Summary: you were always too sensitive for the emergency room. seven months into life as a new grad nurse at pittsburgh trauma, you've learned that some things never get easier— the children, the grieving families, the cases that follow you home long after your shift ends. while everyone else seems able to move on, you find yourself hiding away in the hospital stairwell, falling apart where no one can see.
no one except dr. jack abbot. the lead attending is everything you're not: composed, experienced, and emotionally guarded after years in emergency medicine. he should keep his distance. and you're too young, too kind, and far too off-limits to know any better… but when another case leaves you drowning beneath the weight of it all, jack finds himself unable to walk away.
what begins as comfort, slowly becomes something neither of you can ignore. after all, some wounds don't heal with stitches... and jack has always had a weakness for fixing things.
Siri— play Pretty When I Cry by Lana Del Rey🩵
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Warnings: 18+ ONLY, extreme age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), doctor x nurse relationship, workplace romance / unethical relationship dynamics, power imbalance (lead attending/new grad nurse), explicit sexual content, fingering, oral sex (female performing on male), unprotected sex / creampie (reader is on birth control don’t worry guys😛), praise kink ("good girl," "sweetheart," etc.), dacryphilia (sexual arousal from crying/tears), emotional dependency themes, hurt/comfort, panic attack depiction, hospital/medical setting, medical trauma and grief, child death, death of a teenager following a motor vehicle accident, mentions of suicide and pregnancy loss, emotional distress and crying, reader insert, jack abbot being morally conflicted and making objectively terrible decisions— as always: fiction is not reality— please do not date your attending physician.
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Authors Note: so, what was a cute little drabble quickly turned into a full fic over the last few days... sorry not sorry?! also maybe you’re welcome…? i didn’t fix the formatting bc this was made on my phone. little drabbles i usually type up straight on drafts… but then this kept getting longer and deeper lolz so stop judging the lack of capitalization and proper grammar.
anyway— i kept thinking about jack abbot comforting me as a new grad nurse… i need him to fix me… or finger me. then i was horny for the idea of jack abbot getting off on my tears and calling me his poor baby, poor girl. so pretty when you cry, etc—
i could go on but you’ll read abt it later anyway— then when actually writing, it got all deep about how he blames himself when his patients die soooo… yah know. yeah. here we are— more words in than i expected !!
as always, please enjoy and please read them warnings—
i love ya'll 🩵🤍
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you’ve always been a little too sensitive.
you cry when you see an old couple sitting in a booth together. you protest any movie with a dog dying. and don’t even mention the notebook… little miss crybaby galore.
in the ER? it’s even worse.
you’d been working at the Pittsburgh emergency room for the last seven months as a new grad nurse.
it was the perfect job. the rush, the thrill of not knowing and stumbling forward despite it all. the cases that left you breathless and reeling— wanting more. you couldn’t get enough of it.
but as always, there were those cases
the child that got into the cleaning supplies…
a pregnant mom losing her rainbow baby…
suicide attempt that became successful…
everyone around you didnt pause— didn’t stutter. they just pushed onward, moved to the next case… you couldn’t keep up.
the pain, the fear of the patient…. unable to do anything, unable to fix it.
parts of you cracked, left shattered in the trauma bay and splayed across the cold floor with discarded bloodied gauze. you resisted falling apart, collecting it all back, and holding it to your chest.
you focused all your effort into appearing calm. controlled.
but this case was the worst…
he was a kid. just a sweet boy who wanted to play a little longer. just wanted his stuffy that was left up in the treehouse …
you walked out of the trauma bay—still wearing ppe— eyes following as you were not so subtly shaking.
you had to get away. get away now. you couldn’t be seen like this. your legs felt heavy as they carry you towards the only refuge in this hospital.
you’d often find yourself in the same stairwell, alone. the concrete walls unwelcoming and indifferent to your tears. you allowed yourself to fall apart here. no one here would judge the poor new grad who couldn’t keep it together.
it was your safe haven. the only place to escape it all without pity or judgment crowding you.
that changed when jack noticed.
