Description: You and your new boyfriend haven't had sex yet. Though, getting drunk for the first time — and seeing your gorgeous boyfriend take care of you — awakens that dormant part. Or, you being a drunk mess trying to get him to fuck you, and him fighting his self-control.
Tags/warnings: Established rlsp, Drinking, r is drunk, lots of flirting, highly suggesting themes, lots of mentions of sex, huge age-gap (reader in 20's, abbott is 50), size difference, horniness lol, slight allusions to dom!jack, use of pet names: sweetheart, baby, honey (would u guys like "kid" lol?) (sorry, i have issues. i think.)
Note: This is my first fic, and i wrote it in one go. While I tried to make the reader very neutral in terms of characteristics — the fic is highly self-indulgent (i, too, am horny for abbott), and you may see some mentions of reading having hair, reader being in heels.
“I kind of want to get shitfaced.”
Jack did not turn to look at you. He just huffed into his cup of black coffee, held closely to his lips. The kind of black coffee that made you wrinkle your nose. You proudly liked yours with a bit of milk in it. Okay, a lot of milk. To the point, Jack called it a milkshake.
His eyes remained fixated at the screen of his phone, straining even with his reading glasses, to read the daily news on a bulletin app you downloaded on his phone.
“What about your policy against having fun, and letting yourself go for more than two minutes in a row?” Jack asks in his low voice, scratchy from the coffee. His eyes finally find yours, as he takes a slow sip from his cup. His eyebrows raise at you questioningly, holding your gaze.
Damn him and his gaze. Even after 6 weeks of dating — and pining for a lot longer than that — he sure could still make you feel like a puddle.
You're only able to speak once he turns to his phone again. “Uh, excuse you, I'm a very fun person, thank you very much. Yesterday, I put a fake ‘your computer is down’ screen on Shen's laptop,” you tell proudly.
“Dear god. He did not go into a cardiac arrest from your…prank?” Jack's voice caught on the word “prank” as if it deeply amused him.
You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend (still hard to say that), shifting close enough to him on his couch that your knee knocked against his thigh. Your entire body faced him, while his faced the front — a tiny whine left your lips.
Jack turned his attention back to you as you spoke again. “You know it's the loss of control I hate. Don't you think I also feel like getting all loose-lipped and dancing on top of tables and flirting with strangers?”
His eyes softened a fraction when he saw the small frown on your lips. He sets his phone face-down on the arm of the couch, before shifting so his upper half faced you too. “Okay, what brings this on? You know I just like teasing, I don't think there's anything wrong with being an alcohol virgin.”
You rolled your eyes at his choice of words. “I want to know what it's like. It makes everyone so…” your hands do a weird dance in front of your chest, trying to find a proper word. Your attending swiftly moves his cup a bit to the left, so your hands wouldn't knock it all over yourself.
“Joyful,” you finished.
“Okay, but let's not dance on table tops and flirt with strangers,” he takes off his reading glasses and perches them next to his phone. When his eyes find you again, they're equal parts amused, and that softness that only seems to show up when you're in the room.
“I would never, I'd feel bad for giving you stress at your age.”
He lightly smacks your hip that's not smushed against the couch, “Brat.”
You grin widely, “You'll be there, right?”
“With a camera and a mic. My beautiful, sensible, nurse, looking like an absolute fool,” he tugged at a loose strand of your hair, his eyes shining with endearment.
Your little baby blue sling looks absolutely ridiculous hung over his shoulder. “What did I tell you before leaving?” His voice strains with the effort of all the workout he got in today. He's struggling with unlocking the door, because your purse keeps slipping down his arms.
You were a disaster. While your favourite doctor made sure you only stuck to fruity drinks that gave you a pleasant buzz and not regrets — you still managed to outdo yourself in terms of being a mess.
You challenged a man twice your size in an arm wrestle. You advised 3 different women to break up with their boyfriends, “Mine's handsome and kind. You guys stay safe, though.” And, finally, broke the heel of your left boot making you even more unbalanced than you already were.
“That Dr. Robby is a little shit with no self-preservation inst-”
“The other one, honey.”
You went silent for a moment, searching your hazy brain as the door opened in front of you. Jack gently guided you in, before locking the door with a sharp click. His rough hands sneak up your arms, tugging the jacket at your shoulders, and shrug it off you to safely hang it on his coat rack.
“That I shouldn't carry my bag if I couldn't keep it safe?” you say, looking down at him, as he sets his knee on the floor. His hands that cut and heal skin with such precision, are deftly working the zipper of your boots. He gently helps your feet out of the pair, patting your calf, before rising to his full height again with a groan.
Without your size boosters, your head was once again leveled with his chest. Jack nodded, leaning his head down so you didn't have to crane your neck as much.
“But I had my ID and pepper spray in there,” you justified, your lower lip jutting out in a pout.
Jack's hand pats the right-side pocket of his hands, “ID,” his voice rumbling as if coming straight from his chest. “And you don't need pepper spray. You have me.”
But you're not registering a word he says, not when he looks like this. His salt and pepper curls are all ruffled from your bar visit. His simple black tee is pulled taut across his biceps, making them look just as delicious as they do in his SWAT uniform.
His fingers snap in front of you, “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You look in his honeyed eyes again. God, why haven't you guys had sex already? You seriously can't remember why.
“Why haven't we fucked?” You blurt out. Oh, the alcohol doesn’t make you Joyful. It makes you blunt.
Your boyfriend freezes for a second, before letting out a deep, throaty laugh. His hands settle on your shoulders. With a slight bend of his knees, he manages to stare completely and directly into your eyes. “Wow, thought we went to the bar, not to a seminar for clear communication.”
You capture both his hands and slide them down, so they're firmly on your hips. After humming in satisfaction, you take a step closer to him, your chest brushing his. “Answer me.”
As if suddenly realizing you both are still standing in the entryway, Jack starts walking you backwards, swiftly maneuvering you so you don't hit the kitchen counter. “I'm your attending, honey, I don't answer to you,”
You furrow your brows, staring up at him with irritation. You press yourself even closer to him, your palms settling on his hard stomach. “Like hell you don't. I want to know why me and my gorgeous boyfriend haven't made good use of every room in this too-big-for-you house.”
Jack sighs deeply, his fingers unconsciously tightening around your hips. He takes a seat on one of the low kitchen counter stools, so he doesn't have to keep looking down at you. His arms completely wrap around your waist, pulling you in until you're standing between the hard muscle of his thighs.
“Because we work at a hospital, we're either busy or tired. And…it's hard to find a footing with sex. You tense up whenever my hand slips under your shirt, you've talked about how insecure you get. And me…well, I'm not what I used to be.”
Your eyes soften, “But do you want me?” Your lips graze his jaw, your hands palming the hard plane of his chest.
Jack shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath, “What do you think, baby?” his right hand moves an inch lower with exaggerated slowness, settling on the top curve of your ass, his thumb stroking the curve.
You let out an entirely pathetic whimper at his breathy voice, his lips brushing your temple. You move back your face, so you can watch him again. His eyes look darker than they actually are.
“I see this as a good opportunity that we should seize, doctor.” His throat catches at the ‘doctor’. Oh, you are not a fair player.
“Well, I don't like my medical staff being inhibited. Perhaps, sometimes when you're horny and sober, we can continue the procedure.” His breaths are coming in shallow, his hard thighs squeezing around you to completely lock you in. His hands have not stopped moving, the one on your waist has moved north to tangle in your hair at the nape of your neck.
A petulant whine leaves your lips as you bury your mouth in the crook of his neck. “But-”
“No buts. I have no intention of being between your legs in a state you won't even remember anything in.” The rasp in his voice so close to your ear directly travels to the your belly, already coiling tight with tension.
The imagery makes you groan: His mouth working between your legs, his jaw shining under the dim lights, stopping for a moment to say, “Louder, baby. Your doctor can't hear you.”
Your lips slip from his neck, replaced by your forehead. His lips brush against your hair, the gentleness so different from what his body is suggesting.
“Kids and their hormones,” he teasingly says. That makes you pull yourself back. Because that's rich coming from a man whose pants are getting visibly tighter.
“Is that so, grandpa?” Your eyes are entirely fixated on his lips. Your own bottom lip has caught between your teeth.
His thumb comes up to free your lip so you don't hurt it, “Careful, brat.” His hand stays on your face, and you lean heavily into his palm, blinking at him. The strap of your top has conveniently fallen off from its place, and Jack is staring like a man who's just discovered shoulders, tracking the soft curve of it, following the slope of your neck, where your pulse thrums rapidly.
Leave it to him to have a gaze that weights at least a 300 pounds.
Your palms drop from his chest to his waist, brushing your fingers against the waistband of his pants. A soft “uh-uh” leaves his mouth as he slowly shakes his head, though he makes no move with his hands to push you away.
“You're palming at me like you're a little girl, and I'm your favorite barbie doll.”
“You are my favorite barbie doll, Dr. Abbott,” it leaves your mouth in a soft, needy, whine.
His shoulder shake slightly from laughter, the comforting rumble filling the room, subsequently reaching every tensed part of your body, and taking its place there too, perfectly fitting every crook and corner.
“I am a 50-year old man with a military background, who spends his nights managing an entire floor of medical staff. My day hobbies include being a buddy to SWAT and getting shot at.”
You look at him, as if to say “so?” and hearing the adoration — despite the choice of words — in your voice completely decentres him. “Glad to be your favourite barbie doll, honey.”
He finally freezes when your wandering palm brushes against the hard ridge in his pants, practically begging to be freed. You let out a little gasp as you feel his size, even with a barrier of rough fabric.
A low groan leaves him, his hand sharply capturing your bold wrist against his own chest, heaving up and down. For someone just talking about being 50, the man's heart is sure beating with a fast thump-thump-thump, like a teenage boy catching his crush in a 2-feet vicinity. Your name leaves his mouth, dirty and like a prayer at the same time.
“Let me help you, doctor. Please” you say sweetly, voice coated in silk and need and whatever poison this man mixed in your drinks.
A pause.
He gets off the stool in a sudden motion, his hands grip your forearms, and starts walking you backwards in the general direction of the bathroom.
“You are a pain in my ass. And, frankly, a horny mess.”
