i wanted everything to be in one place and make it simpler :)
The Aftermath | Peter Parker x Reader
Summary: I didn’t get “snapped.” Everyone came back and was expecting the same happy-go-lucky twelve year old to be there when they got back - including my parents - but they were only met with the bitter seventeen year old me instead. Despite the horror of everyone I knew and loved being turned to dust, my life in the five years was returning to some semblance of “normal.” I had a great foster mom, I was going to Midtown Tech, I was on the rise of being okay with everything that had happened.
And then everyone got snapped back.
Now I’m dealing with the aftermath.
Warnings: swearing, far from home spoilers, general trauma, angst, not a fix-it-fic
Intro | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue
Jason todd seeing you in a swimsuit for the first time...
"Damn."
Stephanie looked the direction Jason was looking and blinked for a second. "That should be fucking illegal," she agreed.
The body of a literal goddess in a pinup swimsuit. Jason wished he was the only person who noticed. But almost as soon as you settled to soak up the sun, book propped up on your thighs and a sunhat shading your eyes, people were circling like sharks. And it looked like one in particular was going to be... obnoxious.
"Go," Stephanie hissed.
"What-"
"Just walk up and say, 'Hey babe, you forgot your sunscreen'," she whisper screamed.
"Steph-"
"He goes away and she doesn't get skin cancer. Everyone wins!"
"If she freaks out-"
"She won't," Stephanie said shoving him again.
And Jason took a deep breath, scooping a tube of sunscreen off of his bag as he walked. He just hoped the water was cold and he could keep his hands steady.
"How much did you pay that guy?" Stephanie asked, not quite looking at Dick.
"Fifty Bucks and a beer," Dick said, grinning. "Hope this works."
"Me too- I think all the blood drained out of his head when she took her t-shirt off."
"Where'd it go?" Damian asked.
"What?" Dick asked, blinking.
"If the blood drained out of Todd's head, where'd it go?"
"That's a better question for Bruce, Dami," Stephnie said fighting a snicker with difficulty.
Summary: After an unfortunate mixup of pain medication and your friend's party substances at Pitt Fest, you're rushed to the Pitt and placed in the care of Jack Abbot. As he oversees your care, you get a little too touchy, and a little too honest.
Word Count: 6.6k
Content: accidental drug use (MDMA), mention of alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is mid 20s), fluff, comfort, a hint of smut (18+ MDNI) - literally like two seconds of thigh riding, mention of ovulation
A/N: listen… I’ve never done MDMA. I did a lot of research, but I had to fudge some stuff for plot. don’t do drugs kids
Pitt Fest was not your idea. When your friend Beth offered you her spare ticket, you waffled at first. You're not really a crowds person, or a partying person. Beth was always the partier in college. But you do like live music, and she pointed out that your top Spotify artist from last year is in the concert lineup.
So you’d caved.
That decision is coming back to bite you in the ass, and bite hard.
It’s hot as balls outside. You’re covered in sweat, which mingles in a sticky and unpleasant mix with the sunscreen you’ve been dutifully applying since the afternoon to avoid frying like an egg. When the sun finally set, you no longer had to worry about the burgeoning threat of skin cancer, but the heat doesn’t break. In fact, it almost seems to get worse, because more and more people arrive to crowd you as night descends and the bigger names with larger fanbases grace the stage.
You’re waiting for Beth outside of the bathroom facilities. She's been ingesting a steady stream of margaritas since sundown, so she leaves you holding the bag, literally. At least it's a nice excuse to separate yourself from the throng of jumping, sweaty bodies gathered by the stage.
It’s nearly two in the morning. You’re hungry. Your feet are killing you. You have a headache from the festival’s sugary cocktails. You’re sweating through the top Beth lent you. And on top of everything else, your ovulation cramps are kicking in like a motherfucker.
Growing desperate, you dig through Beth's bag, searching for the little Altoid tin that she always keeps her pain meds in. At long last, your hands make contact with the metal tin at the bottom of her tote. Nearly crying with relief, you pop an aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the tepid bottled water you’ve been clutching for the last hour.
Beth's voice rings out from behind you, talking over the din of the nearby DJ set. “What are you doing?”
You turn towards her, and see Beth staring at the tin in your hand. “I have cramps,” you explain, and just as you’re about to shove the tin back in her bag and hand it to her, she grabs your wrist.
“…please tell me you didn’t just take one of those,” she says urgently.
You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because those are not aspirin, babe.”
Your blood runs cold. Your brain quickly does the math — Beth had told you how much she’s looking forward to meeting up with her rave friends tomorrow for the second night of Pitt Fest. Beth has always been quite the partier. And she often partied with her good friend Molly.
Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh no.”
Pitt Fest, as always, is a huge pain in the ass for the night shift.
Handoff gets messy. There's a shit ton of substance cases, even more of heatstroke. Robby stays longer than he should and snaps at everyone, clearly in his feelings remembering last year’s Pitt Fest. Understandable, yes, but it also makes everyone’s life that much harder when they’re within sniping distance of him.
Needless to say, Jack is already over this shift, and it’s not even halfway done. It doesn't help that his favorite resident happens to have the night off, which deposits his mood firmly in the hospital basement. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the location of the morgue.
Now that Robby has been politely ordered to go the fuck home, Jack feels like he can finally focus on his job instead of doing damage control with the med students. As he walks down the hall, Lena catches his attention from the hub desk.
“We have an ambulance two minutes out with a mid-20s female, collapsed at Pitt Fest,” she informs him. “Probable dehydration, likely drug-related, because, well… Pitt Fest.”
This festival truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Jack cracks his knuckles and eyes the ambulance bay doors. “All right. Let's get ready to receive the party girl.”
A few minutes later, the gurney is wheeled in by two paramedics and received by Lena and Parker. Parker shoots an alarmed and confused look over her shoulder at Jack, who steps forward to supervise.
“Dr. Abbot!"
Of all the things Jack expected to see tonight, this is at the bottom of the list. You're strapped to the gurney, scantily clad and gleaming with sweat, a goofy smile on your face and your pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow your irises.
Jack scrubs a hand through his hair. “You're shitting me.”
This is quite the surprising turn of events.
After Lena sets you up in South 16, Jack discreetly shoos away Parker so he can handle your examination himself. He doubts you would be comfortable with one of your fellow residents seeing you like this, considering your condition and your current state of dress.
Jack closes the door behind him and saunters over to you. His eyes snag on your tight, strappy top, and the strategically placed cutouts baring sections of your midriff and chest. He’s holding onto his professionalism by a thread, especially with the way you’re shifting around on the exam table, causing the hem of your miniskirt to ride up.
He has no choice but to focus up. You need medical attention, not the kind of attention his brain and body really want to give you right now. First, Lena takes your temperature and shows him the number on the display. 100.2 degrees F. It's coming down from what the paramedics recorded in the ambulance, and not so high that he’s still worried about heat stroke. But you’ll need cooling down regardless.
“That’s quite the outfit you got on,” he mutters as he gently raises your chin and shines his penlight into your pupils.
“Do you like it?” you ask, beaming up at him even as you squint. “I borrowed it from my friend. She’s so nice.”
Your pupils are so dilated that your eyes are almost completely black.
“Yup.” Jack clicks off the light and sighs, turning to Lena. “She’s rolling, all right. Let’s get a tox to make sure there’s nothing else to be worried about.”
You don’t seem to even register the pain of the needle prick, but you let out a delighted little hum when Lena smooths a bandage over your arm and adds gentle pressure over top of it.
“That feels good,” you murmur with a lazy smile.
“I bet.” Jack crosses his arms and tries to give you a stern look. “Can I ask what my best resident is doing taking ecstasy at a music festival?”
“I didn’t take it on purpose, I swear,” you protest, your eyes widening in a brief panic. “It was my friend’s. I thought it was aspirin, for my cramps.”
“You’re menstruating?” he asks, picking up his tablet and sitting in the edge of the exam table next to you to amend your chart.
You shake your head and say matter-of-factly, “Ovulation cramps.”
His eyebrows shoot up towards the ceiling in surprise.
You continue babbling, unaware of the grenade you just lobbed at Jack. “She tried to get me to throw it up, but I couldn’t because I don’t really have a gag reflex.”
Jack takes a deep breath to prevent his brain from completely short-circuiting.
Your face breaks into a sheepish smile, and you giggle, “Oops. Sorry, that was probably too much information.” Leaning forward on the exam table, you bring your face inches away from his and observe with a sigh, “Your eyes are really pretty.”
From behind him, Jack hears Lena snickering under her breath. He clears his throat and straightens up to standing.
Avoiding Lena's eyes, he instructs her, “Let’s, uh, get her some fluids and cooling packs, huh? Maybe a Saf-T-Pop, too. Keep her mouth occupied, so she won’t say any more nonsense she’ll regret in the morning.”
Lena just shoots him an amused look and heads off to gather supplies. Nurses, he thinks ruefully to himself. They see everything.
Movement and sound draw his attention back to you. You're laid back on the exam table, eyes fluttering closed. And you’re running your hands through your hair, letting out a pleased little noise like the sensation is better than sex.
Jack breathes carefully through his nose. He needs out of this room with you, before this becomes mortifying for everyone involved. His phone buzzes in his pocket, giving him the perfect excuse for escape.
His voice is thin when he speaks, and for a moment, he’s glad you’re too high to notice. “You sit tight, sunshine.”
As he turns to leave the room, your hand catches the edge of his scrubs.
“You’re leaving?” your mouth turns down into a pout, those huge eyes shining up at him. He very nearly gives in, very nearly reaches out a hand to stroke a thumb across your cheek just to hear the kind of sound it would pull from you. But his phone buzzes insistently, so he briefly pats your knee instead.
“I have other patients to see. But I'll be back before you know it,” he assures you, pulling open the door and diving headfirst back into the glorious chaos.
At least it’ll be a convenient distraction from the thought of you, eagerly waiting in south fifteen for him to return.
He shakes his head in disbelief. Ovulation cramps. You’re gonna be the death of him.
An MVA, a ketamine overdose, and a cardiac event later, the Pitt finally slows down enough for Jack to breathe. Enough to check your tox screen and sigh with relief that the MDMA you mistakenly took wasn’t cut with anything. Alcohol is the only other thing in your system, in levels not high enough to be concerning. Although, combined with the ecstasy, it means you probably won’t remember much of this exciting little escapade.
At long last, he manages to find some time to check on you.
In his absence, Lena had set you up with a gown to preserve a little more of your modesty. You’re laying on the exam table amongst the cooling packs, an IV attached to your arm and a Saf-T-Pop in your mouth that’s turning your tongue red.
A smile breaks like sunrise over your face as soon as you see him.
“Hey there, sunshine,” he greets you, approaching you with a little more warmth now that Lena's sharp eyes aren’t here to observe.
“Hi. I missed you,” you sigh.