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jack always kept away before— let lena handle the new grads, steering them the right way. he didn’t have time to delegate over iv bags and proper protocols for something as simple as catheter insertion.
so when you rolled into his department, he barely noticed. just another nurse joining the night shift, prn at that. you were good at your job, kept your head down. quiet. it was all good. normal.
but he’d be lying if he didn’t say you were pretty. he cursed himself for noticing it, knowing he’d never overstep…
the lead attending with a young new nurse?
humiliating, hr violating, and unethical.
christ, you’re in youe twenties. early twenties.
add in the fact that dana would kick his balls in— definitely stay away. there’s really no other choice.
he made an effort to know as little as possible. didn’t know the shifts you worked, what time you took break, what your coffee order was…
but you had this fun little habit of making his detachment impossible. your very presence always demanding his attention— every tuesday and friday night— and the occasional shifts you picked up.
fuck why did he know that?
here you are, holding the same iced vanilla latte from dunkin, hair pulled back in your favorite claw clip, just returning for your final shift this week. your usual friday. god— stop it abbot.
you smile at every nurse and resident as you pass, not missing one. you make everyone feel good, make them feel noticed… like they’re important to you.
that didn’t stop with him.
“hi, doctor abbot!” you wave as you pass him, oblivious to his lingering gaze. you walk down the hall, now heading to the locker room, preparing for your shift.
his eyes disobediently follow, begging himself to focus on the chart in his hand. he’s better than this. this is low, even for him.
he can’t help himself. it’s goddamn pathetic.
“enjoying the view, brother?” a large hand clasps his back.
“robby.” jack instantly straightens, eyes now forced down to the chart. jesus, was he that obvious?
“you like the new nurse, abbot? i’m shocked, you never date in the hospital…” robby elbows him now leaning against the counter, eyeing jack.
“no— of course, not. i’m almost offended you’d suggest that. she’s half my age.” he convinces himself.
robby only nods, a small smile curving his lip “yeah, keep telling yourself that abbot…” he narrows his eyes, as if he’s trying to read jack’s thoughts.
jack looks up from the chart, his eyes finding robby’s. he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “stop. don’t do that.”
“do what? i’m just watching you get bent out of shape for the new nurse. it’s goddamn hilarious…” robby chuckes. “and hey— i don’t blame you. she’s cute.”
jack’s brows furrow. of course robby’s into her. he’s into anyone he can get his grabby hands on.
his friend is notorious for his inability to commit, but still putting on the perfect performance of boyfriend— leaving many heart’s broken around the floor. it was embarrassing, jack had tried to reason with robby.
date outside of the ER…
get some self control man…
it all fell on deaf ears. no matter how many lectures he gave— or the many nurses turned away, moving upstairs to a new unit after robby was finished with them.
god, he can’t do that to you.
jack shakes his head. “no, don’t go there. she’s too young.”
robby’s brows raise, “too young, huh? but not for you?” he teases, trying to get a reaction.
jack’s jaw tightens. “no, just too young to know better. drop it, robby— i have to go check on room 13.” he turns, not wanting to hear it a second longer.
“we’ll see!” robby calls after him, ringing in his ears. jack ducks into the safety of the patients room, drowning himself in another case. a safe and reliable coping mechanism. it never fails.
he gets lost in the paperwork, the diagnosis, then another challenging procedure to drown out his thoughts.
inbetween the chaos, he tells himself to look away. he knows you’re just being nice.
he knows that you didn’t mean to touch his hand like that when you passed him a pen. your pen.
you’re so sweet. such a good girl.
he is also painfully aware of the age gap.
a girl like you could never be anything but sweet. sweet, gentle. innocent. you don’t say “yes sir!” in the way he wants you to...
and you wouldn’t. too young, too sweet, too good. no, jack. stop. even if you kept looking at him like that…
bright, doe-eyed, and eager to please. always so willing to help, always right there next to him.
always standing a little too close.
…
god, why’d you have to be here so close during this? he hates how your shoulder brushes against his, how he can smell the coconut hair oil you put in your hair. hearing your breath over the wails from the monitors — inhale, exhale.
too close too much— focus on the patient.
he steps back from the gurney
“ellis— come hold pressure.” he calls. ellis strides over unfazed, following orders as always.
she bumped into you slightly, now sandwiched between you and jack. her hand now placed over jack’s, as he slid his out from under hers.
“pressure held” ellis nodded.
jack backed up, now watching as the team took over. he continued barking out orders, new meds, labs and trauma/neuro surgery paged.
then unfortunately coached the resuscitation team. compressions, intubation, delivered shocks, epi … all failed.