“Speaking of horny and my ass-”
He doesn't let you complete the sentence before turning you around, his broad chest hovering over your form from the back. “Nope. You have lost the privilege of looking at me before you've taken a cold shower.”
You tilt your head back to look at him, excitement glinting in your eyes, “together?”
“No, you pervert.” Your boyfriend opens the door to the bathroom and lets you both in. Before you can even complain, his rough palms are gripping the back of your thighs, swiftly lifting you up on the counter. You let out a little squeal, squeezing your thighs at the display of his strength.
Show-off.
So fucking hot, though. It's like he was made by Lana Del Rey's mind.
Jack doesn’t stop, though. He finds his way behind the glass that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom. His practiced hands mess with the settings until he's satisfied, and comes back.
He stands in front of you again, crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles strain at the motion, trying to escape their way from the tight shirt. You pout at his slut-ishness. A walking, talking, thirst trap. If he was an actor, he would surely have his fare share of editors.
“How am I supposed to not get wet when you manhandle me?”
“Jesus,” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to lull some of his composure back into him. He silently thanks his military discipline, or you would currently be spread on the soft sheets of his bed, waking up his neighbours.
He takes a deep breath, eyes scanning you again. His fingers come up to pinch your chin in a soft embrace, “Shower. Clean. Mind and body both. And then, we will sleep. Got it?”
Heat pools low in your belly at his authoritative voice. God, how did you land this man?
“Sir, yes, sir.” You watch his gaze get heavy at the word. He leaves his hold on your chin, pats your hip, and exits the bathroom.
Guess you know what you'll be calling him, when he finally lets you do what your body is begging you to do.
You find him on his bed, wearing only a pair of low hung worn-out sweatpants. His back is slumped against the pillows, fingers locked behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.
He finally looks at you, crawling on his king-sized bed, trying to make your way over to him. It seems the shower un-possessed you. You look soft, sleepy, tired, and utterly his.
He holds out his arm and you immediately curl up into him, your icy-cold nose finding the hollow of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur.
“One second, honey.” Before he can properly embrace you, he pulls up the thick duvet and arranges it to cover both of you. His left arm is trapped under your body, fingers pressing against the small of your back to pull you closer. His other hand brushes the hair back from your face, watching your heavy eyelids.
“There you are,” he softly rumbles before pressing the softest, most lingering kiss on your temple. A low sigh of satisfaction leaves you. You're still inhibited, but the tiredness has caught up.
“You didn't like the freaky me?” You ask, your jaw cracking with a yawn right after.
“I like every-you, unfortunately. It's a weakness in the ED.” His fingers are still moving in your hair, scratching your scalp in a way that turns your brain to mush. You push your face even deeper in his neck. Hell, you would live inside his ribcage if he ever allowed it.
You let out a soft giggle, hiking your thigh over his hip so no part of you is separate from him. “Can we have a proper conversation about sex tomorrow?”
Your boyfriend murmurs a “yes, baby,” against your forehead.
“Okay, goodnight. Gonna have some good wet dreams.”
“Shut up, and go to sleep, sweetheart.”
If anybody even reads this, and ends up liking it - pls feel free to glaze me in comments, asks, or dms. likes and reblogs appreciated as well <3 also, do yall think im funny?
summary: the three times jack abbot compared you to someone else vs. the one time you were exactly who he wanted but couldn't have anymore.
tags: jack abbot x reader, angst, deep insecurities, jack compares you to samira, robby, and his late-wife (I named her alice), a few scene changes but it's for the plot, trying out [name] but if I don't like it, it's back to y/n for all of you, jack is lowkey an asshole on accident (thinks he's meaning well by complimenting others, but tears you apart in the process), medical inaccuracies, hurt/no comfort (at least for jack), eventual breakup, special end scene guest star, age gape (28-32/50), heavily inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo (which I suggest listening to while you read) and all the feels that come with that, 18+ MDNI
notes: this hurt to write, and this better hurt y'all in the best angsty way possible! just a reminder that my requests for the hatosyverse are open, and that I'm doing smutty blurbs to build my writing abilities, enjoy!
word count: 7.4k
You didn't understand how you'd been able to score Jack Abbot.
Somehow, the universe decided that you'd be his match, the one he chose to go home to at the end of a bad shift, the one who'd been able to give him the most comfort during his darkest days. You knew what you'd be getting into: the PTSD, the depression, shifts where he felt more like your boss than your partner. But you believed you could get through it; Jack was older, and you liked to think you were mature enough to handle anything thrown your way.
For almost a year, your relationship bloomed in stolen glances across the Pitt, hidden moments in supply closets, and late-night baths spent at his house trying to bury yourself next to his heart. Jack was it for you, and you let yourself dream about a future, ring on your finger, possible children running around the house you shared. The two of you rarely fought, often choosing to apologize for anything under the sun before arguments grew too large for your feelings.
Never once did Jack make you feel inadequate, even if you had voiced early on that you truly didn't understand why he picked you. Compared to his gorgeous salt-and-pepper curls and freckled skin and large stature, you felt plain. Your hair was always pulled into a slick ponytail, makeup caused acne breakouts after 12-hour shifts, and what little time you had to yourself, you spent it at home, reading a book, instead of going out with friends and colleagues. People looked at you without so much as a second glance. Jack, on the other hand, made heads turn and nurses blush if they somehow caught his attention long enough for him to send a look their way. You couldn't remember the last time you went through a shift where a female (or sometimes male) patient failed to make a comment about the sexy, silver fox doctor.
You never made it more than it was: harmless flirting from people Jack would never think about again once they got discharged.
After, you and he had gone through the HR meetings, the contract signings, and the swearing that your relationship wouldn't get in the way of saving lives or have Jack start playing favorites. To further this, around the 9-month mark of being Jack's, they plucked you from the safety of the nightshift and dropped you right into Robby's hands. But this was how it was going to be from now on; there was no point in arguing as long as you got to keep Jack.
For three months, you persevered. Finding a groove with an already well-oiled shift proved to be harder than it looked. People talked. Nurses gossiped. Doctors speculated. You, through it all, kept your chin high. Their words didn't get to dictate your relationship. During handoffs, Jack still swept you into his arms and kissed you like a man coming back from war. He still told you that dinner was in the fridge once you got home and napped. He still continued to send updates during his shift, text messages from the separate night-shift group chat made after your departure chiming loudly while you ate. And most important of all, he still loved you.
However, nothing could have prepared you for the three times you felt the most unloved.
I care, I care, I care, like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time, watchin', hidden in plain sight, ooh, I try, I try, I try, but it takes over my life, I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear
"Hey, Dana," you called out while swimming through the chaos only brought on by a 4th of July shift.
At her name, Dana looked up over the thin frames of her glasses, pausing momentarily to look your way before going back to her board. "Please don't tell me that the 36 hot dog guy is back."
You shook your head, hands coming to rest on top of the vinyl counter. "Not that I'm aware of."
"Thank heavens. What can I do for ya, hun?"
Leaning in, you did a quick glance around the department. "I heard Jack was here early?"
Her eyebrows almost rose to her hairline. "Yeah; he came in with one of his SWAT buddies. GSW to the man's neck, but it looks like he's going to be okay." She reached over and grabbed a tablet. "Actually, can you find Jack for me? He wanted an update ASAP."
Your fingers drummed against the counter anxiously before you took the tablet from her. "I was just about to ask if you'd seen him."
Dana glanced over your shoulder and stuck out her chin in the same direction. "Saw him duck into Room 15. Might be taking a breather; Lord knows he needs one after that raid." She gave you a knowing look, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe you're exactly what he needs."
A rush of heat flooded your face, eyes darting away from hers. "I'll see if I can find him."
You turned away before she could say anything more, hands desperately holding the tablet to your chest. Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor, steps bringing you closer to the room Jack was supposedly in. Once at the door, you raised a hand to draw the curtain away, but the sound of voices—plural—had you stopping. Saliva pooled between your teeth as you listened closely.
"—is the hospital going to pay for it?"
There was a pause before Jack clearly grumbled, "I'll pay for it."
You slowly moved to the side next to the wall where the curtain didn't completely cut the room off. Through the slot, your eyes widened at the sight of a Jack, shirt off, pale chest, wound-care swab twirling in his fingers with Samira sitting in one of the chairs. In the next beat, she stood and walked right past the curtain slot, completely oblivious that you were right behind it. She stopped near the wall and grabbed a pair of gloves before snapping them on.
His brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"
She smiled before rounding to stand behind him. "What you clearly can't."
Begrudgingly, he handed over the swab.
"Did you make a chart?" she asked while dipping the cotton end into a wound cream.
Jack crossed his arms, and his shoulders rolled and dipped. "No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or police department."
Samira paused. "Would you rather me go get Dr. [Name]? I'm sure she could do this much better than I could."
"No," Jack responded, shaking his head. "She'd just panic about this. There's no need to throw her off her game."
Your stomach flipped. He thought you'd panic? Sure, you'd be worried, but it wasn't like you hadn't seem him hurt before. Whatever wound he had on his back wouldn't be the worst thing he'd come home with after a SWAT shift.
"Isn't she your girlfriend?" She began dabbing at his back, the swab coming back bloodied.
"Yeah, but it's different with you. I don't have to worry about you taking your time or being indifferent about this." He winced at a deeper brush into the graze. "She's not like you, Dr. Mohan. She wears everything on her sleeve. Really, she could learn how to be more level headed like you, Dr. Mohan. I've seen the way you handle traumas. We wouldn't be so in the low if we had about 10 more of you."
He ended with a chuckle like what he just said didn't feel like a knives to your stomach.
Is that what he really thought about you? That you should be more like Samira and her ability to stay cool through anything thrown at her? With a blink, your eyes glossed over.
Jack turned his head, neck twisting to he could meet Samira's eyes. "You won't tell her about this, right? Our little secret?"
You didn't stay to hear what she said, choosing to turn around before you could watch any longer. It was incredible that you were able to stay for so long, submitting yourself to a new kind of torture. Walking back to the nurses station, your steps slowed as if molasses coated the floor, its stickiness clinging to your shoes.
At your oncoming presence, Dana looked over. "Did you find him, hun?"
You forced yourself to not look back at the closed curtain. "Yeah, but he's in the middle of something right now. I'll just catch up with him later."