Jack smirks. “Did you now?”
You nod happily. “Mm-hmm.”
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his gaze attentive, checking you over.
“Cold,” you answer, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He reaches up a hand to feel your forehead. Still warm, but still steadily coming down over time. He’s satisfied enough with your progress. You'll be out of here in no time.
The prospect disappoints him just a little.
“Yeah, your body is having trouble regulating its temperature,” he explains, his thumb stroking delicately along your hairline. “We’ll need to keep these cool packs on you a little while longer.”
Just as his hand retreats, your hand catches his wrist. You press his palm to your cheek, almost nuzzling into it like an affectionate kitten.
“Your hands are so warm,” you murmur, eyelids slipping shut as you revel in the sensation.
The gesture catches him off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, and he certainly doesn’t want to.
“Easy there, gorgeous,” he chuckles softly. “I need that hand for doctoring.”
Your eyelids flutter halfway open, and you look up at him with a lazy grin, clearly pleased as punch. “You think I'm gorgeous?”
Jack freezes for a moment. The word had slipped out without him even registering it, familiar and endeared and entirely too revealing.
“I plead the fifth,” he replies, warmth creeping up his neck.
You giggle again. God, that sound does things to his heart that are medically concerning.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” you mumble dreamily.
Jack blinks in surprise.
He’s been a little too fond of you for a while now, been staring a little too long when you brush past him in the halls. And he’s suspected before that it might not be completely one-sided. He sees how you receive his attention and praise differently than the other attendings, how you look at him with more than just the admiration of a mentor. But suspecting it and having it be confirmed are two different things. Especially since you wouldn’t be saying any of this if you were sober.
He tries to laugh it off before his ego can run away with the compliment. “I think you’re high.”
You shrug. “Maybe. But I always think you’re gorgeous.”
Removing his palm from your cheek, you examine it with fascination, running a finger along the deep set lines. “I think about these,” you say thoughtfully. “All the time.”
Jack is a little ashamed at how quickly that comment goes straight to his cock. His favorite resident, fantasizing about his hands, maybe even touching yourself to the thought of them, wishing your own fingers were his—
He drags his free hand over his face and mutters, "Jesus Christ."
“Can I tell you a secret?” You peer up at him again, that goofy, starstruck smile returning. “I’ve got, like, the biggest crush on you.”
Unfortunately for Jack, there is very little time to process this very interesting information before his phone buzzes again. Just beyond the doors, he can hear the familiar sound of what is likely a high-priority trauma heading into the bay. Voices overlapping in urgent tones, gurney wheels on tile floor, grunts and yelps of pain from a patient.
Jack crosses to the door in two steps, and speaks over his shoulder to you. “Hey, baby, I gotta handle something. Stay out of trouble, okay?”
As the door swings shut behind him, he just manages to catch the sound of you happily mumbling to yourself, “He called me baby.”
Which is how he heads into Trauma 1 with a smile on his face, entirely too cheerful for a man facing down a compound femur fracture.
The shift that would never fucking end is almost fucking over. And all Jack can think about is you. You and your moony, lovey-dovey eyes and your wide, childlike smile. You gazing up at him and crooning I have the biggest crush on you. You giggling and telling him point-blank that you’re ovulating.
As he rolls out of yet another demanding trauma, Lena updates him on your condition. You’re rehydrated and back to a normal temperature, pretty much ready for discharge if you can be released to someone who will take care of you. He returns to your room, finding you unhooked from your IV and cold-pack-free, happily set up with another lollipop.
“Jack, you’re back!” you exclaim, and then laugh at your accidental rhyme.
Still rolling, he thinks. He checks his watch. According to your best guess of when you took the ‘aspirin’ in your friend’s purse, it’s been about four hours. You'll be due to start coming down anytime in the next two hours or so. He's due to head out, but he can’t bring himself to go home until he knows you’re leaving in capable hands.
“Hey, sunshine.” He offers you a tired but warm smile. “Seems like you’re in pretty good shape here, and you should be tapering off pretty soon. You got anybody to take you home, keep an eye on you?”
A little crease forms between your brows as you think hard. “I don’t know where my friend went when the ambulance came. And I think my phone died,” you add pathetically, gesturing to the device in your lap and its terminally black screen.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t in good conscience leave you to your own devices, especially when you’ve never taken ecstasy before. At worst, there’s still a chance you could have some kind of reaction. At best, the comedown is sure to knock you on your ass.
He can only think of one thing to do. It's not the best idea. It might not even be a good idea. But his brain is too addled from the long shift to come up with anything better. And you need someone to take care of you.
“Jesus. Okay,” he mutters to himself, then sits on the edge of the exam table, bringing his face level to yours. “Listen up, sunshine.”
You gaze at him intently, attention vacillating occasionally between his eyes and his mouth. Jack has a feeling that what he’s about to say will go in one ear and right out the other. But there’s a chance you’ll retain it, so he says it anyway.
“You're gonna have a pretty serious crash when you come down. All those happy little chemicals that are making you feel good right now?” He gives you a soft little tap against your temple, and you giggle softly. He continues, “They’re gonna go on vacation for a day or two. I don't want you dealing with that on your own. So I'm gonna take you to my place, just to watch out for you until you’re feeling a little more like yourself.”
You’re quiet for a minute, your brain catching up and computing the meaning of what he just said. When it finishes, the lightbulb goes off behind your eyes, and you ask excitedly, “We’re having a sleepover?”
Of course that would be your takeaway.
He chuckles as he helps you to your feet. “That's right. You got it.”
When Jack drapes his hoodie over your shoulders and guides you out of the Pitt to his car, he’s reminded of all the reasons that this is probably a terrible idea.
He sees the watchful eyes and the knowing smirks of the nurses. He sees Parker and Crus snickering behind their hands. He sees Shen counting up his winnings from the betting pool, because he wrote down molly and tripsitter Abbot.
And he feels your hand clinging to his bicep, sees how you gaze up at him with a dreamy expression as he walks you out to his car. He’s knows he’s really going to need to behave himself for a few hours, because there’s a very good chance that you won’t, and Jack doesn’t want to accidentally take advantage of your… impaired judgement.
You spend most of the ride with your face by the cracked car window, feeling the wind on your face, eyes blissfully closed. Jack thanks his lucky stars that he thought to give the apartment a once-over before shift, so he isn’t bringing you into a total mess.
He walks you into his bedroom and gestures to the en-suite. “Bathroom’s there, if you want to take a shower. I'll find you something a little more… comfortable to wear,” he adds, peeling his eyes away from your tiny little shirt and how you’re already fussing with the straps.
As he turns to his bureau to find you a t-shirt, he feels arms wrapping around his middle, your body molding to his back as you embrace him with a sigh. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”
Jack swallows and delicately removes your hands, stepping out of your embrace and ushering you in the direction of the bathroom.
“Go on, then,” he instructs you. “While you’re still upright.”
You barely even register it as rejection, heading towards the shower and wiggling out of your top before Jack even has the chance to close the door behind you. Which he does, quickly and with his eyes glued to the floor.
His instincts were right. He will very much need to behave himself while you’re here.
He busies himself while you shower by changing out of his scrubs and assembling a meal. It's a humble offering — just a couple of sandwiches and frozen french fries heated up in the oven, but it’s better than nothing.
After about twenty minutes, you emerge from the bedroom with damp hair and your face scrubbed clean, clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, smelling like his soap. You lean on his kitchen island with a contented little sigh.
Jack repeats it to himself like a mantra — behave yourself.
“Time to eat something,” he says, sliding one of the plates toward you.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. But I'm trying to set you up for success here, so you don’t feel as awful when this is out of your system. When's the last time you ate?” he asks.
You rest your chin on your hand as you think back. “I had… lunch.”
“Thought so.” He puts the plate into your hands and steers you in the direction of the couch with a hand on your lower back. “You and I are gonna eat these sandwiches, drink some water, and watch Planet Earth.”
You gasp in delight and plop down onto the couch. “I love Planet Earth!”
He knows you do. You'd gushed about it being your favorite docuseries at work, and he’d bragged about owning the box set. It had been the first day you and he had really started to bond.
Once the tv is on, it thankfully keeps you occupied. You chew your food slowly, enraptured with the beautiful imagery on the screen. Managing a decent effort with the meal, you eat half the sandwich and most of the fries before you start to lose a little steam.
You abandon your plate on the coffee table, then take Jack completely by surprise as you lean over to lay your head in his lap.
He goes still for a moment, unsure if he should be allowing this. But he doesn’t have the heart to push you away, so he puts his plate aside and lets a hand come to rest on your shoulder.
You sigh happily and snuggle closer.
It's been so long since Jack has taken care of someone like this that he’d almost forgotten what it feels like. How good it feels to be needed. The easy intimacy of sharing a space, sharing a meal, of letting someone melt against you after a long night.
Affectionately, he brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, and you practically purr in response, leaning into his hand. So Jack keeps doing it, keeps gently stroking his fingers through your hair, preferring to watch your relaxing form instead of the polar bears on screen.
The two of you spend nearly an hour like that, until your breath starts to take on that even, drowsy quality and Jack’s own brain starts calling for rest. He gently eases you off his lap to sit up, takes you by the hand and leads you to bed, already resigning himself to the aching back that a couch nap is going to earn him.
Jack sets you up with a glass of water and the best blankets in the linen closet. As he turns to head back to the living room, your hand grabs his arm, pulling him back.
“Stay.”
Your voice is low and warm. You're sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooled around your knees. Your eyes are dark, tempting, pleading.
Jack knows dangerous territory when he sees it.
Still, your serotonin is due to start dropping any time now, and hurt feelings are only going to be worsened once it does. Jack sits carefully on the edge of the bed, maintaining a few inches of distance, his other hand gently cradling your cheek.
“Sorry, sunshine. Not a good idea.”
You move closer, your gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. “Why?”
Best behavior, Jack.
“Because you’re still tapering off. Plus, I just worked a long shift and I need to sleep.” He takes in a deep breath as he feels your hand slide across his shoulders. “And I've got a feeling I won't be getting much rest next to you.”
In a move so surprising that Jack is momentarily powerless to stop it, you rise up onto your knees and shift to straddle one of his thighs.
“What if I promise to be really, really good?” you murmur sweetly.
Jack knows he should stop you, and he almost does. But then you rock your hips on his thigh, the tiniest little life-ruining movement, and you let out the softest, neediest little sound. Suddenly, Jack is hanging onto his sanity and self control-by a thread. And that thread is fraying rapidly.
“Baby,” he whispers, half warning and half plea. His hands come to your hips, torn between stopping you and spurring you on.
Your hips rock again, more purposeful this time. “Please,” you beg quietly, so close now that your lips just barely brush against his.