“time of death: 2:38.” he sighed.
another failure. his fault. if he would’ve seen the bruising on the abdomen— maybe he would’ve noticed the internal bleeding sooner. this kid could have walked out of here.
he could have seen his parents again. fuck.
he had it at first. 10 year old who happened to sneak out to the treehouse when mom and dad fell asleep. he tripped and fell— hard enough to bleed and bruise, cuts on his forehead.
distracting cuts leading to neuro. but he knew better.
he should’ve known better.
he sighs as the nurses and doctors disbursed, tugging off gloves and gowns, letting the silence overtake the room. no one speaks after cases like this. they let it slip away slowly, unable to reason with the impossible. unable to accept something so wrong
with his hands on his hips, he shakes his head in disappointment.
the parents will be waiting out in the family room, waiting for him to update them. they’re expecting him...
they’re expecting him to have succeeded
not to be going home alone tonight…
he practices the same monologue in his head, the one he now knows by heart:
“hello, i am doctor abbot, the lead ER attending on jay’s case. i am deeply sorry, but despite our best efforts, jay has di—“
his eyes catch you as you leave the bay, still wearing your gown… and gloves…
well that’s an infection risk—
then he sees it. your hands shaking.
the new, pretty nurse walking, more like running now, down the hall far from the nurses station, shaking.
where’s she going ?…
before he could stop himself, his body is already moving forward.
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as always, you sat on the cold steps, concrete walls echoing the sounds of your sobs. you let the air purify you of your thoughts. here, you can feel the pain float away.
you sigh, letting out a shakey breath as the noises of the emergency room filter in. you hear the beeping of monitors, the rolling of carts from environmental services, then the opening of the stairwell door.
you're jolted by the sound.
your eyes widen, now jumping up to see lead attending doctor abbot opening the door. he pops it open, only peaking his head through. his brows furrow at the sight of you.
"hey... you alright?" his voice soft, head tilting.
heat rushes to your cheeks as your stomach flips.
oh god... not him. anyone but him.
you quickly turn your face away, trying to hide the evidence of your breakdown. your hands are still shaking— still wearing the damn gloves and gown like an idiot. you probably look insane. mascara streaked, eyes puffy, snot threatening to drip.
mortifying... absolutely mortifying.
"i—i'm fine! totally fine!" your voice cracks on the lie, betraying you immediately. you force a smile. "just needed some air, yah know? it's so stuffy in there..."
he doesn't buy it. doctor abbot steps fully into the stairwell, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. the sound feels final somehow, trapping you both in this concrete confessional booth.
and god, why does he have to look like that right now?
you've noticed him before— everyone notices him. the sharp jawline, the way his scrubs fit across his shoulders, those intense eyes that seem to shoot straight through every excuse and deflection. he's older, experienced, completely out of your league in every possible way.
you've caught yourself staring during rounds more times than you'd like to admit. watching his hands as he demonstrates a procedure, the way his voice drops when he's focused, and how he always commands respect without even trying... now he's front row, seeing you at your absolute worst.
"hey," he says again, softer this time. he draws a few steps towards you, closing the distance between you. "you don't have to do that. you don't have to pretend."
your throat tightens. fresh tears blur your vision and you hate it. hate that you can't pull yourself together. you finally turn back to him, defeated.
"i'm sorry," you whisper, voice breaking. "i know i shouldn't— i should be stronger than this. everyone else just moves on and i can't—" a sob cuts you off. you tug off your stupid gloves, tear at the gown and feel yourself fall further into this mess. complete humiliation.
"stop." his voice is firm but gentle. "don't apologize for being human."
he sits down beside you on the cold concrete step, close enough that you can smell his cologne mixed with the antiseptic scent that clings to everyone in the ER. his presence feels overwhelming and comforting all at once.
"that case..." you manage, wiping uselessly at your face. "he was just a kid. he just wanted his stuffed animal and—"
"i know." jack's jaw tightens. there's something in his expression, pain and an understanding of it all… "i know."
you're shaking harder now, the dam completely broken. you try to hold it in, to maintain some shred of dignity in front of the attending, but it's useless.
"c'mere," he murmurs, and before you can process it, his arm is around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest.
you should pull away— this is inappropriate. he's your superior, but you can't. you're so tired of holding it all in, so exhausted from pretending you're fine when you're shattering inside.
so you let yourself break.
you cry into his scrubs, ugly sobs that shake your whole body. his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers gentle against your hair. he doesn't shush you or tell you it'll be okay. he just holds you solid while you fall apart. a good man in a storm.
"you're allowed to feel this," he says quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest. "you're allowed to care. don't let this place take that from you."
his thumb strokes slowly against your shoulder, a repetitive comfort that grounds you. you can feel his heartbeat against your ear. it's all so intoxicating.
you don't know how long you stay like that, wrapped in the older man's arms. but slowly, your breathing evens out, the sobs fade to hiccups, then to shakey exhales.
it's time to get back up, time to move on. but you don't move... neither does he.
his arms tighten slightly, like he's not ready to let go either.