The tablet gave a small thud as you placed it back into the holder, and you desperately tried to find another patient to busy yourself with, specifically one furthest from Room 15. However, before you could grab one, a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.
"Hey, I need you for the incoming trauma," Langdon said as he dragged you with him. "Twenty-year-old female, unconscious for an unknown matter of time."
You nodded silently, allowing him to keep walking you like a dog on a leash until he stopped in front of the ambulance bay sliding doors. Your lungs expanded in a deep, wavering breath.
Now was not the time to panic. You could do this. You could be like Samira. You could show Jack that you could handle a trauma.
During your internal pep talk, the doors slid open, giving way for the gurney and two paramedics.
"BP is 140-over-92 and climbing. No relevant medical history. She woke up once on the way over and vomited before passing out again."
You quickly followed Langdon into the first trauma room and helped transfer her over onto the bed. Immediately, numbers started being shouted while you started your initial exam.
When nothing seemed to blare any red flags, Langdon started impatient as the woman kept deteriorating. Through it all, you willed your hands to stay steady, your mind calm while you mentally went through what could be the matter. You took a step forward, body positioning near her head so you could look at her pupils one more time, and that's when you smelled it: the acrid, fruity smell puffing out of her mouth as she struggled to breath.
You jerked back quickly. "Dr. Langdon, is there a history of diabetes or hyperglycemia? Her breath smells like rotting fruit."
Langdon looked over at you before leaning toward her face. He hissed a curse before barking for a blood sugar test. Your eyes widened when the screen flashed a 450 mg/dL.
"She's experiencing diabetic ketoacidosis," you breathed.
"Let's get her on an insulin drip, now," Langdon hissed, face pinched until he looked over at you with a softer expression. "Great job catching that and staying calm." He chuckled slightly. "Never seen you like this but keep it up."
You knew his words were meant to be encouraging, but all they did was send bile up your throat. Without saying anything more, you tore off the gloves and shoved them deep into a biohazard bin. You wanted to cry, wanted to find the nearest restroom and tug at your hair.
But that's not what Samira would do your mind provided; the thought ugly and green. She'd shrug it all off and keep working like nothing was the matter.
Your teeth ground together, shoulders squaring in tandem. If everyone would rather have you calm, you'd be calm. You'd tuck your heart away rather than show it to the patients who needed someone that wore it on their sleeve. You picked up another tablet at the nurses station and got back to work.
The rest of the fourth went by in a tornado. Systems went down after a cyberattack; fireworks boomed off in the distance; you stayed busy. Each of your patients were in and out at a lightning speed, and by the start of the night shift, you were ready to go home and cry your heart out into a pillow.
You'd seen Samira every so often in between patients and a small lunch break. Like always, she smiled at you and waved and chatted when she could, but her actions made you want to wither up like a dead flower. You couldn't help but stare at her, thinking that you should be more like the woman in front of you, mind comparing your features to hers at a rapid speed you couldn't stop. She somehow looked like an angel in the middle of a place jokingly nicknamed one of the seven layers of hell, skin clear and hair somehow perfectly put in a bun. You tried your best to match her enthusiasm, but the poison had already been drank.
On the contrary, the only time you really saw Jack was at the start of handoffs. He had helped with one trauma before going to the on-call room for a needed nap, and you hadn't wanted to talk to him then, scared of how he'd act around you.
"There you are, sweetheart," you heard him say as you finished up converting with Lena about the man in Room 5. "I've been looking for you. Thought you might have left without saying goodbye."
You winced slightly. "No; I've just been busy."
Jack hummed and smiled warmly at you, but the expression was tainted by his words earlier. "I heard. Langdon's been nothing but praising you for earlier. I'm proud of you."
"Sure you are," you muttered too lowly for him to catch. Your lips thinly stretched into a smile that didn't meet your tired eyes. "Thank you, Jack," you settled on instead.
His hazel eyes scanned over your face, and his smile slightly dropped. "Are you okay, though? You look a little down."
"I'm fine," you shot out. "Today's just been long, and I'm ready to get home."
Jack nodded. "I left food in the fridge for you, so make sure you eat it after you sleep for a bit."
"Got it."
He looked at you expectantly before rolling his eyes. "Come here."
Like it had been etched into your DNA, you listened and fell into his open arms, face tucking into his chest. He squeezed you tightly before placing a kiss to your temple.
"Proud of you," he said. "You do such a good job. We need so many doctors like you, my perfect girl."
Perfect felt like a twist of the knife, because if you were so perfect, why had he told Samira that he wished you were more like her?
I feel your compliments like bullets on skin. Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate, well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?
As the weeks went on, Jack's words never left your soul, the damage irreparable in everything that you did.
Second guessing yourself had been a struggle you'd dealt with since an earlier age. Normally, Jack would be able to quiet all those thoughts; he had chosen you; he loved you. But now, as you second guessed everything you did, you also second guessed everything Jack said. You picked apart every encouragement, every compliment, every sweet promise he whispered in your ear.
What he said now couldn't be taken at face value, and you wondered if that feeling would ever go away. You'd asked him about the bullet graze a few days after the 4th, acting completely oblivious to what you knew. Like you thought, Jack assured you that he got it handled and for you to not worry about it, like that did anything to settle the rolling feelings in your stomach.
You tried your best to move on, knowing you'd only bring yourself down more if you dwelled too long about really how much Jack's words had affected you while he never said anything directly to your face. The idea that he wanted you to be like someone else made your heart clench tightly to the point you often wanted to call off work, hoping that you could just wallow in self pity for hours and hours.
But the Pitt did not care for you like that; it demanded twelve hour shifts and grueling doubles. So every day, you rolled out of bed before Jack got home and pulled up your big girl pants.
You worked through it. You'd learned how to stay calm, how to not panic under duress, and it killed you to admit that you'd become a better doctor because of it. You hardly ever hiccuped during a trauma, gaining compliments from the surgeons and Robby for your techniques that were close to flawless. For the smallest second, you would preen under their words before the ugly, repulsive reminder that they might not be real swallowed you down in a nasty gulp.
"Dr. [Name] follow me please," Robby called as he brushed past the nurses station where you were currently typing away at a chart, hands clutching a chart out in front of him to read. "Quickly."
You pushed up from the desk, chair rolling far behind you from the force of your legs. Not wanting to lose him, you rounded the counter and jumped into his long stride.
"Yes, Dr. Robby?" you asked.
As far as you knew, there weren't any incoming traumas and it was too late in the day for him to have questions about your patients that were currently waiting for a room.
Robby paused in front of an empty trauma room. "Jack just let me know that he found a man in need of medical attention and is bringing him in before handoffs, and I thought you could help him out." He handed you the tablet, already ready to go with updated information.
You took a quick glance over this. "Um, Dr. Robby, it looks like he'll need a pericardiocentesis."
"It's good that you know exactly what he'll need. What's the issue?"
Your eyes looked from the screen to his brown eyes. "I've never done one before."
He simply smiled at you and patted your shoulder. "That's why Jack's going to lead you through it. I would stay, but since he's coming in early, I'm going to head out."
You tried to quirk a smile. "Got a hot date waiting for you?"
A low chuckle shook his shoulders. "You got jokes. My bike needs some repairs, and today's the only day I can get it into the shop. But I know you'll be just fine. Your improvement in traumas will only grow if you step out of your comfort zone."
The automatic sliding doors slid open, and Jack plus a nurse wheeled a man through on a gurney. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of you, but his brows pinched when he noticed Robby's bag slung over the taller man's shoulder.
"You leaving early, brother?" Jack questioned as he stepped past the two of you.
Robby's hand gently rested on your shoulder. "Yeah, but you two will have this handled."
You inhaled deeply, the weight of his hand and words pushing down on your chest.
Robby was counting on you. Don't fuck this up. Don't panic.
With the tablet tucked under your arm, you walked into the trauma room before pulling on a pair of gloves. Jack had already cut through the man's shirt.
"I need two 18-gage needles, one 9cm and one 15cm, a guidewire, dilator, and 8Fr pigtail catheter." He looked up toward Jesse. "Let's give him 10ml lignocaine 1%."
You quickly gather what he needed and placed him on the dressing that covered the side tray.
"Okay, Dr. [Name]," Jack said, lips twitching upwards at using your official name, "I need you to place an ECG electrode on the pericardiocentesis needle with a crocodile clip and insert. Once the tip touches the myocardium, the trace should show immediate ST elevation. Once that comes up, insert the wire to aspirate the fluid."
His words tumbled through your mind much too fast to the point that you wondered if he didn't know you'd never done this before. You pursed your lips as you tried to remember everything. In the grand scheme of things, your training provided everything that needed to be done.
Yet, there was a big difference between studying and actually doing the procedure.
You kept your breath steady as you readied the needle, clamping on a clip before turning the pointed end toward the man's chest. The first part went smoothly, and the needle went right through. However, instead of the consistent beeping that should have followed if the needle was in properly, an onslaught of alarms sounded through your ears.
You had missed something.
Jack whipped his head toward you and sneered. "You went too deep. I told you that the needle needed to touch the myocardium not go all the way through. Give it here."
He didn't even wait for you to transfer the needle over, hands already grabbing at it. His head bent down so he could see what was happening. With a practiced ease, he maneuvered the needle exactly where it should have been.
"Fuck," he whispered, "Robby wouldn't have done that. I don't know why he handed this off to you if he knew the patient would need a pericardiocentesis for tamponade."
You thickly swallowed pooling saliva to clear your throat. "Sorry."
"Just—" He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I'll finish up here. You go home."
You jolted just a bit. Go home?
"Jack, I can still assist. You're going to need—"
"We have it covered. Catheter is in place, and you'd just be standing around. You're good."
Suddenly, a wave of anguish flowed through your body. It was happening again. Jack had just added fuel to the ever growing fire of jealousy and self-loathing. The feeling sized your chest, and you stepped back from the bed, shaky hands ripping off the nitrile gloves.
You couldn't help the stressed wheeze that pushed from your lungs.
Don't panic. Don't panic. He didn't mean it. He was just stressed. He didn't know that you'd never done that before.
Numbly, you walked back to the nurses station and sat back down in front of the computer, but your hands didn't raise to the keyboard. Your mind had already taken over, spewing rotten things about yourself that you could fix.
Be like Samira. Be like Robby. Jack won't keep wanting you if you aren't like them.