For a few shameful moments, Jack forgets about his fatigue and the ache in his leg and he wonders… how morally reprehensible would it really be to just let you get off on his thigh? You’d said yourself that you’re ovulating, probably making you even needier. Fuck, he can feel how badly you want it, wetness soaking through the boxers you’re wearing and Jack’s sweatpants. Would it really be so awful of him to sit passively as you hump his leg to get the relief you’re clearly so desperate for? To take pity on you and let you use him for your pleasure?
But he knows it would be wrong, because he’d be getting off on it even if you didn’t touch him. You're not in your right mind, and he doesn’t want to make you come for the first time when you’re whacked out on MDMA.
Summoning the will from deep inside himself, he stills your hips and eases you off of his thigh, ignoring your whines as he nudges you back onto the pillows.
“It wouldn’t be right. I'm not touching you until you’re sober,” he says firmly.
Jack gets to his feet and tucks the blankets around you. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Wake me if you need anything.” He laughs softly at the pointed pouting look you shoot his way. “Other than that.”
“You’re no fun,” you call after him as he retreats into the living room.
Once the bedroom door is shut behind him, he collapses on the couch and wrestles off his prosthetic, punching a throw pillow a few times to soften it before going horizontal. Even after what felt like the longest shift he’s had in months, he’s unsure how much sleep he’ll actually manage to get knowing you’re in the next room. Probably snuggling one of his pillows as if it’s him, probably squeezing your thighs together until the last of the drugs leave your system.
He groans and rolls over, willing his body and his still half-hard cock to go to sleep.
You wake feeling like death warmed over.
You’re in a bed that doesn’t belong to you, but smells familiar and comforting. Same with your clothes. A few memories make it through the fog, blurry and out of order. Planet Earth. Jack’s hand, warm and pleasant on your cheek. An ambulance ride. Lena ruffling your hair and handing you a lollipop. A shower with a chair and a grab bar and soap that smells like Jack.
You’re at Jack's apartment, you realize with a start.
Checking the time groggily, you observe that you've slept from the early morning until late afternoon. Thank god you’d asked for tonight off as well, anticipating you’d need recovery time after Pitt Fest.
You can vaguely recall the warm, fuzzy feelings you’d experienced last night. In the abstract, at least. Now, you feel mostly guilt and shame and embarrassment and anxiety. How could you have been so stupid?
Sounds of life echo from the kitchen, which means Jack has woken up ahead of you. Your guilt sharpens. Jack is spending his hard-earned downtime taking care of you, because of your own carelessness.
Fatigue clings to your bones as you shuffle to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror is less than kind. Dark shadows frame your eyes, worse than the usual bags worn by the night shift crew. Your hair is a mess, and you sigh as you comb your fingers through to tame it.
Time to face the music.
You trudge out into the kitchen, where Jack is wearing an apron over a t-shirt and sweats and cooking an omelette, looking awfully chipper for having slept seven hours on the couch. He looks so good that it briefly makes you angry. Fuck him for looking so good, while you look and feel like utter dogshit.
Of course, that annoyance turns to guilt again when he looks up and smiles.
“Hey, lover girl,” he greets you warmly as you lean on the kitchen island. “How are you feeling?”
You rub your eyes and groan, “Like I got hit by a Mack truck.”
He squeezes your shoulder fondly and grabs a plate from an overhead cabinet. “Let’s get some food and water in you.”
“Thank you,” you mutter sheepishly. “I’m sorry about… all this.”
“Don't even worry about it, sunshine.”
Jack hands you a glass of water and starts making you a plate. You accept it with a grimace. “I'm not feeling very sunshine-y right about now. I can't remember half of what happened after I went down at the concert.”
“I hope we’ve learned not to go digging for meds in that particular friend’s purse.” He smirks and sets a plate in front of you. A vegetable omelette and buttered toast. Your appetite hasn’t yet returned to its normal levels, but your doctor brain knows that you really need to eat, so you reach for the toast first.
“Never again,” you vow as you take a bite.
In the light of day and out from under the influence of Beth's ‘aspirin,’ you get a good look at Jack's apartment for the first time as he assembles his own plate. It's not spotless, but it’s generally tidy, and it’s a very nice place. Good furniture, great windows with better blackout shades, a nice floor plan. Its niceness only makes you feel smaller.
You poke at your omelette, stewing. “Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Don't take this the wrong way, but…why am I here?”
He plates his own omelette and leans a hip against the kitchen island. “You’d never taken MDMA before, and I knew you’d be in for a hell of a drop. I didn't want you to be on your own.”
You resist the urge to frown. This whole saga is doing nothing to remedy your tragic crush on him. Did he have to be so nice and caring on top of everything else? It feels a little unfair at the moment.
“That’s… very considerate,” you mumble.
“What can I say? I'm a considerate guy.” He pops a bite of omelette into his mouth with a wink.
A thought occurs to you that briefly makes your stomach turn. “Does the whole Pitt know?”
Jack's expression tells you everything you need to know before he even speaks. “There… might have been a betting pool on the subject. Shen cleaned up.”
You drop your face into your hands. “Awesome. That's really awesome.”
Every single one of your coworkers knows that you spent the night rolling. Tears prick at your eyes beneath your palms, which only worsens your humiliation. The last thing you need right now is to cry in front of Jack Abbot. Even if it’s just because the chemicals in your brain are out of whack, it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.
“Hey.” Jack's hand finds your shoulder again. “Don’t worry about it. They're good people, no one is judging you.”
Despite your best efforts, a mortifying little sniffle slips out at the kindness in his voice.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
You can’t bear to look up, but your breath hitches in surprise when Jack pulls you into his arms. Instantly, your brain begins to quiet, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the reassuring weight of his arms around you, the slow arc of his thumb rhythmically stroking your shoulder blade.
It's medicine. Oxytocin and dopamine, feel-good chemicals produced by physical touch, bolstering your brain against the sapped well of serotonin the ecstasy left in its wake. It also makes your heart flutter pathetically in your chest.
He holds you for a long moment, his grip tightening when you finally loop your arms around his waist and return the embrace.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper, allowing the comfort to sink into your skin and fill your lungs.
“Of course.”
Jack only pulls away when you do, gently swiping a calloused thumb underneath your eye to banish the straggling tear that managed to escape.
“Let’s get comfortable on the couch,” he says, a hand settling on your back to guide you. “You’re still on the comedown.”
You worry you might be overstaying your welcome. But Jack seems to be in no rush to get you out of his apartment, content to let you rot on his couch as long as you need to. Surely he must have better things to do on his night off than take care of you, but he sits sentry at your side without complaint.
After some consideration, Planet Earth is tabled for the time being — even if you’ve seen it before, animal death is sure to bring back the waterworks in your current state. Flipping through channels, you settle on a cheesy mid-2000s rom-com that you’ve seen before and snuggle back into the couch cushions.
Through it all, you feel the comfort of his steady presence, his hand rubbing idle circles on your back, like an IV drip of Vitamin Jack straight to your brain. You give into the feeling, too worn out to fight it, curling into his side. Eventually, you feel a gentle graze at your scalp as he idly plays with your hair. It surprises you for a moment, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. You melt into it, eyes fluttering closed until you’re slipping in and out of a light doze.
Afternoon fades to evening, to dinnertime, to nighttime, to bedtime. Even after your intermittent sleep, your fatigue is still bone deep, and Jack insists you can stay the night. You really try to convince him to let you take the couch, but he refuses, insisting that your body needs proper rest to return to baseline. At the end of the night, he sends you off to bed with a smirk.
When you wake up in Jack's bed for the second time, it’s much less disorienting. It helps that you’re much clearer than you were seventeen hours ago. The clock reads 9:05 am — you have the whole day ahead of you to shower, change, and steel yourself for the humiliation ritual that is bound to be your shift tonight.
You stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed. Jack is reclined on the couch with a laptop and readers perched on the end of his nose. Ugh, fuck him again for looking so good.
His eyes find yours over the edge of the screen. “Hey there. You sleep good?”
“Mm-hmm,” you reply, stretching. “I'm feeling much better, I think.”
His mouth curves at the corner. “Good.”
Leaning on the edge of the couch, you sigh and glance at the clock on the wall. “I should probably head home soon, get my life together before shift tonight. Would you be able to drive me home?”
“Sure thing, sunshine.”
After you eat breakfast and shower off the cast of bedrotting from the day before, you change back into the clothes you arrived in, which Jack took the liberty of washing for you. As much as you appreciate the gesture, you blanch at the idea of Jack handling your underwear, and try very hard not to think about that mental image.
As the quiet car ride progresses, you ponder your looming fate, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing you’ll get from the nurses and other residents. It's disorienting to not know what you’re walking into, to have been mentally absent for most of it.
You can’t resist the urge to ask anymore. “Was I a total mess?”
He nods, amused. “Yes. But a very cute mess.”
“God, this is so embarrassing,” you groan. “What did I say?”
“Are you sure you wanna know?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
That makes you pause, glancing at him warily. “…was it bad?”
“You got a little fixated on hands for a while.” Jack pauses, like he isn’t sure how much to reveal, if you’re ready to handle it. “Said you think about mine all the time.”
Suddenly, you feel a bit sick, even though the car is headed in a straight line down the road. If that's just where it starts… if that’s not the worst of it, then what is?
“Oh god,” you whisper in horror.
“You said you think I'm gorgeous,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. “And that you have a big ol’ crush on me. And… you might’ve tried to seduce me a little at bedtime.”
Your cheeks flare hot. This is quite possibly the worst outcome of the situation aside from death. At the moment, death feels preferable.
You stare straight ahead, sinking in your seat and pressing your hands to your forehead to try and keep your brain from exploding. “Excuse me, I'm just gonna open the door and go lay down in traffic.”
He laughs, the sound warm and fond and doing absolutely nothing to temper your embarrassment. “It's okay.”
“It is completely not okay, Jack,” you protest, turning your body away from him and towards the passenger side door, like that will save you from this conversation.
Jack places a hand on your thigh.
All the systems in your brain go down simultaneously.
His palm rests just above your knee, not high enough to be too inappropriate, but it’s intimate. Especially because your choice of garment for Pitt Fest leaves your leg bare and exposed to his touch. Never once does he take his eyes off the road.
“It was flattering,” he says coolly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. “And extremely cute.”
He lets the assertion hang in the silence, and he doesn’t move his hand, letting it rest warm and comfortable against the soft skin of your thigh.
After some considerable effort, you remember how to breathe. Once the oxygen makes it to your brain, you manage to peel your hands away from your face and peek sideways at him.
“…really?” you ask, because you need the confirmation. Does Jack Abbot — your mentor, the object of all your desires, and the man who just babysat you through an unwitting MDMA trip — really think you’re cute?
He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Really.”
There isn’t much else to say for the rest of the car ride. Jack keeps his hand on your thigh until he turns down your street and throws the car in park. You try and fail to suppress a smile the whole way, and allow him to walk you up to your building’s front step, palms tingling with anticipation.
“I’d like to do this again sometime,” he says as you unlock the main entrance. “Minus the party drugs.”