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fuck.
jack knows he should release you... knows this has definitely gone on far too long. he's crossed too many lines already. but god— you're so small in his arms, so soft and warm and vulnerable.
he can feel every shakey breath you take against his chest. your hair smells like coconut and vanilla, and he's acutely aware of how your body fits against his, too perfectly. dangerously perfect.
he’s never seen this side of you… and you're adorable like this. all tear-stained and trembling, mascara smudged under those pretty eyes. so sweet, and so genuine in your pain. you care too much and it's going to destroy you in this job... but christ, he doesn't want you to lose that. doesn't want this place to harden you the way it's hardened him.
another hiccup shakes through you and something tightens low in his stomach.
no. absolutely not.
but he can't stop the way his body responds to your tears. to those little gasps and whimpers you've been making against his chest. it's wrong— so fucking wrong— watching you cry, holding you while you break apart... it's doing something to him.
he's getting hard. actually hard from comforting a crying girl half his age in a hospital stairwell. pathetic and morally corrupt. he's a grown man, a doctor, your superior, a man way too old for this— and here he is getting turned on by your tears like some kind of—
you shift slightly in his arms, adjusting your torso, causing your body to press closer. he feels the soft curve of your chest pressed against him and has to bite back a groan.
let go. let go now.
you squirm again, probably trying to pull away, be professional, and the movement sends heat straight through him. he can feel you everywhere— your chest against his, your thigh brushing his leg, breath warm through his scrubs.
he forces his arms to loosen, releasing you even though every instinct is screaming at him to pull you closer, tighter, to— stop.
you pull back, standing up on wobbly legs. his eyes follow the movement, tracking up your body. wrinkled scrubs, tear-stained face, those wide innocent eyes still red and puffy.
beautiful. she's so fucking beautiful.
"t-thank you doctor abbot..." your voice small and nervous. you won't quite meet his eyes. "i'm sorry for all of this... won't happen again." you look exhausted. sweet and tired and so goddamn innocent it makes his chest ache... makes other parts of him ache too. jesus jack, control yourself.
"it's okay if it does," he manages, his voice rougher than intended. he clears his throat, nods. "this job gets to you."
he should leave it there... should just let it go. instead he hears himself add: "i'll be here if you need me..."
you just nod, that cute nervous smile pulling at your lips— the same smile you give him when you hand him charts, when saying good morning, when you're trying so hard to be all professional and composed around him.
then you're moving, practically running for the door, and he watches you go. the door closes behind you with a hollow click.
jack sits there in the empty stairwell, still half-hard, still able to smell your coconut hair oil on his scrubs.
god, what the fuck is he doing?
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you told yourself that was the last time. the last time and the only time. you couldn't bear the thought of jack abbot seeing you that way again. once was humilating enough...
but it happened again... and again. until it became the new normal. your private refuge suddenly, not so private.
every hard case, you'd end up booking it to the stairwell. and every time, jack abbot followed. it all ended up with you in his arms. it's wrong— you know it's wrong... this cannot be the typical way staff members help each other after emergencies.
that didn't stop you from falling into his arms.
his arms enveloped you, holding you firm against his chest. his breath warm against your neck. his smell enthralling— good old antiseptic and expensive cologne— definitely using that doctor's salary.
after, he would tell you to go get something to drink in the breakroom, sometimes ordering you your favorite drink... how he knew your order? you'd never known...
time and time again, you let it happen. and time and time again, he was there. you couldn't understand why he would bother with you in the first place. jesus, you were half his age, a new grad who knew damn nothing, i mean what could possibly keep him coming back?...
today was like any other: another hard case, another breakdown. you cursed yourself for falling apart again.
the sixteen-year-old girl came in seizing, unresponsive. drunk driver ran a red light, t-boned the passenger side where she sat. her boyfriend was driving— he walked away with a broken arm and guilt that would haunt him forever.
she didn't make it past the first hour.
you watched as jack called it. watched as her parents collapsed in the hallway. watched as the boyfriend screamed that it should've been him.
sixteen. she was just sixteen....had her whole life ahead of her— prom, graduation, college, first love and heartbreak, all of it gone... because some asshole decided to get behind the wheel drunk.
you made it to the stairwell before the first sob tore through your chest... but this time was different. this time, you couldn't catch your breath at all.
the concrete walls pressed in, closing around you. your chest heaved, desperate for air that wouldn't come. each inhale burned, searing through your lungs like fire. you gasped, clutched at your scrubs, tried to force oxygen in but nothing worked.
can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe—
you stumbled to your knees as your vision blurred at the edges. the fluorescent light overhead too bright, too harsh. your heart hammered against your ribs, threatening to break through.
you were dying. you had to be dying. this was it—
the door burst open. jack.
his eyes went wide, taking in the sight of you gasping on the ground. he didn't hesitate— he strides over immediately, dropping to his knees in front of you.