Your tongue ran across your dry lips in an attempt to wet them, but even your mouth had gone parched.
"Is charting really that bad?" you heard Dennis ask you as she sat down at a computer to your left. "You look like someone just told you they flushed your fish down the drain."
In a jerky motion, you turned towards him and did your best to compose yourself. "Oh no. I, uh, I didn't do well on a procedure with Dr. Abbot, and he asked me to leave."
Dennis at least had the decency to look sorry for you. "I bet you didn't do too bad. What was the procedure?"
"A pericardiocentesis," you said shyly.
He nodded slowly. " Shit, that's like one of the first things Robby let us do." He turned towards his own chart. "I could probably do them in my sleep by now."
Because he wasn't looking at you, Dennis missed the way your shoulders dropped and tears welled in your lash line. Jack's comment had been bad, but he just completely shattered any confidence you had left for the day.
"Right," you muttered. "Of course it'd be that easy if Robby taught you."
And you'd be right. On the night shift, patients like that rarely if not ever needed such a complex procedure. You could only think to one time that a woman came through almost needing one before they were able to use a different method to get her stable enough to be transferred to the OR.
With keys clacking loudly, you quickly finished up the chart before turning the whole thing off. You didn't even try to find Jack before you left, choosing to slip out before he even noticed you'd left without saying goodbye.
Once you were home, you stormed past the fridge and went straight to yours and Jack's shared room. Your scrubs hit the floor, and you didn't even bother to put on pajamas. The bed dipped under your weight as you pulled the duvet up over your body in a sad attempt at being comforted by its weight.
Sleep came quickly, only being interrupted by the door opening, a signal that Jack had gotten home. Blearily, you listened to him walk around the room before his edge of the bed sunk after he sat. The familiar hiss and pop of his prosthesis preceded him turning to lie down. You kept still as he scooted closer before wrapping an arm around your middle and molding your back to his chest.
"Sorry if I woke you up," he muttered sleepily. "Tried to find you before you left, but I guess I missed you. Wanted to say good job for that trauma. You helped so much."
You clamped your eyes shut, squeezing a fresh round of tears that dripped down your cheeks to puddle on your pillowcase.
After Samira, you had done your best to convince yourself it had been a slip of his tongue. But now after Robby, you weren't too sure that Jack would keep you around for much longer before finding someone better. Because there was no way you could ever amount to someone like Robby.
It was impossible.
I care, I care, I care, like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots, you got the one thing that I want. Ooh, I try, I try, I try, try to rationalize people are people, but it's like you're made of angel dust.
You were trying but failing to pretend Jack's words and comparisons hadn't left a giant, bleeding gap in your heart. Before everything happened, you never ever wondered if Jack loved you. Except now, you waited with bated breath for him to just drop the bucket and break up with you. You walked on eggshells around him.
Don't panic. Be put together. Keep your heart to yourself. Be calm like Samira. Don't fuck up. Know how to do your job. Be confident like Robby.
Those thought became your mantra and lifeline. No one seemed to think twice about your recent personality change. They loved the way they could count on you, the way you had an answer ready for everything. To the day and night shift, you were the epitome of composure. But behind closed doors, you were falling apart and into a pit you didn't think you'd be able to climb out of.
Jack didn't help with that either. You guessed he didn't even know what he had done to you, going on with his life like he hadn't given yours so many potholes that you couldn't continue on without falling behind. Everything you did was carefully thought out, every patient you talked to met a version of you that didn't reflect what you felt inside or outside.
You avoided mirrors the most, their reflections showing you exactly what you weren't. You weren't Samira with her lovely thick hair and clear skin. And you weren't Robby who carried years of trauma like it was apart of his body.
You were you, and you loathed it entirely.
You hated the glances you caught between Jack and Samira across the department. You hated the way they looked like they knew what the other was thinking before they spoke. You hated how you felt like on onlooker to a relationship that wasn't even happening.
You also hated the way Robby changed from a mentor to an idol. He had soon morphed into someone you wanted to so desperately be to the point you lost yourself in ambition.
And the worst part? You held nothing against them personally.
They didn't know what Jack had said. They didn't know that you were dying on the inside every time they raised you up during shifts. Bits of you crumbled away while they continued to glow.
Every morning you woke up, you wondered if the day would provide the straw that broke the camel's back with the way you felt like a stretched out rubber band waiting to fly.
A soft, savory aroma wafted through your kitchen. You absentmindedly stirred the spatula through the sauce, eyes glancing back and forth from the pan to the recipe. The instructions were written in beautiful, slanted cursive with curled letters that danced together. You'd found the card mixed in with a bunch of recipes Jack kept in his drawer. With a quick read told you that the owner of this one was his late wife, and the heart next to the title had you guessing if this was a favorite for the two of them.
Without thinking, you plucked it from the drawer and started working. After a week of back to back cases that ended in more loss than wins, a homemade meal was exactly what you and Jack needed after a day off. He was currently out getting his truck washed, and you wanted to be finished by the time he came home.
Quickly, the separate parts of the recipe—the chicken and veggies basting in the oven, the sauce on the stove top, and the wine chilling in the fridge—all came together right as Jack walked through the door.
"Hi, baby!" you called out as you pulled the pan from the oven. "Dinner's almost ready!"
You picked up on Jack's slightly clompy gate as he got farther into the house.
"Smells good," he said, walking over to stand behind you. "What did you make?"
Suddenly, you got nervous. What if it didn't taste correct? What if Jack didn't want you to make something so special between him and his wife. What if you ruined everything.
You didn't meet his eyes and poured the sauce over the top of the chicken. "Uh, a recipe from the drawer. It looked good, and we already had the ingredients."
He grabbed the card and held it up to his face, and you held your breath. When he didn't seem to get angry or sad, you counted it at a win.
"There's a bottle of white in the fridge if you want to get it out," you offered.
Jack stayed quiet. You didn't dare look even as the sound of a cork popping echoed in the room. While his immediate lack of response didn't cause concern to rise, your stomach still churned. To mirror him, you also didn't speak while you set the table.
He sat down, and so did you, your chairs facing the other like you'd done so many times in the past. Your heart pounded against your sternum as he took the first bite.
Loudly, he smacked his lips, setting his fork down at he chewed. The noise felt like nails on a chalkboard in the silence.
After a minute, he finally spoke. "Did you change anything in this?"
Your racing heart plummeted to your feet. "No. I kept it just like the card had it."
His brows furrowed. "Really? It tastes different than how I remembered it last."
You dug your nails into the fabric of the table running. "Does it not taste good?"
Jack looked up from his plate with wide, hazel eyes. "No, no, it's just different."
"But not good," you scoffed.
"I'm just trying to say that maybe you missed something. I know Alice's handwriting isn't the easiest to read."
"I know how to read cursive, Jack," you spat lowly. "I followed every single instruction on the card. It's the exact same recipe."
"It's not that big of a deal, sweetheart," he tried. "Maybe if you had a bit more practice like her, it might have come out the same. You're a good cook, don't get me wrong, but—"
Your hands slammed on the table in frustration, causing Jack's eyebrows to pinch as his words died in his mouth. He went to keep talking but stopped when he noticed the frustrated tears fall from your eyes.
"I'm done," you breathed, eyes darting around the room.
"Done?" Jack echoed. "What are you done with?"
"Everything," you hissed. "I'm done with this—" You gestured to the food with a wave of your hand. "I'm done with-with you. I'm done with it all."
You pushed up from the table and walked away, leaving Jack to scramble out of his chair and follow you.
"Sweetheart, what's going on?" he loudly asked, but you ignored him.
By the time he made it into the bedroom, you had already ripped out a suitcase from the closet and were pushing clothes into it without making them neat.
"Hey," Jack said gently. "Look, I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't think it'd upset you this much, but you don't have to leave."
You paused in a mid-throw of your shirts and spun to face him. A disbelieving laugh bubbled wetly through your throat. "That's the problem," you muttered, "you don't think."
He crossed his arms, biceps resting against his chest. A need to defend himself bloomed in his stomach. "What's that supposed to fucking mean."
You threw your arms up with an exasperated scoff. "Oh, so now you're concerned for what I'm saying. Maybe you should be concerned more with your words." You sucked in a deep breath. "Just go on and say it."
Jack took a step forward. "Say what?"
"That you'd rather me be someone else!" you screamed. "That-that I'm not enough by myself for you anymore." Pants heaved in your chest. "I'm sick and tired of standing here stuck listening to you compare me and wish that I'd be like or act like someone else."
Your words stole the breath from Jack's lungs as confusion and dread washed over him. "What?"
You closed your eyes and dropped your shoulders. "I heard you; I keep hearing you."
In another step forward, Jack was within two feet of you. He swallowed thickly, but you beat him to more words.
"On the fourth," you began to explain through tears, "I saw Samira patch you up, and I heard the way you told her that I could learn how to be more level headed like her."
A chill crept up Jack's spine. "Sweetheart—"
"Don't," you ordered. "Don't do that where you try to make it all better. I heard you loud and clear, Jack. And that's fine. I knew I could be more calm during traumas, so that's exactly what I did, but apparently—" You chocked out a laugh. "That wasn't enough for you."
He shook his head, hazel eyes swimming with guilt already.
"And I really thought that if I could be anything like Samira, your words wouldn't hurt as much. But then you had to go and tell me that you wished Robby had been there instead of me to do a pericardiocentesis." Your breath shuddered in the next exhale. "Did you even know that was the first time I'd ever been asked to do one? And instead of teaching at a teaching hospital, you threw me to the side saying Robby—the fucking chief attending—could have done the job. No fucking duh, Jack."
You threw a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "And now this? I thought that maybe I could be like Samira or study enough to be like Robby, but h-how am I supposed to compare to the woman who had your love first." You turned back toward the bed and haphazardly packed suitcase. "That's unfair to me. So, like I said, I'm done."
A pleading sound ripped from Jack's throat at the sound of your suitcase zipper closing.
"No, sweetheart, please. Let me fix this; tell me how to fix this," he begged.
"That's just it, Jack. I don't think this can be fixed. I've spent weeks with your words in my head wondering how I can be the perfect person for you. And I don't know if I can keep going on pretending."
Jack's body shook under a small sob as everything came crashing down. He absolutely had no clue what he had done to you, but thinking back, he understood that his careless words wracked irreparable damage to you and your personality.