You grin up at him, slightly emboldened by the revelations that occurred in the car. “You wanna have another sleepover?”
“Very much.” His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles back. “See you tonight?”
“See you tonight.”
You turn to head inside, but Jack catches your elbow. “Hey. One last thing.”
Before you have time to register his closeness, a hand slides along your waist, another cupping your jaw, and Jack is kissing you.
A warm, pleasant feeling floods you from top to toe, a high rivalling the chemical one you’d experienced twenty-eight hours ago. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it that entire twenty-eight hours. It's tender and hungry at the same time. By the time he pulls away, your lips follow after his and you almost stumble forward into his arms.
You open your eyes and blink up at him, feeling a little dazed and starstruck again.
“Had to wait until you were level,” Jack murmurs. He gives you a lingering peck at the corner of your mouth and descends down the front steps to his car.
Hmmm can we get sommmeeee uhhhhhhh fluff piece? A disabled!reader or one of the newer verses??
Jack frowned at the state of your kitchen and got to work. Dishes were going to have to soak. Trash out. Counters cleaned. Anything to make space in your head. Make it less loud in there.
Your impulsive confession that you hate everything right now and you wish you just wouldn't wake up, painted what he was seeing in another light.
You'd been keeping up apperances on the outside and suffering alone at home. It rankled. He'd seen it. And seen how it could end. He'd be damned if it would happen to you. You were so young yet. Bright. You had to have things you still wanted. Needed.
It wasn't time for you to let it go. To just give up.
He rinsed the last dish and made his way to your bedroom. Trying not to charge back out there and shake you awake. Ask you why you let things get this bad.
He just clears the soda cans and water bottles off the nightstand and yanks all the bedding off the bed deftly. He'd done it for Robby. Robby'd done it for him. And then they apparently contracted it out to you and neither of them ever checked on you.
That changes today.
He dropped them in the wash with soap and softener. Hot water. He didn't know how long it had been, but it didn't matter. Clean sheets would help you sleep better. So would a long bath, but he didn't have the patience or energy to scrub that today. Then he went to the closet to look for fresh ones.
None.
Annoying. But it's fine. He can doze off in the recliner. It might be more comfortable than your bed. It looks like an old mattress. Lumpy. He pushes on it and feels springs compress... "Springs?"
He felt his face screw up in disgust and pulled out his phone, "How fast do you think we can get a new mattress ordered to here?"
"Why?" Robby asked frowning at different yogurts. You liked yogurt, right?
"Her's is antique, I think," Jack said. "It has creaky springs."
"Ugh. That can't be helping her back."
"S'what I thought. She likes ours, though- sleeps pretty good on it."
"I'll order it," Robby said promptly. "What size?"
"It's a full size."
"Not anymore. We'll get her a queen. More room. Everything going okay?"
"Got her sheets in the washer and the dishes done," he hummed. "About to find something to watch to go to sleep."
"I'll be there with groceries soon... Hey, d'you know what yogurt she likes?"
hey my favorite writer on this whole app, it's me again 🫡 i got a new request if you want...... okay, hear me out. jack's daughter and ever since her mom died it's just kinda him and her and he does EVERYTHING FOR her like he is top one dad and so reader feels guilty that jack always has to take care of her and so she tries to help like change a lightbulb that has broken while he's on shift.
reader falls and hits her head and passes out and calls dad number two uncle robby and he insists she has to go to the hospital but she says only if her dad doesn't find out.
of course jack finds out, she feels guilty and then just comfort from jack.
this is a long one but do it with it what you want, i trust you and your amazing brain!!!
˚.💡⋆ — lights out
summary: see request!
genre: comfort
notes/warnings: mentions of blood (reader slices her hand open on a shard of glass) and stitches (reader gets her hand stitched up). jack calls reader bug. general hospital setting briefly mentioned amidst dialogue and events.
word count: 3.8k
After the bulb in your living room had blown while you and Jack were half-asleep, half-watching your show, he’d made you promise that you were not going to attempt to change it, that he’d stop by the hardware store on the way home from his shift and get to it, but you just couldn’t let it sit.
The words—I’ll get to it—stung, like it was just another task to add to his burdensome list of responsibilities. He’d complete it, yes, but after he’d changed out of his scrubs, picked up your special-occasion Friday night takeout, gotten some sleep while you ate. The thought caused a surge of guilt to rise in your chest—here you were, reading a book at home after classes, while Jack was out saving lives, and you couldn’t even change a damn lightbulb.
No, you had to do it. It was the least you could do. You thought of the text he’d send, the On my way to the hardware store, be home soon, to which you could reply I found a spare in the garage, don’t bother, taking a load off his back. He’d pat you on the back with one of those proud-dad smiles that you saw in the movies, pride shining in his eyes with a mutter of my girl is all grown up. With that thought in mind, you made a beeline for the garage, googling the correct bulb for the light and swiping one from Jack’s extensive supply of spares.
The ladder was the hard part; you were already afraid of heights, but the mere thought of lugging the thing into the living room without assistance sent a chill up your spine. For a moment, you stalled—maybe you’d drop it, or break something irreplaceable—but the thought of Jack’s pride sent you straight back to the garage to tuck the ladder under your arm and carry it, painstakingly slowly, into the living room.
You steeled yourself. The hard part was over—now, you just needed to screw in the bulb, which you’d seen Jack do a million times. It couldn’t be that hard, right?
Slowly, bulb in hand, you climbed the ladder one-handed, arms quivering as you attempted to keep yourself upright while simultaneously trying not to drop the lightbulb lest it shatter into a million pieces, yet another thing to clean up.
Finally, you reached the top--however, just before you stretched to screw in the bulb, you made the fatal mistake of looking down; immediately, the room began to tilt, and you lost your grip on the rungs, plummeting to the floor. As you fell, the lightbulb slipped out of your grasp, shattering immediately upon impact with the hardwood. You winced, mostly because you were envisioning sweeping up the shards once you'd regained your bearings, neglecting to realize that you'd knocked your head on the arm of the couch on your way down. Upon your attempts to sit up, a fierce, pulsing pain began to radiate through your cranium, and your stomach dropped.
All of Jack's warnings, his protocols, his procedures, seemed to slip from your mind the moment you felt the first throb of pain travel around your head; in that moment, crouched on the floor of the apartment in, you realized, a puddle of your own blood, seeping rapidly into your blue jeans as you pressed your palms to your thighs in a vain attempt to steady yourself, you realized that you had no idea what to do. Your father's voice, his lecture, playing on an endless loop in your head, was distant and hollow.
Your hands went out from under you for a split second of lost consciousness before you regained enough sense to at least reach for your phone (with your good hand, of course, considering you'd sliced the other open on a stray shard of glass while you groped around for something to hold onto in your stupor). You weren't exactly sure what you were going to do with it yet, only that you wanted to feel it in your hands, let the frigid, sleek metal cool your burning skin (oh, god, was it you, or was it sweltering in the apartment all of a sudden?). Your first thought was, of course, your father, for how could it not have been?
Jack had always been there, no matter what. Every awards ceremony, every recital, every doctor's appointment, every skinned knee--you couldn't imagine a life without him. He'd never gotten angry, never yelled, and yet, with all of his contributions in mind, you were always determined to please him; so, pressing the edge of your sweater to your palm in an attempt to quell the flow of blood in a rare moment of clarity and scrolling through your contacts with the other, it occurred to you that now, in your moment of need, you could absolutely not call Jack--for one, he was on shift, but, more importantly, he would have a heart attack on the spot if you called him and, with a disoriented slur to your voice, informed him that you were likely in need of a CAT scan and few stitches.
The second the words left your mouth, he'd immediately hang up the phone with an assurance that he'd be home in twenty minutes, tops, abandoning whatever patient urgently required his care to tend to you. You just couldn't do it, ask him to do any more than he already did--you were an adult (well, sixteen, but close enough), and you could handle a little knock on the head. Your collapse onto the couch after an attempt to stand told you that you, in fact, could not, leaving you only one possible course of action--Robby. Typing seemed too laborious in your current condition, so you fumbled for the call button on his contact. He answered after four rings.
"Hello?" A beat passed before you realized, in your haze, that he had been expecting you to respond. "What's going on? Are you alright?"
"Uh..." You fumbled to get the words out. "I hit my head."
Robby sucked in an urgent breath, and you could hear a mutter of Jesus Christ on the other line. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened."
"I was changing a lightbulb for Dad, but then I slipped, and my hand is bleeding, and my head really hurts, and--"
"Okay," he interjected. "Did you lose consciousness at any point?"
"I don't know. I-I think so."
"Okay," Robby repeated. The sound of a door shutting could be heard in the background. "I'm coming to pick you up, and we're going to the hospital."
The thought of having to face Jack made you nauseous. "Oh, Robby, I don't need to--"
"I wasn't asking. You need medical attention."
"Can't you just check me over?" you pled, but to no avail.
"Trust me, if I had access to hospital machines, I'd do that in a heartbeat, but I don't, and that's why we need to get you seen."
You winced, both at the thought of your father's reaction and the pulse of pain in your forehead when you shifted positions. "Dad's going to lose his shit."
Robby chuckled mirthlessly. "Damn right he is. Now, you stay on the phone with me, and don't move. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
“I can’t go, Robby," you breathed.
“You need—“
“I’ll only go if Dad doesn’t find out.”
You could almost see the purse of Robby’s lips. “Kiddo…”
“What? He’s so stressed all the time, and I don’t want to make it worse by showing up and making him worry about me.”
God, you and your big heart. Robby sighed. “You’re lucky handover is soon. I’ll get you seen when I come in.”
⋆˚꩜｡
When he arrived, Robby practically broke down the door trying to get his key into the lock. You were in the same place you'd been when you'd called, slumped against the couch, chin resting in your palms, fighting the persistent urge to fall asleep. Immediately, he was on his knees in front of you; in your haze, it took a moment for you to process his presence, his rambling, his incessant probing. Robby frowned.
"The doctor is in," you slurred, placing your hand on Robby's scrubs-clad shoulder for a brief moment before you lost your strength and it slid down his bicep.
"Hey, hey, stay with me," he said, cupping your cheeks. "Can you walk?"
You highly doubted your ability to even stand at the moment, but who were you to deny a challenge? You nodded, tried to stand, and then immediately stumbled into Robby's waiting arms. He shook his head; you were truly your father's daughter.
"Come on, lean on me." Gently, Robby slung an arm around your shoulder, allowing you to distribute some of your weight onto him.
"Do you promise that..." you shook your head. God, you were foggy. "...that Dad won't find out? He's getting off soon, and... and I don't want him to stay. I want him to go home and sleep."
He sighed. "He's going to wring my neck if he finds out that I didn't tell him, kiddo. He's your dad--he wants to be there for you, no matter what. He's told me that a million times, and I'm sure that's what he's going to tell you."
