don’t need any help,” he says simply, voice gruff. He tries to ignore the heat of your disappointed eyes on him as he turns around, but he can still hear your loud sigh. You notice that he’s trying to avoid your gaze, so you catch his forearm in your hand. His muscles twitch under your touch, warmth seeping through your skin. Andrew slowly drags his gaze up from your hand on his arm to your face and he can’t help but soften. “I got it.”
“I just meant that you’re always taking care of everyone else, Andrew,” you explain, hand still on his arm. Your voice is soft in the way that he likes; a tone that seems to be reserved just for him. “Cleaning up after everyone. Making sure they don’t kill each other. Craig’s told me that you’ve bailed him out plenty of times.”
Andrew frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of his brothers talking about him when he’s not around, especially to you. He scowls at the thought, tying off the full garbage bag and placing it aside. He tries to pull away to grab another bag and continue, but your grip tightens on his arm.
“I’m serious. Just leave it for them to deal with for once,” You pull him back towards you, but he feels conflicted. He doubts anyone would actually do it if he left it for them to do —he’s seen the state the house gets into when he’s gone. Andrew hesitates for a moment, but all thoughts fade from his mind when your hand slips from his forearm into his palm, fingers twining with his. All he can do is stare while his brain tries to catch up to what’s happening. “Come on.”
You pull him along and it doesn’t take much effort to have him following. Continuing to stare, he’s got half a mind to hope that his mouth isn’t hanging open. He realizes where you’ve taken him in Smurf’s just a beat too slow as he enters the room.
His room.
He turns to face you slowly and the expression on your face is unreadable as you shut the door behind you. It reminds me of the first time that he saw you all that time ago. The room is silent for a moment as you two take each other in. Andrew hopes that you can’t hear the shaky breath that he lets out from across the room.
“Sit,” you command, gesturing to the bed. Andrew doesn’t waste any time obeying, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. His hands rest on his thighs, clenching and unclenching anxiously. You approach him slowly, closing the distance until he’s face level with your torso. The position has him blushing —he’s sure his face must be red. He tilts his head up to look at you and you take one step closer. His legs part naturally to accommodate you, bracketing your figure.
“Will you let me take care of you, Andrew?” you ask, hand sliding into his hair. He struggles to not let out a groan, blood rushing straight to his dick. He’s so distracted by the feeling of your nails scratching along his scalp as he leans into your touch that he barely even registers the question.
“Okay.” It comes out quiet and breathy, but it feels loud in the silent room. He watches the ends of your lips curl up into a smile, his eyes fluttering. You take the hands that were settled on his thighs and place them on your hips. Taking the opportunity to appreciate your body, his hands run over your curves slowly as he sucks in a sharp breath. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he does so, too enraptured to take his eyes off you. It makes him twitch in his jeans when you lean a little closer, breath fanning over his face.
A few moments pass as you let him feel your body; he’s practically drooling at the feeling. Once you’ve decided he’s had his fill you climb into his lap, straddling him. He’s sure you can feel how much he wants you, the heat of your clothed pussy on his jeans making him all the more hard.
You barely give him a second to breathe before you’re catching your lips in his, your mouth parting instantly. The kiss is slow and sensual and it has him letting out a broken whimper into your mouth. That seems to spur you on, fingers gripping the front of his shirt to kiss him even deeper.
Andrew doesn’t even know how many times he imagined doing this with you. At this point he’s lost count, but this was beyond anything that his mind could ever put together. The smell of your perfume envelopes him and your body is so warm under your thin dress that it sets his nerves alight.
He can’t help just taking a bit more, big hands gripping your hips and grinding you against him. The small moan you let out as he does so has his hips bucking. Hands still roaming, he instinctively slips his tongue into the kiss. The fact that you continue to rock your hips against his once he lets go of your waist makes him dizzy. The kiss is wet and desperate and all Andrew wants is to get closer, greedy hands grabbing.
Then he feels your fingers drift to the hem of his shirt and he lifts his arms, allowing you to pull it off. The sensation of your nails dragging across his chest sends a shiver down his spine. His hands had settled on your thighs, gripping so tight that he’s sure he’s leaving marks. He feels bad, but then he decides that he’ll kiss them as an apology later, if you’ll let him.
You stop grinding and scoot backwards a little, moving further down his lap. He opens his mouth to ask why, but then your hands are at his belt buckle and the words die in his throat. You’re quick to undo his jeans, wasting no time in pulling him out and taking him into your hands. Your hands are much softer than his rough and calloused ones, warm against the hot flesh of his length. His head tips back as you begin to stroke him slowly, eyes to the ceiling as he lets out another shaky breath.