"I'm sorry," he managed, voice breaking in a whisper.
"I know you are,' you responded, "and somehow that makes it hurt worse. Because while you were trying to compliment everyone else, you made me feel inadequate in every aspect of my life." Your fingers wrapped around the suitcase handle and tugged it off the bed. "I can't stay with someone who keeps hoping I'll be a conglomeration of all the best parts of others; that's not me. And I'll be honest, I don't even really know who me is anymore."
He inhaled sharply, eyes tearing from your face to look down at the floor. "So this is it? You're leaving?"
Another round of tears spilled down your cheeks as you choked on a sob of your own. "I don't want to, but I need to."
"But I love you," he croaked, eyes coming back up to meet yours.
"You love the best parts of me, Jack," you said, already moving to walk past him. "And that's never going to be enough to make me stay."
Your shoulder lightly brushed by his as you walked out of the room and all the way out the front door, leaving Jack behind in a house he realized he didn't want empty.
You poison every little thing that I do, Lacy, oh, Lacy, I just loathe you lately, and I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you, yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you
Jack didn't truly realize what he'd done until almost six months after you left him crying in his bedroom.
Your absence in his life gave him a lot to think about, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that you were absolutely right. It didn't matter if he'd compared you to others unconsciously; he made you feel like that: worthless, in need of self change, inadequate; the list went on.
He'd seen the small changes too late.
The next shift he worked with you, Jack tracked every minuscule thing you did, and it felt like one big punch to the gut. He saw the way you constantly checked your hair, ponytail pulled tight enough to give you a headache, skin, and scrubs and the way you straightened your stethoscope so it rested perfectly across your collarbones.
His stomach dropped when he watched you pause before a trauma and gulp down air before heading inside like someone who needed to take control before it could get out of hand. Before him, you weren't like that. Yes, you could be nervous to mess up, but you didn't act like you had to be the smartest person in the room.
He did that to you. He made you feel the need to change. And it killed him. It killed him once he learned you transferred over to a specialty in orthopedics, and his mind made him think you did it just to get away from him.
He was slightly correct, but not entirely.
You needed a fresh start, somewhere where you knew no on had any high expectation of you. And somehow, orthopedics gave you just that. And you thrived in the environment, only coming down to the Pitt when they needed a transfer or second opinion. Sure, you had to accompany Park the Shark more than you'd liked to, but through your time there, the old you was coming back, the one who worked through her panic instead of shutting it down, the one who only got frazzled when she cared about patients and their needs.
It was never weakness you showed, and you had to learn that all over again.
Someone helped you see that along the way as well.
"What do got here?" Park asked while snapping on a pair of gloves, eyes predatory as he walked into Trauma Room 1.
Jack looked up with pinched brows when he realized that you didn't walk in behind the larger man. "Where's Dr. [Name]?"
Park didn't even acknowledge his question. "For fucks sake man, you didn't even pack this right."
"You should know how to put a detached leg together even if I missed the pressure of the wrapping by an inch," Jack shot back.
"Abbot, you should know that I can't fucking put your patient back together after you decided to play Barbies. It's not as easy as popping a joint back in place."
"Dr. [Name] could do it."
Except for the monitors, everyone went quiet. Jack tore his eyes away from Park and looked back down at his blood soaked gloves. Reality crashed down on him as he realized he just did to Park what he'd done to you. Even if he knew he probably didn't hurt Park's feelings at all, it sucked to know that he was still so quit to throw out words like that.
Park's shoulders rose in a shrug. "She could, but she isn't here right now. She switched shifts and won't be in until 7." He smirked. "Think she said she had plans with someone."
An ugly roar of jealousy clawed at Jack's insides, nails sinking deep in his gut.
You were with someone?
He went through the motions of his shift, mind still on the fact that you weren't on call because someone had taken your time and attention away from the hospital. His knuckles turned white around the tablet he held while going through handoffs. He didn't know if his body was still trained to look for you, forever waiting for your soft lips against his, but Jack couldn't help but keep his head on a swivel and ears open to catch the sound of your voice.
Like a laugh in his face from the universe, your laugh fluttered through the ER, and his head whipped hard enough that his neck hurt in order to find you. When he finally saw you walking in, his heart dropped to his feet, because there you were, smiling brighter than he'd seen in a long while, hand enclasped with a man's.
Jack swallowed thickly. He instantly hated the way his blood boiled at the sight. He looked back down at the tablet after your voice seemed to draw closer to where he was standing.
"Andy," you sighed wistfully, "you didn't have to walk me all the way in here. I know you're weary of the germs."
"I know," the man—Andy (you gave him a fucking nickname?)—muttered back, wide, hazel eyes looking down at you like you hung the moon. "But I wanted to."
You pouted playfully. "You're so sweet. Am I going to see you tomorrow morning, or are you working again?"
He hummed. "My morning's yours if you want it."
"You know I always do."
Jack watched the corner of the man's mouth twitch into an almost-there smile, and he had to look away when his head started leaning in toward yours.
The small smack of your lips on his made bile gurgle in Jack's stomach.
"Okay, you gotta go save lives."
You giggled again. "I just put people back together, and technically, Park's the one doing all the procedures. You know my hands start shaking."
From the corner of his eye, Jack watched him lift your hands to his lips and kiss the tops of your knuckles.
"Just breathe and know that you alone can do this. You were the one to get into the program, so they want you, shaky hands and all."
Jack's heart clenched to the point of a physical reaction to the pain. He should have been the one saying that to you, standing in your corner and building you up one compliment at a time.
But now, he had to stand on the sideline and watch a man (someone who scarily looked a bit like him) give you all the praise and love you deserved. And while Jack could do everything in his power to let people know how good of a doctor you were, it wouldn't ever be the same, forever stuck loathing the moment he lost you without knowing.
summary: One secret changes everything. As the Cody family’s carefully buried truths come to light, you find yourself caught between running from the people you love and fighting for them. In the end, loving Pope Cody doesn’t just change your life, it changes the entire family. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: sexual content/smut, abusive relationship (not andrew), bestie!deran trope, not timeline specific, fix it fic, some parts are dark, mentions of SA/grooming, parental abuse, smurf and baz, manipulation, j redemption arc, murder, violence, major character death, canon show themes, substance use, drinking, gun use, possessive!pope, jealous!pope, soft boy!pope, discussions of mental health, warnings are chapter dependent. total word count: 123.4k amalia’s love note: finally started a masterlist for this series lol, love yall. this masterlist is ever changing and parts are being added inbetween updates as i go!! NOTE! this fic does not have a taglist, to be notified of updates pls follow this blog and turn on post notifs <3
doe-eyed running to my tranquility (smut, angst)
After escaping your abusive boyfriend, you get pulled into the dangerous world of the Cody family and unexpectedly become the center of Pope Cody’s obsessive attention. As dark secrets unravel around you, Pope grows fiercely protective, pulling you deeper into his chaotic life until the line between safety and danger disappears completely.
take what you want (smut, fluff, angst)
After a job goes wrong, Pope disappears for four days, hiding his injuries and burying himself in silence. But when you finally confront him, you realize his biggest problem isn’t violence, it’s that he doesn’t believe he’s allowed to want or need anything. So you show him exactly how badly you want him to take what’s his.
i love the sick (angst, dark)
What starts as a simple night watching Lena turns into something far more dangerous when Baz leaves you at Smurf’s overnight. As Smurf slowly tightens her grip, quietly isolating you from the outside world, J is the only one who notices the pattern for what it really is and for the first time, he steps between you and his family. The night cracks open the fragile balance you’ve built with the Codys, exposing a darker, more volatile side of Pope Cody that leaves your relationship hanging by a thread and forces long-buried truths dangerously close to the surface.
all my morals shot (smut, dark, angst)
One secret sends you running from the Cody family, but escaping Pope Cody proves impossible. As buried truths come to light and old wounds turn into reckless choices, you’re forced to confront the feelings you’ve been trying to outrun. Meanwhile, Smurf realizes too late that you’ve become a threat, not because you’re using Pope, but because you’re the first person who truly chooses him. And no matter how hard you run, Pope always finds his way back to you.
mirror (fluff, angst)
Vignettes from your years-long friendship with Deran Cody, and the long-overdue conversation that finally puts the pieces back together.
nothing at all (dark, smut, angst)
A phone call from your father cracks open wounds you thought had long since healed. As you struggle to keep yourself together, Pope shows you the terrifying truth about loving a man who would do absolutely anything for you.
siren sounds (angst, smut)
Smurf draws a line in the sand, and suddenly everything you love is at risk. Forced into an impossible choice, you tell a lie that could cost you everything to protect the person who matters most.
jealous type (smut, angst)
Jealousy isn’t your best look. According to Pope, though, it’s definitely your hottest. A harmless night out quickly turns into a game neither of you has any interest in losing.
boy (fluff, angst)
For the first time in your life, Craig Cody is speechless. Beneath the jokes and bad decisions is a man standing at a crossroads, trying to figure out whether he’s capable of becoming someone different than the people who raised him.
honeybee (angst)
For someone who’s spent their entire life expecting loss, happiness can feel just as frightening as heartbreak. As your relationship with Pope deepens, you’re left navigating the uncomfortable reality that the more you love something, the more there is to lose.
stranger danger (dark, angst)
Life. Death. Maybe the line between them was never as wide as people liked to believe. Sometimes it all comes down to a single choice, a single second, and when the dust settles, one person gets to keep living while another doesn’t.
did you miss me? (dark, angst)
Some moments divide your life into two parts: the person you were before, and the person you have to become after.
Time, You & Me (dark, angst)
You always imagined forever would be enough. You never considered forever might end six feet underground.
queen of nothing (angst, dark)
Separated by circumstance, Pope is forced to make a decision that unknowingly places you in danger. In return, you’re willing to shoulder decades of his pain, proving just how far you’ll go for the man you love.