"hey hey hey—" his hands come up, cupping your face gently, forcing you to look at him. his touch warm. "shhh shh it's okay. you're okay. just look at me."
you try to speak but only a strangled sound came out.
"no, don't talk. just breathe with me, okay? can you do that?" his voice was soft yet commanding, the same tone he uses when directing the trauma team. "just in and out. watch me. innnn..."
he takes a slow, exaggerated breath in, his chest rising. "and out..." he exhales slowly, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. you try to follow, your breath hitching and stuttering.
"that's it. you're doing so good. again— innnn and out. just like that." his eyes never leave yours. steady, calm, anchoring you to reality. you focus on his face, on the feeling of his hands, on the rhythm of his breathing.
in... and out. in... and out.
slowly— your chest began to loosen, the burning eases. oxygen finally reaches your lungs, the walls crept back to the foreground where they belonged.
"there you go. good girl. keep breathing with me."
your hands come up, gripping his wrists like a lifeline. he never pulls away, just keeps guiding you through until your breathing evened out, until the panic dies down.
"better?" he asks softly.
you nod, unable to speak yet.
he stood then, pulling you up with him. his arms wraps around you immediately, holding you firm against his chest. you melt into him, letting him take your weight. as always, his hand cradles the back of your head, the other splays across your lower back.
safe. you always felt so safe here.
but then you feel it. something else... something hard pressing against your front, unmistakable even through the layers of scrubs. oh.
a soft whimper escapes you before you can stop it. jack went completely still.
the air between you shifts, charged with things left unsaid. something you'd both been dancing around for weeks now. his grip on you tightens for just a moment before he forces himself to loosen it.
"sweetheart..." his voice rough, strained. "i should go."
panic flares again— different this time. you grab his scrub top, fisting the fabric in your hands.
"no... no stay. please?"
you look up at him, your eyes still wet with tears, pleading. his jaw clenches, his eyes dark and conflicted as they search your face.
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fuck. fuck.
those eyes. those goddamn tear-stained eyes looking up at him like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to earth… like you need him. those eyes that are begging him.
every ethical boundary he's ever maintained dissolving before his very eyes.
no. no. he can't do this…
jack takes a step back, his hands dropping from your body even though it physically hurts to let go. "we can't— this is wrong. i'm your attending, you're—"
"please," you whimper, stepping forward to close the distance he created. your hands reach for him again, trembling. "please, jack, i need—"
"you don't know what you're asking." his voice cracks. he's trying so hard to be the responsible one here, to protect you from him. "i'm too old for you. this could ruin your career. i could lose my license, you could—"
"i don't care." you're crying again, fresh tears spilling over. "please. please. i just need you to make it stop. make it all stop, just for a minute, please—"
fuck, the way you're begging. all he’s ever wanted was this but it feels so wrong. god give him the strength.
"sweetheart, we shouldn't—" but his resolve is crumbling, his hands already reaching for you again against his better judgment.
"please," you say one more time, and it's so desperate, so needy, your fingers clutching at his scrubs like you'll fall apart if he leaves.
he knows this is wrong... knows he should walk away. he's crossing every line he swore he'd never cross.
but then you press closer, those tear-stained eyes destroying him… and he's only human.
fuck it.
his mouth crashes against yours, swallowing the soft gasp you make. he walks you backward until your back hits the concrete wall, his hands already moving, taking what he's been denying himself for months.
"just need me to make it all melt away?" he murmurs against your lips, his hand sliding beneath your scrub pants, beneath your soft cotton underwear. "i can do that… let me in, honey. i got it now..."
you're already wet. christ, you're soaked. his fingers slide through your folds easily, finding your clit and circling it slowly. you whimper into his mouth, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
"thaaat's it," he breathes, watching your face as he works you. "poor baby. my poor girl… been carrying all this around, haven't you? ill fix it sweetheart" he groans
fresh tears spill down your cheeks from relief and it makes him harder than he's ever been. he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you cry out softly.
"shh, gotta be quiet," he warns, but his voice is wrecked. "can't have anyone hearing how good i'm makin' you feel."
he works you methodically, thumb on your clit, fingers pumping in and out. your hips rock against his hand, chasing the pleasure, and he watches every expression that crosses your face. the way your mouth falls open, how more tears leak from the corners of your eyes. so fucking beautiful.
"jack—" you gasp, and hearing his name from your lips nearly undoes him.