"But--"
"No buts. Hush. Conserve your energy."
⋆˚꩜｡
The car ride to the PTMC felt like it lasted years. Robby kept one hand on the wheel and one hand on the passenger seat next to your shoulder--just in case your head lolled to the side, he was prepared to catch you. It astounded you that, with such hyper-awareness, he'd never had kids. Little did you know, he had you.
After a few minutes of circling the parking lot, Robby finally found a space (not without a bit of complaining about how packed the lot was, of course). Before you could even finish taking your seatbelt off, Robby had left his seat and circled around the front of the car to open your door. Your hands had since begun to quiver; the world felt as if it were swimming around you, the letters on the hospital entrance sign blurring into a haze of illegible sludge. You groaned.
"Okay, up we go." With a grunt, Robby moved to hoist you into his arms, but you gently pushed him off.
Stubbornly, you huffed. "I can walk, Robby."
"I'm getting some major déjà vu."
Deliriously, you chuckled. He was right--he'd tried to carry you just like this when you'd been seven, coming home from a playdate gone long. Within moments, you were fast asleep in his arms with your face pressed into his shoulder. You hadn't really been asleep--you'd both known that--but Robby was always happy to carry you whenever you needed.
"Well," you muttered. "This time, I might actually fall asleep."
Robby tensed. "What?"
"I just mean, that... you know..." Before you could finish your sentence, you crumpled, just in time for Robby to scoop you into his arms with quite a loud expletive. Before he could think, Robby was sprinting into Chairs, pushing his way through the throngs of people to make it to Lupe. She was just finishing beckoning a patient with a nasty burn on her forearm to go behind the curtain where Langdon was waiting to examine her when Robby appeared at the window.
"Trauma," he blurted, so frazzled that he couldn't seem to get any further words out. After a few moments of catching his breath, he managed a longer, but no less concise, "Concussion. Fell off a ladder."
"Is that--"
"Yes, Jack's daughter--and he's going to lose his mind if he catches wind of this, so he can not find out, do you hear me?"
"Robby," Lupe replied, as if to say what the hell do you want me to do? "You take her through and get her help, but other than that, you're on your own."
Robby sighed, but darted behind the curtain, announcing your condition and his subsequent need for a gurney. It was almost as if the impact of your body on the foam jolted your senses back into working order--when you came to, you were moving, surrounded by a crowd of doctors. You cried out. In your head, you were calling for Robby, for Jack, for anyone who would listen, but it came out as an unintelligible moan. Finally, you managed a, "Where...?" before a blur that you recognized as Dana recounted your surroundings to you.
"You're in the hospital, hon. You fell and hit your head--you remember that?"
"Uh... yes." It was almost as if you were ripping the words from your throat. "Is Dad...?"
Dana smiled. "He's out in the ambulance bay right now, don't you worry. We're going to get you stable first, and then we'll break the news, okay? Trust me, none of us want him to lose his shit right before handoff."
"Please, you can't--"
"I'm gonna stop you right there, kid. Now, I love you like my own, but that I cannot do for you. Your dad would wring my neck personally if he found out you were here and nobody told him. He worries about you, you know that?
"Dana--"
"...And it's nice of you to not want to stress him out, I get that, but that's not really how it works, hon. My Jonathan is taller than me now and I still nearly give myself an ulcer when he's out overnight."
You frowned. "When do I, uh.... get to go home?"
"I'm afraid it's going to be a little while. We've still got some tests to perform, just to rule everything out. Probably tomorrow, at the earliest." Dana patted your shoulder. "But you just sit back and let us do all the work, huh? You'll be right as rain in no time."
For Jack's sake, you sure hoped so.
⋆˚꩜｡
"Abbot, go home. We got this," assured Shen, sipping on his second coffee of the night. "You've been on your feet all shift. At least go do some charts or something."
"I can't. I don't know, I just..." Jack sighed. "I have a bad feeling. I need to do something."
"I'd be surprised if you didn't," Ellis chimed in, to which Jack raised his arms as if to say what the hell do you mean by that? "I just mean, that, you know... you haven't taken a day off in a while, that's all. You can only run for so long before you crash."
"I'm not going to--"
"She's right," interrupted Shen. "You nearly missed a brain bleed today. You're off your game."
"Oh, come on," Jack scoffed. "I'm fine."
"That's what they all say," muttered Ellis. "You need--"
Slowly, she was drowned out by the sound of Dana, engrossed in a conversation with Robby at the Hub. "It's Y/N, Robby. A little knock on the head won't keep her down for long. She's young."
At the mention of your name, Jack whipped around. "You're early. What's going on?"
Well, shit. "Jack--"
"Robby." A beat passed, and then, "You wouldn't be here if something wasn't going on. Tell me."
Robby sighed, pressing his lips into a hard, thin line. A long moment of silence passed before Robby muttered, "She's here, Jack."
Immediately, before the last syllable of your name could even leave Robby's lips, Jack's heart dropped to his stomach. "What?"
"She... she hit her head. She's getting a CT right now, just to rule out--"
"My daughter is in my ER getting a CT right now, and you didn't think to, I don't know, fucking tell me?"
"We just got here like, thirty minutes ago," replied Robby, scrambling for an explanation. "She called me from home, and then in the parking lot, she... passed out."
"Jesus Christ, Robby, this is something you call me about! I could've been there when she came to, and she must've been so confused waking up in an unfamiliar place, and--"
"Jack, she is fine!" Dana exclaimed. "I was there when she came to, and she was perfectly cognizant, talking fine when we sent her off to the CT. Pupils a little uneven, but nothing serious. Please, calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down! That's my daughter in there, and I--"
Robby placed a hand on his fellow attending's shoulder, and all of a sudden he was silent. "When she gets back from tests, you can go to her room and see for yourself, alright? But for now, I need you to, please, calm down. You're going to stress her out if you go in there and get in her face."
Jack sighed, the sort of sigh that seemed to deflate him.
"Take a break. Go eat something. Everything is going to be okay."
"How do you know that? How do you know she doesn't need a craniotomy, or, or--I don't know, a fucking VP shunt? How am I supposed to just take a break when she's in there, and she's scared, and she's confused, and she needs me? I-I can't just sit around, doing nothing, I can't--"
"Jack, look at me." Immediately, Jack's gaze traveled to meet Robby's. "She's awake. She's talking. There's no brain bleed. She is going to be fine. Now, please, go get something from the vending machine. You're shaking."
Frowning, Jack made a beeline to the break room. Ellis and Shen sent each other a look--who knew that the all-knowing, self-sacrificing Jack Abbot took orders so easily? All eyes were on him as he departed; for someone who hated being worried about, he didn't exactly make it easy not to.
⋆˚꩜｡
After a few preliminary tests, you were finally back in your room. You had a mild concussion that was said to heal quickly with lots of rest (though would be confirmed when your CT scan results came back) and stitches on your palm, but other than that, you were going to be fine. Now, for the hard part--facing Jack. Despite your apprehension, you couldn't help but feel yourself craving his comfort. After the day you'd had, the only thing that seemed like would help was Jack, his arms around you, a whisper in your hair that it would all be okay, even if it wouldn't be. You knew he could never be mad at you, but making him worry felt worse than any anger; he did so much for you, and this was how you repaid him?
However, the second you saw Jack pushing through a crowd of people to make it to you, all of your thoughts melted away, replaced by an undeniable, insatiable desire to be held. Before you could even open your mouth to explain yourself, Jack was on his knees in front of you, cupping your cheeks, running his fingers gently along the gash on your hand, counting each stitch to make sure that they'd been done right. Your lip began to tremble.
"Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry," you murmured, voice wavering as you struggled to hold back a wave of emotion. "I didn't mean to--"
"Hey, no, none of that," Jack interrupted, running the pads of his thumbs under your glasses to wipe away any tears before they could fall down your cheeks. "What did we say about apologies?"
"If... if you had no control over it, don't say sorry."
"Right." A beat, and then, "What happened?"
"I... I was trying to change a lightbulb--the one by the TV. I wanted to surprise you, so you didn't have to do it when you came home."
Jack felt as if his heart could jump out of his chest with the mix of emotions pumping through it. Part of him wanted to sit you on the couch wrapped in bubble wrap and keep you at home forever so that nothing bad would ever happen to you, but he knew that that was an unrealistic prospect; you had aspirations, and it would be wrong of him to prevent you from reaching for them, even if he nearly gave himself an ulcer each time you had to travel out-of-state for debate club meets.
The other part of him, despite his anxiety, was simply overwhelmed with pure, unadulterated adoration. His perfect, perfect girl had hurt herself trying to make his life a little easier--how could anyone not adore you? Little did you know, your mere existence did just that.
Coming home each morning to you getting ready for school, putting your hair in a braid and pulling on your boots with a cheerful greeting (how anyone was that upbeat at seven in the morning, he would never know) was enough to keep him going for the rest of the day. Picking up takeout on Friday nights was never a chore, because he knew he would get to see the grin on your face when you opened the bag and found your favorite noodles nestled between a package of egg rolls and his own lo mein. Jack lived and breathed to see you happy, and would go to any lengths to do so.
"Oh, honey," he said, softly, pulling over one of the creaky visitor chairs so he could be at eye level with you. "You didn't have to do that."
"Of course I did! You're always doing so much for me, and I couldn't even do this one thing without screwing it up. I can't do anything."
"I was happy to change it, bug, I promise. But even then, this isn't your fault, you hear me?"
"But I took you away from your job, and..." you paused, and Jack held his breath, expecting to receive confirmation that you'd gravely injured yourself, or something to that degree. Instead, like it was top secret, you whispered, "...I dropped the lightbulb when I fell, and it broke into, like, a million pieces all over the floor, and--"
"Hey, hey, look at me," Jack interrupted, placing one hand on either side of your face. "I don't care about the lightbulb, okay? All I care about is that you're okay. Nothing else matters to me. You could've brought the TV down with you, and I wouldn't give a shit."
"But--"
"No buts, honey. Things are replaceable. You are not."
Absently, Jack stroked your left shoulder blade. In moments like these, Jack always had to have a hand on you, one way or another, simply to confirm to his dubious mind that you, his life, his livelihood, were whole and alive in his arms.
"Are you sure?" you asked, and Jack nodded.
"Of course I'm sure. We'll get to that when we get home--for now, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay?" When your lip began to quiver once more, Jack scooted closer to your bed, allowing you to melt into his waiting arms. "It's okay if you want to cry, but I want you to know that I'm not mad at you, bug."
"Promise?" came your feeble voice, muffled in the shoulder of his scrubs.
"I promise," he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling away to look you in the eyes. God, you looked just like your mother, with those big, pleading eyes. He pursed his lips. "I could never be mad at you, honey. Now... I'm not going anywhere. Get some rest."
Slowly, you nodded. In your father's arms, all was well.