...on his sexy single neighbor that just moved in next-door to him and Tammi again and how just your presence has tormented this poor man day and night ever since.
it's not like he sees you that often. he started work pretty early and you did a pretty good job at mostly keeping to yourself, but the glimpses he did catch were enough to make him feel all flustered and ashamed of himself and his helplessly wandering eye.
because he can just tell you're trouble. you, in your sparkly flip flops and stupid cropped tube tops that let your tummy pudge peek over the hem of your too short denim miniskirt, plump ass bouncing and thigh fat jiggling as you walked your mean little dog (who hated Sammy with a passion); without a care in the world that he could see your chubby lovehandles begging to be squeezed or your perky nipples poking through your shirt. because of course you'd go braless, and of course Sammy looked despite him trying his best to ignore you and be a good husband.
Sammy Bryant was a weak little man who's eyes betrayed him any time you were around, really. zeroing in on any bit of exposed flesh you have busting out your tiny little outfits.
you're just a slut looking for attention, Tammi's words not his, and god does he give it to you.
when you show up at his door all pouty and looking worried sick, still in your nightie, claiming that your sink was leaking like crazy and you needed his help cause "it's wet alll over, Sammy please".
when your car shit the bed (a miracle your little fiat even held on that long) and you'd asked all syrupy sweet if Sammy could "take care of me, please Officer?".
even when your IKEA furniture came in and you needed "someone big and strong" like him to assemble it for you because you'd just gotten your nails done and couldn't afford breaking one.
and he'd willingly play along, frowning all unsure and going "eh…I dunno, sweetheart…" only to show up as soon as his wife was out of the house.
it was perfectly neighborly of him to help you, an upstanding member of his community. or at least that's what he reasoned with while he mowed your lawn on a hot-ass Sunday afternoon while Tammi was out of town.
all while trying his best to ignore how good you looked all splayed in your lawn-chair and little bikini, lips pursed around the straw of your fruity drink as your heated gaze raked over Sammy's buff, chubby body. the unforgiving July sun had made his white tee stick to his sweaty torso like saran, and you'd lapped up every detail like you'd owned him. his meaty, defined pecs, the outline of his belly pressing against the drenched fabric, the strain of his sleeves fighting against his flexing biceps…
Sammy couldn't possibly know you wanted him, but your looks were hungry, eyes voraciously gorging on every detail as he stopped mowing to stretch his back. his hand came up to wipe the beads of sweat dotting his brow and rolling down the side of his pink, plump cheeks. a small resigned sigh escaping him as he hesitantly tugged at the hem of his shirt.
"It's soooo hot…" you whine in your comfy seat in the shade, lower lip caught between your teeth in view of his thick triceps and back muscles flexing. good god was Sammy Bryant wide. built like an ox, broad shouldered and burly under a healthy layer of chub, and you wanted nothing more than to take a bite out of him. or three. "why don't you take your shirt off, honey?"
the suggestion seems to have hit a nerve, Sammy straightening up like a meerkat, his head whipping to your direction nervously. "wh-what?" he squeaks before clearing his throat. "i mean- i-…no, no i'm fine. no one wants to see the fat guy shirtless."
he doesn't understand why you look so confused at his self depreciating comment, brows pinched and nose ever so slightly scrunched as you slide off your seat and walk over to him. "That's mean, Sammy," you say, grasping the hem of his white tee to slowly peel the sticky, offending garment off his soft pudgy belly and broad chest. "I wanna see you shirtless." you admit to your married neighbor without a lick of shame. "'sides, it's hot out."
and what the fuck is he supposed to say to that except babble out a confused "thank you?" and ignore the pink flush moving from his cheeks down to his neck at record speed?
you giggle in response, clearly unfazed, or perhaps delighted, and reach up to squeeze his biceps. They're firm under your manicured fingers, a bulging vein jumping when you stroke it with your thumb. "You've got sooo many freckles!" you coo, the tips of your nails trailing down his chest like the world's horniest game of connect the dots. "Lemme get my sunscreen and I can do your back, yeah?"
any other man would probably have enough sense to push you off and hightail it to his home that he shares with his wife, but Sammy finds himself sat at the edge of your sun lounger with you kneeling behind him, almost trembling as you slather sunscreen on his freckled shoulders and back.
"Ooh..see, you're already turnin' pink, honey" you chirp, voice all sweet and bubbly. god, you sounded like you didn't have a care in the world, let alone worried that Tammi might catch you two. your hands take the opportunity to grope Sammy for all he's worth, naughty fingers grasping at his back muscles and sides with the excuse of "getting every inch!", even going as far as to pinch his love handles and laugh in his face when poor Sammy squeaks. "Goodness, you're jumpy officer!"
"Tammi…my wife…" Sammy starts, his protests melting into a soft whimper as you cup and knead his pecs, sunscreen forgotten.
"What about her?" you hum in return, peeking over his shoulder to look at his flushed face and puppydog eyes.
"Well.." Sammy starts, voice unsure "She won't be happy if you keep touchin' me like this, sweeth-heart," he stammers when you move down to rub down his pudgy belly, digits digging into the fat possessively. "Um…just worried, I guess. Don't want her to come fight you or-or something-"
you stop him in his tracks with a bold kiss to his shoulder, lipgloss staining the skin a glistening strawberry pink. it's completely out of order, a step far removed from your thus far mostly innocent flirting, and it makes Sammy's pulse thrum when he should be pushing you off.
"Oh I can handle Ms. Tammi, honey," you throw back, unperturbed by the possibility of Tammi rightfully getting in your face or even getting physical. "So you can tell her she's welcome to come over and try somethin'"
"Or," your purring voice is music to Sammy's ears as you lean in closer, breasts pressed to his bare back. "You can tell her to forget the dog and keep a tighter leash on her husband. Naughty thing keeps getting in my yard, officer." you look at his trembling lips, parted in anticipation of your own blanketing them, then back to those wide hazel eyes staring into yours before pulling back completely with another innocent giggle. "Now, how about some lemonade? i'm melting!"
UGH I NEED THIS MAN SO BAD....anyways I wrote angst because I can. I need this man yearning.
MDNI 18+
Contents: jack abbot x fem! reader, slight angst, reader is drunk and clingy, best friend trinity santos, jack abbot takes care of you, Jack abbot is in love with reader but "its just casual" (whatever that means), smut, vaginal fingering. (ALL AFTER READER IS SOBER WE LOVE CONSENT HERE)
Summary: After having one too many, your friend Trinity texts a contact that has been blowing up your phone all night. She is shocked to see the night shift attending Jack Abbot walk through the doors moments later.
You were face down on the bar completely out of it. Your best friend Trinity had talked you into going out with her since Garcia canceled on her once again. She knew you also needed the break since you also had a bad shift with Dr. Robby constantly breathing down your neck about seeing more patients as well as training the incoming student doctors.
Your phone had been vibrating facedown on the counter of the bar for the past 20 minutes from a call then to 10 text messages. Trinity had not drank as much as you and she considered herself to have a higher tolerance, which was also true. Your words were already slurring after your second drink. The bartender looked at you worriedly after you took your 3rd shot and said it burned, even though Trinity had ordered it to be a water.
Trinity looked at the phone sitting there buzzing. She respected your privacy but at the same time you knew all of her secrets so she picked your phone and looked at the 10 missed calls and 25 text messages from a "Dr. DILF". She had to stop from absolutely falling out of her chair about the contact name. She poked your shoulder.
"Hey dopey, I need your face for a minute."
You pouted and sat your head up as she faced your phone towards you and opened it with the Face ID. Your head slammed back down causing one of your glasses to fall over, thankfully it had been empty. Trinity had only seen a couple messages and she was very suspicious.
'Hey, I don't have to go in tonight, you should come over again.'
'sorry, I meant I would love to see you again.'
'its been a few hours and usually your off work by now is everything ok?'
'Do I need to talk to Robby again about overworking you?'
'I told him to give you space'
'Baby please answer, I just really need to see you tonight.'
Trinity stopped snooping when the messages started to get more needy and this guy started begging. She looked at you and realized there was no way you were getting back to your place so she texted the number.
'I drank too much....come pick me up please.'
Not even a second later a response came back.
'Be there in 20'
Trinity set your phone back down and texted Whitaker to come pick her up in 20 minutes on her own phone. She waited patiently watching as you stayed face down on the bar. She sighed brushing the hair out of your face to see your cheeks red, that caused her to smile.
"Ok, come on Dopey time to get you home." She sighed and payed both your tabs.
You grumbled in protest but eventually she bent down in front of you and you crawled on her back resting your chin on her neck. Trinity ignored the way your breath tickled her neck and shook her head carrying you out to the parking lot. Not even a few moments later a car pulled into the parking lot and someone got out looking frantic.
"Holy shit." She said almost dropping you.
There stood Dr. Jack Abbot the night shift attending standing in front of her.
"Santos....well...this is not how I thought this would turn out." He said putting his hands in his pockets.
"You and her?!?! No way." She smiled.
"Yes, now can we just keep this between us for now. She's freaked out enough as it is and I don't want to be the reason she gets in trouble." He said.
Trinity stood there debating then she felt your arms tighten around her shoulders and she sighed.
"I won't tell anyone. Now can you take her I think she's drooling on my shoulder." She said lowering herself down more.
Just then Trinity saw Whitakers truck drive into the parking lot as she quickly walked over to make sure he didn't see Dr. Abbot. Jack carried you to his car placing you in the passenger seat and buckling you in.
"Jack...." You mumbled.
"I'm here princess, let's get you home." He said kissing your forehead.
You nodded and you passed back out in your seat. The whole drive home Jack kept looking over at you making sure you were still conscious. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other on your wrist so he could be checking your pulse. When you got to his place he helped you out of the car. You were slowly coming out of it.
"Wow, you are like really sexy...you remind me of this guy I have been hooking up with." You giggled.
Jack could feel his ears turn red as he walked you to the door. You continued to touch his arms and his chest.
"You are so strong." You smiled.
Jack walked you into his bedroom and sat you down on his bed. He stood in front of you and tilted your head up. Your hands went to his belt and started to fumble with the loop. He stopped your hands and shook his head.
"Not tonight sweetie, you need to rest." He said playing with a few ends of your hair.
You pouted.
"But I missed you, I can make you feel good I promise." You leaned forward.
Jack smiled and shook his head, kneeling in front of you, taking off your shoes and then your socks. Then his hands unbuttoned your skirt and slid it down your legs gently. He placed a kiss on the inside of your knee as he let the skirt fall to the floor. He stood up and unlaced the corset top you had worn. He looked at you as you stared up at him tiredly only wearing your lacy pair of underwear. He walked over to his dresser and grabbed one of his shirts walking back over to you.