"i know, i know. but not yet." he pulls his fingers out, ignoring your whine of protest. "need your mouth first."
he's already undoing his scrub pants, freeing his cock. it's painfully hard, leaking at the tip. your eyes go wide.
"on your knees, sweetheart." you drop immediately, so eager to please it makes his chest tight. he cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. "gonna take care of me?" he asks softly.
you nod, opening your mouth. he guides himself in slowly, watching as your lips stretch around him. the wetness of your mouth makes him groan. you take him deeper, gagging slightly when he hits the back of your throat.
tears spring to your eyes immediately. "fuck," he breathes, transfixed. "see? so pretty when you cry..."
he holds your head gently, rocking his hips. you gag again, tears streaming down your face now, mixing with the ones already there. your hands grip his thighs for balance.
"doing so good," he praises, voice rough. "taking me so well. look at you..."
you look up at him through wet lashes, mascara running, lips swollen and stretched around his cock, and he nearly loses it right there. he pulls out before he cums, helping you to your feet.
"please— please tell me you're on birth control," the words tumble out desperate. "can't hold back anymore..."
"i am," you whisper, and that's it. that's all he needs.
"turn around," he commands softly. "hands on the wall."
you obey, and he's pulling your scrub pants down, positioning himself behind you. the head of his cock slides through your wetness, teasing. "ready?" he asks, and you nod frantically.
he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, and you both moan. you're so tight, so perfect for him.
"fuck, look at this pussy takin me in..." he groans, watching where you're joined. "should've done this sooner..." he bottoms out, giving you a moment to adjust before he starts moving. slow at first, then faster and harder. the sound of skin slapping echoes in the stairwell.
"jack— oh god—"
"i know, baby. i know." his hand comes around to rub your clit again. "gonna make you feel so good. gonna make it all go away."
you're crying again, overwhelmed, and it only spurs him on. he fucks into you harder, chasing both your releases, causing your walls to flutter around him.
"thaaat's it, come for me," he demands. "let go, sweetheart."
you shatter with a muffled cry, clenching around him, and he follows immediately after. he buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a groan that vibrates within his chest.
you stand there, just breathing hard, bodies pressed together. the weight of what just happened settling over you both.
finally, he pulls out gently, helping you pull your pants back up. when you turn to face him, you look wrecked— tear-stained, flushed and beautiful.
"you okay?" he asks softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
you nod, still catching your breath. "yeah. i'm... yeah..."
he knows this changes everything. there's no going back from this. he just fucked a new grad... fucking half his age.
now he's no better than robby — fuck.
his eyes scan over you, the drool down your chin, the mascara smears, and those distracting teary eyes.
━━ ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . jack abbot x morgue tech!reader ; after declining robby's offer to get drinks because he has plans with you, jack lets it slip that he is seeing someone, despite the obvious lack of a title on your relationship. robby is less than thrilled when he finds out who jack is dating
━━ content + warnings ; this falls in early relationship / robby's mental health ( its implied he will commit suicide on his sabbatical ) / reader is neurodivergent, there are many disabilities that fall under this category and is not specified for a reason! / age gap ( 31 x 49 ) / fem!reader / robby unconsciously infantilizing the reader / no resolution
field trip ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . to THE MORGUE
━ part two
The nurses station was the hub of the emergency department like the eye of a storm. Even in rare stretches when no one was shouting for a crash cart or rushing towards the ambulance bay for an incoming trauma, the department carried its own constant hum.
Jack stood at one end of the nurses station with his forearm braced against the counter, finishing a chart he should have been done with twenty minutes ago.
The brightness from the computer screen made the exhaustion that was already pulling at the corners of his mind seem sharper.
He had to keep telling himself he'd done this for a reason. The double shift he'd never have agreed to, if not for the promise of an extra day off.
A day off that just so happened to land on the same day as yours. The odds had felt so absurdly slim that Jack had checked twice when you told him. Then he'd told you not to make any plans, for what he'd wanted to do to you would make even the dirtiest of minds blush.
He wasn't exactly sure what he'd have planned, but by this time tomorrow he knew you'd at least be together.
Though his mind was wandering far away from his chart, he was thinking about none of it visibly when Robby stopped beside him.
Robby had been standing at the opposite side of the hub for the better part of ten minutes, his attention also seemingly anywhere but on the tablet in hand. He'd probably reread the same portion of the chart twice without retaining much of it.
His sabbatical request had been approved this morning, the confirmation waiting in his email beneath a subject line so bland it almost seemed insulting.