Robby hears the words. Jack hears the words. And it feels like you slapped them.
"Is that what you think?" Jack asked, keeping his tone gentle. You hurt. You just got woke up from drugging yourself to sleep because sleeping through it is the only option. And now they're here and you don't know what exactly is happening. You're probably not even with it enough to know you just said all that.
"I'm just here to fuck you or cook- 's all you ever call me for," you shrug, pulling away from Robby and trying to get up off the couch. Crashing back on to the cushions with a groan.
"Just stay there," Robby said, "Did you take your normal dose or did you double it already?" He tilted your chin up to look at your eyes- he didn't think you were in danger of an overdose. You were awake even if you were struggling. Talking, aware. He glances over his shoulder at Jack, "Wanna get the heating pad out of her room?"
"You want heat or ice, baby?" Jack asked.
"It's fine I can-" you break off and twist your jaw out of Robby's careful grip. "Stop."
"Ice," Robby said. "She still feels like she's too warm." To you he prompted, "Did you double it or not?"
"Yeah, I just- I couldn't breathe." You huff softly, "You can go."
"No thanks," Jack said, handing Robby an Ice pack, "Gonna start your dishes."
"On your belly," Robby hummed taking it, "Once you get settled, I'm gonna go to the store for you."
You shake your head, and Jack smiled a little. "You gotta let us do this baby. We really had you thinking you don't really matter?" he tutted and moved to help Robby get you laid down again. You only had so much fight right now. It hadn't been very long since you took your meds. Still too groggy and emotional to do much more than pout and then cry.
"You're the only person we CAN call," Robby said. "Sometimes if we try to get each other to do things- fuck. All we do is get pissed off."
"S'true," Jack said, stroking the back of your head softly.
"You guys get pissed at me- don't even call me to say hi."
"We get mad at you different," Robby said.
"And it's our fault. Taking you for granted."
"Hate this. Hate everything. Half the time I don't even want to wake up."
Both of them wince but Jack can find his voice first, "How long, baby? How long d'you think you felt like this?"
"Doesn't matter-"
"Does matter," Robby countered, laying the ice pack on your back. It's big. Where you found it he doesn't know, but it covers your whole back almost. From just below your shoulders to your hips. "You know how long? You got a plan?"
"No."
"No, you don't know how long or no, you don't have a plan," Jack asked, sitting on the coffee table.
"Both. Either. The fuck-"
"Rest," Robby said softly, "Just rest. Go back to sleep, okay?"
You protest, at least verbally but now that you're down there's no getting up. All you can do is face the back of the sofa and put one arm over your head to try and block this all out.
"She needs- pretty much everything," Jack muttered, squeezing Robby's shoulder. "Fridge is empty. Cupboards too. Nothing but ramen and crackers pretty much."
Robby nodded, "You gonna be fine here?"
Jack nodded, "Gonna do some dishes for her. Put clean sheets on the bed- then probably crash on it. Don't think she's gonna move for a while."
"Probably not," Robby sighed. "I'll be back-"
"Make sure you get her something sweet too?"
"What'd I look like? An amature?" Robby said kissing the top of Jack's head as he stood up. "Coconut cream pie, I think-"
"Something sweet and cold," Jack agreed.
"And some watermelon."
"This heat has her fucked up," Jack said.
"The heat and our heads up our ass," Robby said, frowning.
For promptathon, maybe something Peter or Johnny? Anything you're feeling. Hope you had a great weekend!
"Y/N, hey!" Peter said bounding up the steps of the Journalism building, "Do you have the notes for-"
"You stood me up and now you're asking for study guides?" you ask, blinking at him slowly. "What, MJ have a hang nail?"
"I- I meant to call-"
"And I sat in the fucking parking lot alone for three hours waiting," you snort. "So no. I don't have notes for you."
"I'm sorry," he said reaching for your hand, "I- I lost track of time."
"Well, next you can lose my number." You rip your hand away from him and turn to walk into the building. Away from him. As far away from him as you could get right now- because instead of doing your Article you'd waited for him. Now you have to throw yourself on the mercy of your professor.
Some more the pitt for promptathon?? I watched a few episodes the last time i was on a plane a few weeks ago and now i get it
Let's goooo!
Jack looked around the living room and frowned, "Where's Y/N?"
"She went home to do her laundry and probably take meds-"
"We have medicine for her here," Jack said, "why-"
"Probably because I was a little bit of a dick when she got here," Robby admitted, sitting up and rubbing his hand over his face. "I didn't realize she was hurting until she started cooking."
Jack winced and let his bag fall off his shoulder before coming to kiss Robby hello, "She okay when she left?"
"Too hot, seemed like she was starting to have some trouble taking a full breath, just about ate shit tripping on herself," he shook his head. "Tried to coax her and she just... shut me down and went."
"Damn it." He dropped into his spot next to Robby with a grunt and let his head fall back. "When I called her she didn't even tell me."
"I fucked up-"
"We fucked up," Jack corrected, patting his leg. "I didn't even think. She's been moving boxes and shit."
"In this heat?"
"I pointed that out," Jack huffed. "She said if she doesn't do it it won't get done. And then what're they going to do when her dad get's out of the rehab?"
"I was off today why didn't she call me?" Robby asked. "Why-"
"She didn't call either of us." Jack carded his fingers through his hair and tried to swallow the sense of foreboding he felt. You never call them anymore. Never ask for help- hell. You had two doctors who would be more than willing to help you through the god awful muscle spasms you get.
Instead you're at home. Alone. Just suffering.
"I'll call-
"I think we better go over there," Jack said quietly. He turned his head to look at the other man and watched him visibly deflate. And Jack knew Robby had the same knot in the pit of his stomach. Something felt final when you shut the door today.
"You're probably right," Robby said standing up, "Let me change first."
"And I need a shower," Jack sighed. "Don't wanna go over there smelling like work."
Robby nodded, "I'll drive."
_________
Outside your door, they hesitate. The outside light isn't on. The windows are all dark but for the faint glow of your TV and the light over the stove.
You could be asleep already. But Jack uses their key to unlock the door anyway and takes a deep breath.
Walking down the short hall into the apartment it made them both wince. Everything was in disarray. Like you just don't have the time or the energy to deal with everything.
Mail stacked up on the table. Trash that needs taken out. Dishes that needed done. Shoes all over the place- it looked like a tornado had hit.
"Christ," Robby muttered.
"Y/N?" Jack called, "Honey?"
They walked closer to the living room and winced. You're asleep on the couch. Stripped down to a t-shirt and underpants. Facedown on your couch.
"Meds knocked her the fuck out," Robby muttered going to kneel next to the sofa, rubbing your back gently. "Baby? Hey," he said louder.
"Wha-"
"We're here to check in," he said, rubbing a little harder, "You're alright."
You make a soft noise and struggle for a second and open your eyes slowly, "I'm fine-"
Jack frowned and looked around. He'd not been here for weeks, you always come to their house. Or meet them when they can squeeze you in. What the fuck was happening?
"Baby," Robby muttered, "Can we talk about-"
" 's it matter?" you manage, blinking trying to get your bearings, "I'm just a fuck doll that cooks."
The words hit like ice water to the face.
"Y/N no you're-"
You make a soft irritated noise and shake your head, "All you need is some emotional support tits."
"Y/N." Jack started, "You're not-"
"You only call me to cook or fuck, but I'm too tired. You'll have to-"
"Robby, I swear to god if you don't eat a real meal today and I get in trouble with Jack-"
Robby half raised himself up on the couch where he'd been content to rot and watch baseball and sighed, "Baby I'm just not hungry. I'll tell him-"
"And then we'll both be in trouble," you huff, coming to stand between him and the TV, hands on your hips, eyes narrowed. "But I'll get it worse. And honestly, I do not have time for that today."
He felt himself frown and looked at you. Really looked for the first time since you burst through their door with groceries and an attitude. You look frazzled. The heat and humidity making your hair slip out of however you managed to put it up. Dark circles under your eyes- and he swallowed what he'd been about to say.
That he was a big boy and he didn't need you here to mother him.
You look hot, tired, and glassy eyed. Like you're in pain. It's enough to make him actually sit up, "Honey-"
"It is too hot today for bras, men, and other people's fucking opinions," you snap, "You eat what I fix and then you can rot."
"Alright," he said, relenting. You had to have come straight here from your parent's house. From whatever crisis.
You nod once and head back to the kitchen and Robby follows. It'd been almost a year since you fell into their lives- almost literally. Smart, stubborn, kind- together he and Jack could list a hundred and ten things about you that they loved- but what they hated was this.
When you got so overwhelmed by everything that you'd retreat back behind a wall.
He leaned on the kitchen island and watched you. Eyes narrowed. Assessing. Your hands were trembling but he didn't know if it was upset, blood sugar, or just... the baseline tremors you got sometimes. And you were favoring your left side. Breathing uneven.
Shit. He thought, "Honey, I'm sorry." Since you came over he'd been sulking. Irritated that you were irritated. That you didn't come over all sunshine and bubbles to rub his back and fuss- instead you came in on a mission. Because well. You wanted to fucking go home. To not Have to take care of anyone anymore. Just to take whatever meds you can find and go to fucking bed.
You make a soft noise and wince when you turn to dump chopped veggies into a waiting bowl with the cold pasta and Robby pulls out his phone to text Jack, "Did you send Y/N to take care of me or are you wanting me to take care of her?"
The response is almost immediate: "What's going on?"
"Not sure. Just know it hurts."
"I'll bring home something for her."
"She just chopped vegetables like she was mad at them."
"Maybe they looked at her funny."
Robby rolled his eyes and took the bowl of pasta salad- with grilled chicken and homemade lemon dressing that he liked, with a little smile, "Thank you."
"No problem." You rub the back of your neck and start putting things away when he picks up his fork.
"Not gonna eat?" he asked, worry kicking up a notch.
"Ate at my mom's," you tell him, leaning on the counter for a second before you turn to the dish drainer. "I'll finish this and let you-"
"Not gonna stay?" He hoped he sounded coaxing. You need to lay down.
"Well, you didn't want me here to start with-"
"Baby-"
"It's okay," you tell him shrugging. "Gotta do laundry and stuff at home."
"Jack'll be home soon, told me he was bringing something for you," he hummed, itching to go take the pan you're holding away from you and order you to go lay down. To sprawl out in the middle of their bed so you can twist around until you're comfortable.
"I'll get it next time. Least now he doesn't have to cook either." You put the pan away and straighten back up slowly. Staggering just a little when you go to put weight on your left side, catching yourself before you can lose your balance.
"Honey-"
"Later, Robby," you tell him, kissing your cheek as you pick up your bag.
"Oracle," Jason murmured into his phone, "Look into something for me?"
"Sure, I'll just put all B's shit on hold-"
"I need to know if Y/N's sister is still in rehab."
The clicking on the other end of the phone pauses, and she exhales sharply, "Alright. I'll get on it. Text you."