"Lift your arms up." He asked.
You did and he slid the shirt over your head and it barely reached the middle of your thighs. He walked to the bathroom and grabbed your makeup remover that you "accidentally" left at his place and a few washcloths. He had seen you do this hundreds of times and he kneeled in front of you again gently wiping the make up off your face. He was gentle with your eyelashes because even watching you scrub them had him nervous. You sighed as you started to doze off again.
Jack unmade his bed and helped you under the covers. You sunk into his pillow and he walked to his kitchen grabbing your water bottle that you had also left there along with some medicine that you would surely need in the morning. As he walked back in he also brought a trashcan and sat it by the edge of the bed just in case. He set the water and the medicine on the bedside table and he took your phone and plugged it in.
You had stirred again in your sleep groaning. He looked over at you having you sit up so he could pull the hair up out of your face. You mumbled a very quiet thank you as you laid back down in the pillow. He stared to grab things to make a bed on the couch but you took his arm and pulled him back.
"Can you stay please." You mumbled.
"Of course baby I can." He laid down next to you and you curled into his side. He rubbed your back as you fell asleep.
The next morning you blinked, everything was way too bright. Your head was pounding and your body felt heavy. You felt the body shift next to you and a tired laugh escaped him.
"Glad to see you made it." Jack said sitting up on his arm.
"Please stop talking." You sat up too quickly and rubbed your head.
"You know that won't happen." he smirked.
You reached for the medicine on the counter and the water he had set there last night. You nodded to the water as a silent thank you. He watched you smiling. You looked a complete mess but he was just happy that you were there with him.
"We need to talk about changing that contact of yours." He said rubbing your back.
"What are you talking about---" You froze as the memories started to flood back. The drinking with Trinity, her using your phone to text a ride. Her carrying you outside.
You groaned as you fell back into the pillow.
"Relax, I already talked to her. She said she would keep the secret." He said.
"Maybe this is a sign." You say running a hand through your hair.
Jack sat up at that statement.
"The hell does that mean." He knew what it meant, but he wanted to hear you say it first.
"It's not a good idea for us to be together. We are constantly walking on egg shells around the ER. We barely have time to see each other besides a few casual hookups here and there." You say.
"That's a bullshit excuse and you know it." He said sitting up out of bed to put his prosthetic back on.
"Jack please don't get mad right now, my head is pounding. Plus you are the one who said it was supposed to be casual." You said starting to roll out of bed yourself.
He had said that in the beginning, but that was before he started to care for you. He had started getting your favorite foods and snacks at the store. He made sure to have your favorite drinks in the fridge on the nights he knew you were coming over. He started buying you extra products you would constantly be bringing over when you would stay the night. It was anything but casual to him and the fact you had thrown his words back at him made him flinch.
You noticed how he sat still on the side of the bed. You crawled over to him and rested your chin on his shoulder.
"Don't be mad at me please." You kissed his shoulder and he stood up causing you to fall forward onto where he sat.
"You know what I am mad. I am mad at the fact that you still think I want this to be casual. I am mad at the fact that you are constantly in my mind. I am mad at the fact that when I go to sleep I only dream about you. I am mad that last night I was so worried about you that I came right away not caring who was around. Now do you really think it's still casual?" His eyes darkened as they waited for you to answer.
You looked at him not knowing what to say. He looked away as his eyes started to glass over and he cleared his throat walking out of the room. You groaned and fell back into the bed. Of course you were not wanting it to be casual and of course you were in love with Jack, but that didn't make anything less complex. After a few moments of composing yourself , you walked into the kitchen to see Jack cutting up fruit. You sighed and walked over to him, he didn't look up at you.
You stood next to him placing a hand over his as he set down the knife as he turned his head to look at you. You reached up and kissed him. He did not kiss you back. You pulled away to look at him knowing he wouldn't kiss you till you said the things he wanted to hear.
"I love you Jack and-" but before you could finish he had grabbed you kissing you hard.
His arm swiped off the counter behind you lifting you and sitting you down. Your bare thighs touching the cold counter made you gasp. Jack pulled away and buried his face in your neck, biting and sucking. You titled your head to the side to give him more access.
"I want to hear you say it again." He said breathlessly.
"I love you." You said looking at him.
He started to kiss his way down your body. After each kiss he would say "I love you', until he was kneeling between your legs. He looked up at you as if asking you if this was ok and you nodded. Seconds later his face was in between your thighs. His hands gripped them pulling you more towards the edge.
Your head fell back hitting the cabinet behind you. His tongue was swiping up and down. Your legs almost slamming shut but his hands holding them back and down. You felt his teeth graze against you and you buried your hand into his curly grey hair the other hand stabilizing you on the counter so you didn't fall off. You looked down and saw Jack staring up at you, he loved watching you fall apart.
His mouth started to pay more attention to the bundle of nerves that were aching. You gasped loudly as you felt one of his fingers enter inside you. He pulled his mouth away for a second and watched you.
"Please don't leave me baby" He groaned.
You realized he was crying between your legs, looking up at you. He truly didn't want you to leave and he was a wreck just thinking you would leave. You reached down and wiped the tears off his face.
"I won't, I love you Jack." You said.
At that he settled between your legs again. Your hands gripped his hair tightly as his tongue moved faster against you. With the combination of his mouth and hand, you fell over the edge calling out his name. He continued to lick you as you rode out your high only coming up when your legs stopped trembling. He rested his forehead against yours.
"So, when do you want to start moving your stuff in here?" He said smiling.
"Slow down, I think I would like to be taken on a proper date first." You smiled as he leaned in.
"Fine by me, as long as you change my contact name." He says.
"What's wrong with Dr. DILF. I thought it was funny." You wrapped your arms around his neck.
"Well first of all because I am not a dad, and second of all the amount of times you have screamed my name." He smirked.
You slapped his chest and sighed.
"All right, I guess I can change it. What would you like to change it too?" You sighed.
"How about Jack for now and then after a few dates and down the road we can change it to husband." He smiled running a hand through your hair.
You almost melted in his arms and you kissed him.
"Wait, what is my name in your contact?" You asked.
He pulled out his phone and handed it to you. The man only had a handful of contacts and that included Robby, Dana, Chen, his therapist, and you... or your contact name "My Girl".
Safe to say not even three weeks later, you had started hanging up some of your clothes and leaving some of your scrubs at his house. Eventually you started sitting at the counter watching as he made dinner while you debriefed him on the latest drama with the day shift. You both feel asleep together, he held you tightly in his arms making sure you couldn't leave if you tried and who were you kidding you never wanted to leave.
Guys I had so much fun writing this hello. Ugh I love angst. Sorry it's been a little since I've updated. I got a job and I've been exhausted by the time I get home which kills my motivation to write. It might be a minute till I post again. I hope you guys enjoyed! As always thank you for being here <3. ( also rereading this some parts might be cringy but do I care , no)
Summary: Tim invites you to a special screening of Saw with Dick and Wally, hoping to prove his brother wrong about your relationship lacking PDA. Unfortunately for him, you and Wally have a little too much fun nerding out over horror movies...
Content: fluff, jealous!Tim, fem!reader, probably ooc, established relationship, reader is a horror nerd, mentions of Saw (2004), light spoilers for Saw, not beta read
pt.2 , pt.3
1.2k
Tim's misery starts when Dick mentions going to see a special screening of the movie Saw. He and Wally apparently have nothing better to do with their time off than watching some tacky 2000s horror slop.
“Want to tag along? I think you might like this one.” Dick asks.
“Sure, why not.” He pulls out his phone to text you and ask if you want to join them as well, obviously you say yes.
A few hours later, he finds himself sitting in the backseat of Dicks car, Wally sitting next to him in the front. He texts you again, telling you that they will arrive on time.
“Excited for the movie?” Wally asks.
Tim looks up from his phone and shrugs his shoulders.
“Or excited to sit next to someone?” That is Dick, a smug grin across his face reflecting in the rearview mirror.
“No way, you got a date?” Wally's voice is way too eager.
“Im not sure if they're even dating. I have seen coworkers have more chemistry. Honestly, have you ever seen them being affectionate? Or touching?” Dicks voice suddenly becomes very irritating in his ears.
“You're right, dude.” Wally shakes his head, “Tim, you know you can, like, hold hands and stuff, right?”
Tim's face grows hot. He forces his gaze down to his screen again.
After ten uncomfortable minutes, they finally arrive. Dick parks the car in the relatively empty parking lot. The entrance is only a short walk away, the big glowing letters of the movie theater illuminating their way.
You stand waiting inside the lobby, reading something on your phone. When you hear a voice calling your name you look up and see your boyfriend, his brother and one of his brothers friends.
You hug Tim and Dick, not sure how to greet the other man, you smile awkwardly and are about to extend your hand. He ignores it and hugs you as well.
"Wally. Nice to meet you officially.”
Officially? What is that supposed to mean?
“Nice to meet you, too.” you say.
The four of you make your way to the counter, buy your tickets, then buy some snacks. A few minutes later, you're finally settled into your seats. Tim on your right, Dick next to him and Wally on your left.
Before the trailers are even over, you and Wally discover your mutual love for the franchise.
Tim glances over at you, suppressing a smile. He hadn't known you were into horror, but that only makes his plan to prove his brother wrong better. No way you'd make it through Saw without eventually scooting closer.
A smug grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Take that, dickhead. No chemistry my ass.
After the first truly brutal scene, he sees you lean forward into your seat. Prepared to comfort you in his arms, he puts down his popcorn bucket. Then he hears you say something about how impossible the trap really is, Wally nodding energetically in agreement.
Next time.
Tim tries to pay attention to the movie.
He really does.
Unfortunately, every other sentence out of your mouth drags his attention right back to you.
He hears you whisper again and turns to you two. Thanks to the dim light that falls off the screen, he sees your eyes grow wide.
That's my chance for sure.
“Wally, did you get that? I've read a theory about that scene once.” You sound way too excited.
Tim slouches back and after a while of still hoping and maybe even praying, Tim's pout wins and is very noticeable throughout the rest of the movie, at some point he is even crossing his arms like some sulky child.
“Man, these two are made for each other.” Dick whispers, also annoyed his friend wasn't paying him any attention.
Tim's head shoots up at that, a frown on his face.