Three months riding around on his new motorcycle, at least that's what the official story was. He'd nodded through the meeting and signed the necessary paperwork without so much as a inkling of guilt.
He had no intention of returning.
Anyone who had half a brain would be able to piece together what Robby was going to do on this so-called sabbatical. That's particularly why he hadn't told anyone, let alone Jack.
Robby knew Jack would be able to see past his rest, reassess and recover spiel.
It didn't really matter to Robby if HR believeed his story. But if Jack got so much of an inkling that he didn't plan to return in exactly three months, he wasn't sure he'd be able to leave at all.
Robby had spent most of his shift trying to decide how to tell him in a way that was convincing, and still had made no progress. Mentioning it at the hospital, surrounded by nurses and patients, a place where he wouldn't be able to explain seemed too callous.
It only occurred to him a few minutes ago that he could do it over a drink when he'd heard Santos pestering Whitaker about drinks after work. To do it somewhere outside of the hospital, where Jack could be angry without having to immediately walk into another trauma.
"You got tomorrow off?" Robby's attempt to sound ordinary only made his question sound more awkward.
"Mhm," Jack answered with a hum without looking up from his screen.
Robby let another second of silence pass before he shrugged. "I do too. Figured we could grab a beer."
"Can't." Jack's answer came so quickly that Robby's thumb stopped moving.
"Can't?" he repeated, glancing sideways at Jack from over the rim of his readers.
"I've got plans," Jack replied, tapping through the final portion of his chart.
Robby studied him for a moment, but Jack's expression gave him nothing. It rarely did.
After years of friendship, Robby had learned that if he ever wanted to understand Jack past the little dialogue he offered, he'd have to be able to notice the little things. The slight tightening around his eyes when he was irritated, the way he pressed his tongue into his cheek when he was trying to bite his tongue, and the subtle lift at one corner of his mouth when something amused him more than he wanted anyone to know.
At the moment though, there was only concentration and fatigue. Neither of which gave Robby any insight on to what his mysterious plans were.
Robby snorted and returned his attention to the tablet. "What, one dangerous hobby ain't enough?"
Jack stops typing. He turned his head just enough to look a Robby confusion breaking briefly through his usual stoicism.
Robby continued typing on his own chart. "Between swat and your inability to sit still, I figured you'd taken up cave diving or something'."
A nurse stepped between them to grab a stack of labels from the printer. Jack shifted back to give her room, his hands abandoning the tablet on the counter. He could have dismissed the comment. He could have said nothing and let Robby assume whatever he wanted about the plans tomorrow night.
Instead, perhaps because he was tired or because the truth was suddenly easier than inventing another answer, the words left him before he had decided to share them.
“I’m seeing someone,” Jack said.
The tapping against Robby’s screen stopped completely.
For several seconds, the department seemed to move around the two of them without either man participating in it.
Jack Abbot did not date casually. At least, he never had in all the years that Robby had known him. He knew that the death of his wife had changed the way Jack had seen the dating pool so if there had been women, Jack treated the details with the same security other people reserved for classified records.
Robby had tried more than once, to push him toward something resembling a social life. The suggestions had been met with grunts, deflections, or a look that warned Robby not to press his luck.
Now Jack had apparently been seeing someone long enough to have plan on a shared night off, and this was the first Robby was hearing about.
"Serious?" Robby asked.
Jack opened his mouth with an answer ready, then paused.
The question should not have required thought. Serious was supposed to be the threshold people crossed deliberately, something agreed upon. But Jack could not remember a single conversation where either of you had defined what was happening between you.
He thought of the snacks that you saved him from your lunch because you knew he wouldn't eat on shift if you didn't.
He thought of the go bag he left in his truck so he'd have fresh clothes after spending that night at your house because he hadn't yet gathered the courage to ask you for a drawer of his own.
He thought of the way your shoulders loosened when he walked into the morgue and how you had started looking for him at the end of every shift as naturally as he looked for you.
And he thought of tomorrow night and the quiet certainty with which he had already reserved it for you.
“Yeah,” Jack answered, nodding once as the truth settled into place. “It is.”
Robby’s surprise softened into something warmer. A grin spread across his face, genuine and immediate. “Well, shit,” Robby said. “Good for you, man.”
“Thanks,” Jack replied.
The conversation stilled there because Jack offered nothing else.
Robby waited for a name or a detail, perhaps even a grudging explanation on how the relationship had started. Jack, however, simply returned his attention to the tablet.
He watched him for a moment before remembering that if he wanted information from Jack, he'd have to ask for it directly.
“So who is she?” Robby asked. “Would I know her?”