He had always imagined what your touch would feel like wrapped around him like this, letting himself imagine it was you touching him instead of himself when he was alone. The way you twist your wrist languidly, like you know exactly just how to get him going, has his mind going blank.
“Do you like that?” You mutter, tucking your face into his neck now that he’s made the space. The way you kiss slowly up the sensitive skin of his neck makes his mind fuzzy. He can’t seem to get the words out, so he gives a slow nod instead. “Good.”
The praise makes his hips stutter, fucking into your fist. You let out a small laugh, presumably at how desperate he is for you. A low moan escapes his mouth as you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, swiping away the precome leaking from the tip. Your touch disappears for a moment and he tips his head back forwards to you, looking at you through hooded lids. He watches as you spit into your palm and resume your actions, his jaw dropping open ever so slightly. Andrew feels drunk, the slick shlick of you stroking him filling the room.
He thinks you can tell that he’s getting close. He knows that his hips won’t stop rising to meet your touch: a dead giveaway. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you get him there, cock leaking in desperation as he whines. Your hand slips away and he groans out loud at the loss of sensation. His mind is still fuzzy and he almost misses your fingers wrapping around his wrist, guiding his hand across your body and under your dress. Looking down at where your hands meet, his breathing almost stops when you dip his fingertips past the waistband of your lacy panties.
“Don’t you want to feel how wet I am for you, Andrew?” you breathe into his ear. The words affect him deeply and he lets out a strangled noise, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed with you on top of him like this.
“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse. He sounds absolutely wrecked as he swipes a finger along your wetness, sickly slow, brows furrowing as he watches your lips part at his touch. You’re dripping for him; he can feel the wet patch you’ve left on your panties against his knuckles as he slides a finger into you. It’s your turn to moan, and he swears at the sound, “Fuck.”
He pumps his finger in and out slowly, basking in the feeling of you sucking him right in. You surge forward and capture his lips in yours, kissing him breathlessly. You let out a whimper into his mouth as he slips another finger alongside the first. His breath catches in his throat as he feels you flutter around his digits, velvet walls pulling him in even deeper.
Andrew loves having you like this, your dress bunched around your hips, giving him a full view of your pussy covered in lace as you grind your clit into the palm of his hand. It’s all too much for him; he drops his head to your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. He thinks of all the times he’s touched himself to the scent of you; whether that be from the sheets from the first time he met you or the way that it lingered in his room after a conversation with you, long after you’ve gone.
His pace quickens and he can feel your legs shaking against his while your hips buck, practically riding his hand. You’re mewling now, coming apart on his fingers the same way you do in his dreams. He feels you clamp down around him and he can tell you’re going to cum seconds before you tell him. He can barely hear it, words lost in your soft whimpers. A rush of wetness is slick against his palm as you let out a moan so loud that Andrew remembers there are other people in the house.
Eyes never leaving yours, he pulls his fingers out from your panties and brings them to his mouth. The way you taste has his eyes almost rolling back into his head, licking up the cum that had dripped down his fingers. He wants to get his head between your legs real fucking bad and eat you until the sun comes back up or until you’re begging him to stop. His cock aches with the desperate need to fuck you, eyes trailing down to your chest as you pull off your dress and toss it aside. He decides to save it until later. Maybe round two?
He’s appreciated your body countless times as you tanned by the pool, but the view of you on top of him, being able to touch you the way he wants, has his blood running hot in his veins. He could die under you right now and he’d die a happy man.
You push him down onto the bed with a soft push and his back lands against his freshly pressed sheets. Lifting your hips, you pull his jeans and boxers down, leaving them to pool at his ankles where his feet are still planting firmly on the floor. He kicks them off and moves further up the bed, loving how you giggle as he jostles you.
Your tongue swipes across your lips and you settle yourself into position, the lace of your panties scratching intoxicatingly against his cock. Mesmerized, he watches as you hook your fingers into your panties and pull them aside, not even bothering to remove them before lowering himself down onto his length.
The two of you let out a needy noise as you sink down, taking him to the hilt. You look absolutely beautiful, the sight of you absolutely fucked out for him making his cock impossibly harder. His hands fly to your hips as you begin to grind again, much like you were earlier.
He lets out a sharp inhale through his nose, eyes hungry. You’ve spread your cum across the short hairs at the base of his dick, whining as you chase your high. You get tired of the grinding and lift your hips, bending forward and resting your forehead against his. His eyes are on yours as you slam your hips back down, eyes fluttering shut.