“Wow, chill. That was a joke.” Dicks hands come up defensively.
“And that's why I can see past his traumatic past. His logic is still massively flawed.” You say, not even bothering to keep your voice down anymore. The only people other than you four are in the very back and have already given up shushing you.
“Yes, exactly!” Wally exclaimes.
Tim rolls his eyes and shoots the guy an angry glance, hoping he can see his eyes in the dark. Apparently he doesn't, because the red head has the nerve to get closer, to close, to you, to show you something on his phone. Why would he do that? What is so interesting that Wally has to show you now? Seriously? He cranes his neck to get a better look at the screen. It is just some meme, probably not even funny.
“Oh god, why would you show me this?” You whine. “I refuse to believe Adam is actually dead.”
“Adam dies?” Dick turns his head towards you.
“Sorry.” You say, an apologetic smile on your lips. Then you turn to Wally again.
Tim shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
Either he will suffocate or kill the guy.
The last thirty minutes, Tim spends angrily slurping his soda or loudly chewing your shared popcorn.
The credits finally begin to roll. Tim is the first one out of his seat and Dick catches the look on his face and wisely decides not to tease him again. When they reach the lobby, Tim mutters something about meeting you outside and tells Dick and Wally to head home without him.
“Are you okay?” You ask him when it's just you two.
He just gives a quick nod.
"You're not. You have been weird the whole evening. What's wrong?” Your hands find his right shoulder, slowly stroking it in circles. He looks at you for a couple of moments before turning around, his ears growing visibly red.
“It's stupid, let's go home.” He begins to stalk off.
“No, tell me.” You walk after him till you catch up, then you take his hand. He looks at your hands, touching, entangled in each other. You catch his eyes. “Did I do something?” You say, then after a moment, “Oh god, I ignored you the whole night. I'm so sorry, Timmy.” You try to touch his face, to pull him closer and to kiss him as an apology, when he pulls back.
“Do you not want me to touch you?” You ask, somewhat insecure.
“No, god, please touch me. That's the whole reason Dick thinks we're just friends!" It just blurts out of him.
You smile softly. “Dick thinks we're just friends? That's why you act like this?” He grips your hand tighter and gives you another nod. He doesn't look into your eyes as he pulls you closer and puts his hands around your waist. Your hands go up to his hair, slowly combing through it with your fingers.
“I'm staying over at your place.” He decides.
“I figured.” You cup his face and give him a quick kiss before freeing yourself from his grip and dragging him to your car.
jack must have some sort of sensor, because whenever you’re out with friends, you can always count on a “Hi baby. Making good decisions?” text from him <3
synopsis: best friend!Jason can’t hold his feelings back anymore…
cw: Jason is a master convincer, leading into smut but nothing technically happens, first time writing suggestive/tension, gn!reader, reader wears jeans, god i need him so bad, 412 words
a/n: i wanted to get something out after the radiosilence.. i promise im working on more fics but i’m also busy as my bday is coming up soon LOL, plus im taking care of my little cousins, not much time to write especially suggestive stuff because im scared they’ll look over my shoulder…
“Road rash looks good on you” you said, wiping the small debris from his cheek, red skin warm underneath your touch.
“Sure.”
“Yeah, a blush au nautrel,” you smirked, grabbing gauze and disinfectant.
“But my lips are fucked now too.”
“Mmm.. maybe you shouldn’t talk that much then?” You teased him.
“I thought you liked my voice?” he teased back, his hands resting on your waist. Warmth seeped through your jeans, settling in your stomach.
“Not when you’re being an asshole”
“ ‘m sorry sweetheart. ” he pouts slightly, looking up at you. He was sat in a chair before you, to give you better access to his wounds. You were not about to crane your neck up for fifteen minutes just to help him.
You sighed softly, placing the dirty gauze away maybe as an excuse to look away from his emerald eyes. Looking back at him, you pressed a band-aid against the scratches. Your thumb caressing the plaster a bit longer than necessary.
His hands crawled up your back, settling right above your ass, taking you out of your thoughts.
“Don’t call me that…” Your words came out breathy, your free hand rested on his forearm, feeling the way his muscles moved while his thumb soothed your back.
“Why not? You seem to like it.” He played into it more, leading his head to the side, pretending to be clueless while his lips curled up, revealing his canines. Hungry. For you.
“We…” You couldn’t find a great argument. You were friends for a while but that doesn’t mean friends can’t participate in…situations together.
“I know…” He trails off too. The air filled with comfortable yet scalding silence. The only sound being your breaths, tinged with want.
Jason stood up, his hands still on your body, now towering over you. His beautiful eyes stare into yours.
“Just sayin’… I wouldn’t mind.” He whispered.
“Don’t wanna force you though. Last thing I’d ever want.”
His voice low and breathy. Almost needy.
Your knees and resolve weakened with every movement of his arms rubbing against your body.
“One night only?”
“Whatever you wish, sweetheart”
“Be serious Jason.” You begged him, seeing his mouth turn into a devilish grin.
“I, very much, am.”
He growled quietly, growing more and more needy by the minute. Bucking a knee after you give him a nod of permission, while his hands lowered further into your pants’ waistline.
── jason todd ౨ৎ. jason todd x reader. sweet boy!jason. canon swearing. intimacy (kissing). pet names (sweetheart, ma). minimal mention of jason’s angst (like, once). fluff, once again. 1k words. ⊹ ࣪ ˖
quiet.
such a strange word for jason todd. after sixteen years of sharpened edges and survival, a brief interruption called death, and five more years of something harsher than living, he had decided—almost stubbornly—that he wanted a quiet life. with you.
you met in gotham’s public library, in the aisle that smelled like dust and old paper and soft, forgotten things. classics. of course it was classics. you were reading the same book. jason stood there with a worn copy of pride and prejudice in his hands with such endearment that made your head turn. you noticed the contradiction before anything else—the sheer weight of him, all muscle, scars, and leather and danger, holding that ‘lady book’ like it mattered.
you approached jason first, naturally. he was too unsure to say anything first. being red hood doesn’t come with much social interaction, especially not with captivating people. after making a silly joke about ‘being on the same page’, you two had started talking about books.
now he was twenty-three, and two years into loving you, and somehow that felt more terrifying than anything he had ever survived. today, he was going to ask you to stay. officially.
the apartment felt too small for his pacing. jason placed his fingers against his chin—deep in thought. the ticking sounds of the clock were like mocking beats in his ear as he paced his apartment, waiting for his lover to come over.
“you got this, jason." he tells himself over and over until the front door clicks open.
“hey, sweetheart,” you called, stepping inside. the lock slid into place behind your back. you paused, inhaled, eyes lighting up. “what is that smell? oh my god—what are you making?” you asked with an expression of delight.
he leaned against the kitchen counter, something softer settling into his shoulders at the sight of you. “hey, ma. you like it?” he asked, voice roughened around the edges of a chuckle. “carbonara. figured i’d try something new. thought i owed you something special, since…” damnit! he thought to himself, walking over to the kitchen where the carbonara was simmering on the stove.
“since what?” you stepped closer, already smiling. “c’mere.” your lips curved, expectant, waiting for a welcome kiss.
he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, but his hands found your waist anyway—like they always did. “since i’m about to ask you something real fucking stupid,” he murmured, pulling you in. his kiss lingering a second too long before pulling back with a hesitant smile. “like… very stupid.” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure in a way that didn’t suit him. not anymore. not after a couple years of pulling his guard down. “move in with me.”
it came out more like a demand than a question.
“oh.”
you froze for a moment, surprised by his bluntness. “…straight to the point.” you blinked a few times, still processing his request.
he crossed his arms, defensive instinct snapping into place before he could stop it. “yeah, well, i don’t—” he cut himself off, scoffing under his breath. “i’m nervous. you make me really nervous.” that part slipped out quieter.
he gestured vaguely around the apartment, like the evidence was everywhere. “you’re already here half the time, anyway. your books are mine. your shampoo’s in my shower. your fuckin’ socks are in my laundry, damnit—” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “…just make it official. please.”
“you just caught me off guard,” you said finally, voice gentler than his. “it makes sense. it really does. i just… wasn’t expecting it.” you moved past him, turning off the stove before the carbonara could burn, practical even in the middle of something life-changing. then you looked back at him, something bright and certain settling into your expression.
“…i have one condition.”
his shoulders dropped, just a fraction. “there’s conditions now?” a smirk tugged at his mouth, fragile but real. “what’s the deal?”
you stepped into him again, arms sliding around his neck like you belonged there. “i want a house made for us. built from scratch. architects, engineers—the whole thing. i want something that’s us.”
he blinked once, then twice. then laughed—sharp, surprised, a little disbelieving. “christ, you don’t do small shit, do you, ma?” he shook his head, but the fondness in his voice gave him away. “fine. a house. custom-built. but if you make me live in some pastel nightmare with weird angles and fuckin’ pretentious bullshit—”
you flicked his forehead.
“—i’m out,” he finished, though he was already smiling. he added, knowing you would rather die than live in a monstrosity like that.
“i want a cinema.”
“i want a library.” jason chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a competitive edge.
“deal.” you chuckled lightly, cupping his face and pecking his lips. he leaned into it for a second, just a second, before pulling back with that familiar edge returning to his grin. “i’m picking the colors.”
“black and red,” you guessed easily. “classic red hood.”
“don’t act like you don’t love it—”
“then i want leopard print carpet on the stairs,” you added, entirely serious. “and black lace curtains over red ones.”
he stared at you.
“…i’m reconsidering everything.”
you ignored that. “and we’re getting another cat. mr. darcy will be lonely in a house that big.” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “oh, come on. using our cat against me? that’s dirty.”
you just looked at him.
that look that always won.
“...fine,” he sighed, dramatic, defeated in the way he never was anywhere else. “only because mr. darcy is going to have an existential crisis otherwise. but we’re naming her elizabeth bennet.”
“the perfect pair.” you beamed, tapping his chest lightly. “great talk, sweetheart. now i’m starving—let’s eat.” he rolled his eyes, but the softness stayed. it always stayed with you. “you know, most people say ‘thank you’ when someone cooks for them.”
“i’ll say thank you if the food deserves it.”
he grabbed two plates from the cabinet. served you first anyway. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “eat before it gets cold, ma.”