"Thanks." He hung up the phone and picked up his tablet, pulling up the website to find your damn bear, grateful that you didn't go for sounds in them.
You looked wrecked coming in. Exhausted. Work didn't do that. Your job was frustrating, but not- you liked it. The ebb and flow of it. Structure. Predictability.
Something hard as fuck to have when you're the family scapegoat and your sister takes up all the extra space in the room.
Pieces trickle in and Jason isn't sure how to put all of them together yet. But the brittle, too bright smile you gave him. Trying to shove what you really wanted out of the way. He didn't even know if you wanted to be buying a new bear, but. It was better than nothing. Better than letting you just be... sad.
You sad didn't sit right. You should be bouncing through the door and exploding with about 40 new pieces of stupid word gossip to update him on.
i’m trying to get back into my jason todd phase if you have anything for him for the promptathon 🥰
Standing next to Bruce on a rooftop when his personal phone rang Jason's favorite thing. Why? Because it was you. If it was 2am it was always you.
And it was hard to stay Redhood when all he wanted to do was go back home and kiss you stupid. Tonight was no exception.
"Sup, babe?" Jason said adjusting his earpiece and pointedly not looking at Bruce as he kept his eyes on the target.
"Pick a color for me."
"Color for what?"
"Don't ask questions, just pick."
He smiled a little. "You know I'm just gonna say red-"
"Forget all your other color words? I can get you a book-"
"Pink then," he snorted. Praying it wasn't for new sheets for his bed or something. He liked the nice black ones you bought him. And he could handle extra pillows. But pink sheets were a step too far.
You sigh and he can pratically see you pouting at him, "Bye, Jay, love you!"
"But what-"
The line went dead, and Jason shook his head, readjusting his sights, debating whether or not he could convince Bruce this was a bust to get home.
"Sounded urgent," Bruce said, just barely not amused.
Jason shrugged, "Who knows." He wanted to know. Real bad but he had to TRY and play it off like he didn't care.
"She called you to ask about... colors? At 2am."
"She works nights, remember? She gets bored."
"About as bored as we are right now."
"I don't think anyone is that bored B," Jason snorted.
rookie!reader x lt ghost in which you realise you dont know how to address these feelings for your lieutenant
no cw, fluff, romance , mentions of a stab wound, very silly and fluff.
a/n: this takes place after they kiss and rookie wants to address it but doesnt know how, but idk after that. It’s a silly chapter and also not completely proofread but it’s fluffy and soooo much romance i heard your call guys i deliver
Rookie Masterlist
——
“You like him, dont you?”
“No— it’s not like that!”
That’s what you’ve been telling yourselves for weeks now, especially after he had kissed your head just before leaving for a mission. There’s nothing casual about that— surely? You brushed it off, wallowed over it while he was gone, then tried to ignore it altogether when he came back and didn't act all that different to you at all.
He was a lieutenant— you should’ve known there was absolutely no way, a rookie and a Lieutenant? Yeah, no chance.
So you’ve been forcing it down the back of your mind since, not letting your cheeks burn even for a second else you ruined a perfectly good relationship you already had with him. That’s right, you couldnt possibly afford to mistreat his kindness for something like that— he’d think you’re a freak for real this time and actually call HR. He had threatened already when you stupidly said he was hot but you refuse to regret that too much— you’re allowed to acknowledge a man’s attractiveness. A compliment if you will.
All your reservations came crashing down that fateful week of his injury, insecurities boiling up and making you threaten to leave. That wouldnt even be the worst thing, if he hadnt chosen that time to kiss you, and then you asked for more?!
“Why did I do that?!” You groan loudly, rolling over to hide your face in your pillow in hopes it’ll knock you out enough to forget all this. You kissed your Lieutenant and you have no idea what the hell you’re going to do about it— what the hell even are you meant to say?!
“Sir i just had romantic relations with can i eat breakfast with you and the team without my face burning up every five seconds?”
“Hey Lieutenant i just kissed, do you mind if i sleep in your bed and i get clammy and freeze up every five seconds like a right idiot?”
“Hi guy i just kissed, do you mind if we do it again?”
You groan louder this time, using your hands to push the pillow against your face because this really should be the death of you. How did you even get yourself here?
“Poor method of killin’ yourself, bird. Recommend ya at least add some water first.”
You sit up immediately in horror to see him standing there in the doorway, stature sluggish from a trip out, duffel bag in his arms. As soon as he could walk again, he had to go down with the 141 somewhere, not that they made him do anything too strenuous.
“What’s with the deer stare? I’m fine, promise.” He raises a brow at your terrified face.
“Y-you’re early.” You eventually manage to squeak out. You’re not worried about his injuries this time— he was supposed to be back next week. And you were still figuring out what the hell you were gonna do.
“Thought it’d be a good surprise, or not? If you want to have a bath today you still can.” Surely he must’ve encroached upon some plan you previously had, but you just meekly shake your head.
“No, it’s okay. How long are you back for?”
“A while, wrapped up somethin’ big so nothing for a while.”
Shit.
—————————
“Sergeants want to watch a movie in the rec room, you comin?” He had just finished up in the shower when he got the text from them, apparently spontaneously deciding when they got a good deal on a takeaway too.
“Umm..” You’re playing a game on your phone, clearly having not even processed his question yet as you narrow your brows at the screen in concentration.
“Hello? You lost in your pretty little head again?” He waves his hand in your face, effectively making you miss your attack and you quickly swat his hand away. “What is it?”
“Movie night, yes or no, love?”
“Depends, are you going?” You repeatedly tap the screen and yet the boss is still standing, what is this thing made of?
“Yes, and they bought snacks. So that’s basically a yes from you, wash up and we’ll go.”
The game ends with a success on your end and you grin, letting it drop to your lap as you finally look up and register all the words he had just said to you. “Oh, sure, a movie night sounds good. I mean i’ll watch what— wait, what did you say before?”
“I said you’re lost in your pretty head again.” He repeats so casually like it didn't just rewire your entire brain chemistry. You watch as he tucks away some of the papers he was working on earlier, locking them in his draw before walking over to you. “You good, love?”
“Y-yeah, just deciding if i need to uh.. check my armoury or something, yeah..” You mumble out, quickly standing and heading into the bathroom with the soft slam of the door. You were not surviving tonight.
———————
You passed out on the couch almost immediately after that to save yourself from any more embarrassment. Except, now you couldn’t help but crave for even more of his attention like that.
It didn't hit you until a week later, in which you joined them on a mini operation of a sorts. Really you were just in charge of watching the cameras for them since the usual soldiers were all caught up on something. It all went smoothly, and you started the drive back to base except.. a storm had started thundering down and having the heating racked up caused the petrol to run out faster than planned. So you all stopped off at a petrol station in the dead of night, the rain still pattering down as you and the sergeants rushed in.
“Not always safe in there, i’ll be outside, okay?” Simon mumbles, following you to the woman's cubicle, and you sleepily nod knowing that some creeps liked to linger in these places.
Thankfully you had no such troubles, and it was even actually clean! You grin to yourself as you wash your hands, already thinking about the bag of m&ms you were just about to buy for the way back.
“All done!” You hum as you step out and he stands from where he was leaning against the wall.
“Gotta grab some stuff first, car’s acting up a bit.” He starts walking and you follow, watching him look at a rack of engine oil and coolants. Truly you probably would be able to help, but you’re kind of tired right now so you just leave him to it. Instead you over the top of the aisles, noticing the lack of anyone around. Johnny’s mohawk seems to peek out near the fridges, along with Kyle’s cap, but that’s it apart from the cashier.
You turn your attention back to Simon again whose picked up one of the coolants, looking it over at rhe details. His other hand hangs useless at his side but with his gloves off for once— and yours cold from the rain— you can't help but stare at it a bit too longingly. Before you can really think twice about it, you lightly tap your hand against his, before gently slipping your palm against his. He glances at you for a moment, but you keep your gaze stuck to the floor, half expecting him to pull away with a roll of his eyes.
Instead, his fingers lock your hand in place, pulling you along to the next aisle with him as you let a smile spread across your face. His hand warms the chill in your body, making even your face start to feel warm too. “What d’ya want?” He’s pulled you into the chocolate section, mandatory for any late night drive.
“M&Ms please.” You squeeze his hand as you crouch to look at the offers on the bottom shelves. “Reckon we have to get some sour gummies too.”
He nods, and then cocks his head towards the bag of wafer rolls and you practically look at him with stars in your eyes. You grab all of them, his hand still in yours as he heads to the counter. It’s even harder to push down the rising warmth as the cashier smiles at your romantic display despite the late hour. Maybe Simon was just doing this just to make you seem more normal, just like the cash he fishes out his pocket and places on the counter. Cover the tracks, right?
You notice Kyle’s hood as he stands by the door, waiting for you too and embarassed, try to pull your hand away from Simon. Unfortunately for you, he just squeezes it tighter, giving you a knowing look. “Wha’s wrong? Eager to hold it before, why not now?”
“Simon!” You hiss and he chuckles, waiting until the very last moment to finally let you go, making you grumble at him.
“Price said the weather will clear up in a bit, then we can call Laswell and share some info.” Kyle hums as he walks beside you two to the car. He pauses for a second, and then a cheeky smile lifts across his face. “Lt, I’m gonna take your place in the front, you can take the middle seat.”
You don't even get a say in the matter as you’re immediately squashed against the window, the weight of him constant beside you. The car starts moving again, snacks open and pass around, and then just as he passes you the chocolates his arm settles around your head. Just resting there, like a personal pillow.
“Uh.. rookie?”
You snap out of your thoughts, looking up to see Kyle staring right at you. “Y-yeah?”
“Just was gonna ask to have some but you look a little too comfortable there.” He teases, a smirk rising on his lips before you shake your head adamantly, practically shoving the chocolates in his hands.
“I’m being squashed. It’s all your fault for sitting upfront.”
—————
It’s been a few days since, and thankfully he’d been so caught up in other work he forgot to even address that at all. Wait, were you supposed to be the one to address it? Did it need addressing?
Regardless, he’d been called out for another mission and so a few days spans into two whole weeks. Usually you were fine with him being gone, so why did your chest ache every time you saw his neatly folded sheets? It got to the point you had to mess them up, sleep in his bed for one night even if it killed you more laying there without him warm beside you.
All of a sudden, you were noticing his abscense everywhere. The lack of his stupid alarm that made you groan into your pillow, none of his clothes hanging to dry in the bathroom, the bathroom always available for you to use. And yeah, you had friends you could hang around and often did while he was here, but there was something so incredibly lonely about returning to a quiet room with not even a sign of him there. Not even one of his spare masks hanging off his chair.
Even when you got pissed off at a cocky soldier, said somethings you probably shouldn't have and had gotten glared at by a superior, his office door was still locked shut. You couldnt even go in there and get scolded by him.