The pace you set is brutal, hips pistoning as you ride him. The force of it has the frame of his bed swaying, headboard making impact with the wall every time you drop your hips. That combined with the volume of both the noises you two make as you ride him is more than enough to hear through the wall or the door.
“So good, baby. Feels so fucking good,” he coos, lost in the way you fuck him. The wet slap of skin on skin is absolutely sinful, echoing in the room and mingling with the heavy breaths you let out. He’s got one hand on your ass and the other on your breast, overwhelmed with the need to memorize every part of your body. “Been fucking dreaming about your pussy.”
“Oh my god, Andrew,” you whine, hips moving fast. He can feel you clenching around him, trapping him in your cunt like a vice. He can barely keep his eyes open, lids low from the pleasure. You’re squeezing him so fucking tight that he swears his vision is going white. You straighten up and place a hand on his broad chest, using it as leverage to hit a whole new angle.
Andrew feels himself brush against your walls and it has his jaw dropping open as his entire body shaking at the feeling. He’s close but you’re closer, nails digging into his flesh and your moans grow more high pitched, picking up the pace. You don’t stop moving your hips when you cum around him, barely able to keep yourself upright. The feeling of you tightening around him and the sight he catches of your cum glistening around the base of his dick has him moments away from falling over the edge.
“M’gonna cum,” he slurs, hands around your waist to hold you in place as he fucks up into you now. Still sensitive from your second orgasm you squeal, falling even farther forward into his chest. Soft grunts are punched from his chest every time his hips meet yours, taking what he needs from you.
“I want it so bad,” you babble mindlessly, voice dripping with pleasure. He’s never heard you like this before, but now he can’t imagine ever living without it. His thrusts are messy now, determined to hear you beg some more. “Please, I need it.”
“Yeah?” He barely even notices himself speak, too busy fucking into your pussy to think of anything else. He’s so close that his arms are shaking, thick muscles twitching in anticipation. He almost wants to cry, overwhelmed by the way he’s buried so deep inside you. “You want me to pump you full of my cum, baby?”
“Please,” you whine, voice cracking with need. The sound of it has Andrew’s hips faltering as he does exactly that, swearing sharply as he does so. His entire body jerks from the feeling, so wracked in pleasure that he can’t control it. You let out a moan alongside his as he fucks him cum back into you, nice and slow. Once the overstimulation gets to him his hips come to a stop, sweat beading on his forehead.
You fall limp on top of him, the deep rise and fall of your chest matching his. He wraps his two big arms around you instinctively, pulling you closer against him. Andrew basks in the quiet, punctuated by nothing other than your quiet breathing, closing his eyes.
“You okay?” Your voice is muffled against his chest, warm breath fanning over his skin. He’s got a hand running absentmindedly up and down the bare skin of your back, still sticky with sweat. “That wasn’t too much?”
“No,” he rumbles, voice soft. His fingers are still skimming as allows himself to take in the moment for just a beat longer. Then he’s got you under him, flat on your back. He loves the way you look up at him, legs still wrapped around his waist. He noses his way into your neck, noticing that his scent is intermingling with yours the more time you spend with him. His hands begin to roam once more and he can feel his blood rush downwards when you look at him with your big curious eyes. “Not enough.”
If Andrew had any say in it, you two were in for a long night.
—
In the morning, Andrew is the first to wake up. He always had trouble getting to sleep, sometimes staring at his ceiling for hours in the night, but the warmth you brought to his bed had pulled him under within minutes.
He turned his head to face you, eyes flicking over your face as the amber light of the sun painted your face. You were clad in one of his shirts, the plain black looking much better on you than it ever did on him. Andrew shifts slowly so as to not wake you and slides out of bed.
The walk to the kitchen is quiet, like it usually is in the morning considering the fact that the rest of his family regularly kept late hours, so he was surprised to find Craig, already seated at the bar, tucking into a bowl of cereal. He looks up and sees who it is, his face twisting into something much more smug as he takes another bite.
Andrew is quick to pull a face back, not interested in hashing out his night with Craig, who clearly wants to hear all the details. Instead, he starts to clear the mess that his brother had left out while he assembled his breakfast. Craig waits a beat, like he expects him to change his mind, but Andrew stays silent.
“Pope, man-” he starts, but a door creaks shut in down the hall that distracts him, leaving the unfinished sentence in the air. Then you turn the corner, still only in his shirt, and Andrew realizes that it wasn’t the noise that caught Craig’s attention. Your hair is still mussed and you’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when you approach him. You wrap your arms around his wide torso and his arm settles at your waist. Natural as if you’ve done it a million times before. Andrew allows himself to smile at the feeling, not even caring that his brother is watching with a shit eating grin on his face.