You officially cant take it anymore after another week goes by with absolutely no news at all; it’s not like you exactly had an outlet to get information from either. So you sulked, and spent your evenings sitting on his desk chair, on his bed, maybe even wearing the old hoodie he had chucked out months ago.
“Wait! Are you seriously throwing that out?”
“Well.. it’s too small for me. Nothing i can do about it unfortunately.”
“Can I have it?” He raised a brow at the time, but you knew how soft they were from the odd chance you were sorting a muddled laundry pile. It was really good quality, better than you could ever splurge on.
“I mean.. my title’s faded anyway.” He had shrugged it off, leaving the room before you even got a chance to slide it on yourself.
It was warm, so warm, and even though it’d been a while you could still make out the one cologne he swears by. You made a few small adjustments so it’d fit better, damn men’s clothes and sometimes fitting weirdly, but now it swallowed you perfectly.
Something startled you awake tonight, making you wearily blink as you roll over to check your small clock. Only twelve am, it wasnt even that late. Must be the foxes mating again. You groan at the thought of their noises all night, before trying to fall back asleep again. Except you cant, at all. You toss and turn and toss and turn to absolutely no avail. What frustrates you even more is than when you roll back over, his bed is still as empty as ever.
Even better, you totally forgot to refill your water bottle before knocking out. So now you have to get out of the warm covers, grab your shoes and water bottle and walk the three whole minutes to the rec room. You suddenly stop right outside, seeing light peeking out from the crack beneath. Only you and the rest of them had the key, or well that was what you were told. Maybe that CIA agent had come by?
Laswell you think.. or maybe not. You’re too tired to care, what are they gonna do, sue you?
You push the door open, immediately freezing in place. Simon is stepping towards the counter, stripped down from his gear and clearly having recently returned. His hair is still damp from a hot shower, a few streaks of black still smudged around his eyes. Worst of all, his hand is hanging wrong, and you can see the way his shirt doesn't sit on his arm as well as it should.
It makes tears prick in your eyes, because regardless it is still him, and he’s here after what? A month? A whole four weeks, thirty or so days away?
You barely make out more than a squeak before the door swings shut behind you, the soft sound of your slippers pattering against the floor. Then out comes his immediate huff, the air forced out of his lungs when you suddenly throw yourself against him.
“Love—“
“It’s been a whole month! A month! And you come back now— randomly- and you didn't even wake me up!” You curse him, contradicting your arms that are tight around his middle as you hug him with all your might, utterly determined to take everything you’ve missed for months.
“Though you were sleepin’. It’s late, bird.” He chuckles at your angry words before his uninjured arm strokes down your hair.
“So is this like..?” Johnny is the first to break the silence, and it’s only then that you realise the other three had been settling down on the couch when you barrelled into Simon.
Quickly, you scramble back, completely awake now as you frantically glance between Simon and Kyle’s phone that had been directly pointed at you too. “I- i— he’s injured! I wanted to make sure he’s okay!”
“So you arent wearing his hoodie right now?”
Now that you had stepped back, the sight of you was all Simon could focus on. Your hair tousled and tucked beneath the hood, eyes drowsy and slippers tucked on beneath your cozy pajama bottoms. Of course, his hoodie swallowing your upper half, his surname written across your back and front.
You swallow hard, would he get angry at you for being so careless. What if he didn't want them to know about your relationship? What if this wasnt even a relationship?!
“I didn't even know you had that..” He mutters, making you blink back towards him whilst desperately trying to defend yourself. For once in your life he genuinely looks somewhat speechless, just staring at you.
“Well?” Kyle is pushing, you know it from the cheeky smirk across his lips that you want to let your fist collide with.
“She’s mine.” Simon says, leaning down to kiss your lips right before them, not even a care in the world. You’re speechless because you thought he wouldn't be as shameless as that and clearly the sergeants have similar thoughts from how they immediately shut up aswell.
Price finally breaks the silence with a fake scoff. “I thought I was in charge of soldiers, not a bunch of teenagers.” He directs the last bit towards the Sergeants who still have their jaw gaping in disbelief.
“You knew about this, didn't you?” Kyle huffs, offended and Johnny nods in tandem.
“Simon- stop!”
You groan, wiping your cheek with your sleeve after he presses another kiss to your cheek, practically smacking his lips on purpose to piss off the other two.
“Just showing my love for you.”
You all give him practically the exact same look, and you’re positive that if someone had their thermal scope on you they’d see a fiery red and you’d encourage them to take the shot.
“Y’want tea, bird?” He pulls away to attend to the kettle that just finished boiling— of course, he did.
“Hot chocolate, extra sugar.” You grumble which he only chuckle at, pulling out the bag of marshmallows from the cupboard.
“Ye know ye cant go out with us anymore, right?” Johnny suddenly says, arms crossed over his chest and giving you a look like he came straight out of mean girls.
“What?” You raise a brow and Kyle dramatically nods along, turning away from you to grab himself a mug for his cuppa.
“Our pub nights are for the single people, not the ones lipsing our friend.”
“He’s the one lipsing me!” You argue, unsure if they were really joking. The single thing was supposed to be a joke, right? “You cant kick me out!”
“Well, we’ll consider your place with one condition.”
Johnny adds, snatching your hot chocolate before Simon can hand it to you to take much more than a sip, earning him a glare. His lips lick off the whipped cream coating his top lip, chocolate sticking to the bottom one as you steal it back. “You gotta introduce us to some of your friends. Your nurse one is a real bonnie lass…”
“No way!” You shake your head adamantly, not because you dont want your friends to be happy, you really do. But these two..
“You dont even wash your hands before you eat sometimes! And who knows how often you even clean your clothes.”
“Oh come on, Lt wears one bloody mask, he probably stinks.”
“Why’re you complaining at me? Every time we go out, Kyle gets asked for his number at least twice.”
As you direct your squabbling to Kyle, Simon hands Price his own steaming mug which he takes gratefully. “So, you finally told ‘er then?”
Simon grunts in return, even as he chooses to sit right next to Price, knees touching him as he watches you point a finger right at Kyle and argue. “When I got injured.” He reluctantly says, pausing to take a long sip of the tea. “She got really upset— said she was only burdening me ‘cause she doesn’t have experience like i do.”
Price chuckles at his words, since it was a situation he could imagine fairly quickly with you who wore your emotions more openly than the rest of them. He was glad that Simon had you, the Lieutenant had worked hard for too long without a reward, and of course the sergeants got a taste of normalcy when they interacted with you.
“I want front row seats at the wedding, son.” He pats Simon firmly on his shoulder, already having finished his drink and now standing to place it in the sink. It was time to get some sleep too.
Simon doesn't roll his eyes at the implication, nor does he even grumble at the teasing tone. Price had a habit of getting what he wanted, and this time he couldnt deny this request.
————
“I can’t believe you got hurt and you’re just walking around no problem. I mean, is it not kind of fun complaining?” You raise a brow at the thought, knowing the hard way how much his stab wound hurt.
“Reckon Price would laugh in my face if I asked him for a day off.” He grunts and you snort, because you know he totally would. Not because he wouldn't give him one, but more so the fact the Lieutenant would have to be joking to ask for that.
He steps out of the bathroom, caught immediately on the sight of you sitting against the pillows of his bed. You’re picking at the insignia on his shirt, a simplified version of the taskforce symbol, as you wait for him to come and join you. But the fact is that you look gorgeous dressed in his clothes, the way they seem to make you just glow from their dull colour.
“Sorry for keeping you up.” He mumbles, turning off the mainlight and shrouding the room in darkness. He pats the bed first, making sure he wont squash you as he slides beneath the covers. The duvets move as you do the same, until your hand finds his uninjured arm and soon enough you’re clinging on.
“If i knew you’d be back, i would’ve waited.”
You huff, and he knows you’ll get annoyed tomorrow that he didn't give you better updates. It’s not his fault he prefers surprises. The both of you fall silent for a moment as you readjust, you curling into his side as his arm settles behind your head— his bicep a very comfortable pillow.
“Cant believe i almost didn't see you in my hoodie.” He grumbles suddenly, and you groan, feeling your cheeks warm all over again.
“I told you i didn't mean to! It was my last sleep shirt.”
“Doesnt matter, it’s a bloody sight.” You feel his lips press against your cheek again, a silent reassurance.
“Si?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?” His hand rubs your waist gently, the warmth of him radiating so hot it makes you melt even further. You cant believe you almost missed out on this tonight.
“Think i got a crush on you.”
That makes a laugh rumble through his chest and your hand that lays across it, the breath he exhales blowing the top of your head. “I must be bloody whipped then, huh?” You feel him relax properly now, making your smile only grow knowing you’re the sole reason for that.
“You gotta say if you like me back.” You feign annoyance and he huffs properly this time, kissing your head.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
He feels your finger stutter against his chest, like you froze up just from the confession, before your nose pushes into him as you hide your face.
“I love you too, Si.”
——————————-
Rookie Masterlist Buy me a coffee!
OH MY DAYS I ACTUALLY DID FLUFF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A HOTTTT MINUTE now i need someone to get brutally injured so the scales are balanced
Also the taglist is now unfortunately closed because i have 2 and im scared im gonna get like attacked for tagging too many yk
Ooh ooh Jason and sunshine!reader for promptathon?
Jason frowned at his phone and propped his foot on the coffee table. Debating. Did he charge into the mess and bully people for you, or did he clean up the aftermath when you get home?
Because clearly, you were not having a good day. Your texts were just one word- maybe two. No GIFs. No... anything. Usually he gets something.
It's weird. You haven't updated your running list of build-a-bears in three days. He checked. Then checked other places- other threads. You can stick to one messaging app to save your life.
All silent.
"Don't like that," he muttered.
But before he could find jeans or shoes, the door to the apartment opened and shut.
"Babe?" he called, getting to his feet, "you okay?"
"Just tired," you tell him, kicking your shoes into the closet you're holding open. "It's been a horrible week."
Jason frowned and crossed the floor to you, taking your bag off your shoulder before pulling you against him. "You're home now." He squeezed you and kissed the side of your head, "Hungry, huh?"
"Not really, can we just-" You break off and shake your head, smiling up at him. "S'okay. I'll just grab a shower and probably lay down."
"Babe." He moved and cradled your face in his hands, gently squishing your cheeks, "What'd you need?"
"A toaster bathbomb."
Despite himself Jason chuckled, "We're fresh out. But I got some chocolate-covered strawberries and rumor has it, there's new bears out-"
"Jay-"
"The lightning bug really does look huggable," he tempted. He'd clear your whole list right now if it meant you stopped giving him the brittle smile he hated.
"It glows in the dark."
"You bet it does. You don't have a glow in the dark one yet." He smirked and kissed your cheek, "Go shower. I'll be here once you scrub your skin off. Use your nice stuff."
"I'm out of-"
"No, you're not. It got here 30 minutes before you did."