Jack glanced toward him again. The question carried a second one beneath it that neither man needed stated aloud: did she work at the hospital?
“Uh, probably not,” Jack said. “She works nights downstairs.”
Robby’s expression changed.
His brows pulled together as he followed the implication through the hospital’s layout. Downstairs could have meant a variety of different things. Imaging, maintenance, central supply, or several administrative offices.
But nights narrowed the possibilities significantly, and Jack’s recent habit of disappearing toward the service elevator after shift change narrowed them even further.
Robby hoped he was wrong but he asked anyway. "Like in the morgue?"
“Yeah.” Jack frowned at the disbelief spreading across Robby’s face. “Why?”
The answer confirmed exactly what Robby had been trying not to conclude.
He knew the night staffing downstairs. He knew there was only one regular technician working those hours, and he knew you well enough for an image of you to rise immediately in his mind.
You standing on the edge of the day shift bustle with a clipboard tucked against your chest, waiting too long for an opening in a conversation because interrupting felt impossible.
You apologizing when someone else stepped into your path.
You going silent when too many people spoke to you at once. He remembered the meetings about your transfer to nights and the relief that had settled over you once the hospital found a schedule better suited to your needs.
Robby looked at Jack, who stood almost twenty years older, physically imposing without effort, experienced in ways you were not, and apparently serious about you.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Robby muttered.
Jack’s frown deepened.
“Are you having some kind of midlife crisis?” Robby asked.
“What are you talking about?” Jack replied with the beginning of an incredulous laugh, as though Robby had changed subjects without warning.
Robby said your name. He did not mean for it to sound harsh, but disbelief sharpened every syllable. As if he couldn't even think of you in the same context as Jack.
“Yeah?” Jack answered.
The simplicity of his confirmation only worsened the unease gathering in Robby’s chest. “You don’t think she’s just a bit too young for you?” he asked.
“What?” Jack replied.
He had already said the word several times during the conversation, each repetition carrying a different shade of confusion. Now irritation began to bleed into it.
Robby glanced toward the nearest treatment room before lowering his voice. The ER had no privacy, only varying degrees of public exposure, and this was not a discussion he wanted overheard.
“She’s what, thirty?” Robby asked.
“Thirty-one,” Jack corrected.
“And you’re pushing fucking fifty, Jack.”
“I’m forty-nine.”
“Oh, that makes it better,” Robby said dryly.
Jack did not respond.
He genuinely did not understand why the number changed anything. You were thirty-one, not twenty-one. You had a career, an apartment, bills, preferences, and the ability to make decisions he does not always agree with. He had not hidden his age from you or misrepresented what he wanted. He had not tricked you into anything.
The idea that your age alone made you incapable of choosing him struck Jack as absurd.
Robby watched the confusion remain on his face and mistook it for a failure to see the problem.
“You know the only reason she switched to nights is because she couldn’t handle the stress of days,” Robby said. Jack’s brows knitted together.
That detail caught him more sharply than the accusation about his age. He knew why you preferred nights. He knew the quiet helped, that the reduced staff and predictable routines made it easier for you to work without spending every hour braced against other people.
What he hadn't known was that Robby knew any of that.
“What would you know about her?” Jack questioned. The wording landed harder than he intended.
Robby’s mouth tightened. “I know she’s vulnerable,” he said.
“I know that,” Jack answered.
There was no hesitation because denying it would have meant denying parts of you Jack had spent months learning how to understand. He knew confrontation exhausted you. That you sometimes agreed too quickly because disappointing someone frightened you more than discomfort did.
He knew there were days when the world pressed too harshly against your skin and words became difficult.
But he also knew you were stubborn, capable, and more perceptive than most people gave you credit for.
He had watched you stand over bodies no one else wanted to see and give them more care than some patients received alive. He had seen you solve problems alone because asking for help did not come naturally, even when it should have.
Your vulnerability was not the sum of you.
Robby heard only the admission.
“And that doesn’t bother you?” Robby asked.
The question changed the shape of the conversation.
Until now, Jack had understood Robby’s concern as skepticism about an age gap. Irritating, perhaps invasive, but not insulting. This was different. The implication beneath the words reached somewhere much closer to bone.
Jack’s expression closed.
He turned his gaze toward the patient board mounted above the hub, though he was no longer reading it. His jaw flexed once. Then again.
He loved Robby like a brother. That knowledge was the only thing keeping him silent. Because the answer forming in his mouth was cruel, and once spoken, it would not be easily taken back.
Robby recognized the warning in Jack’s stillness but continued anyway. He had known Jack too long to be frightened by silence, and concern had already carried him past the point where stopping felt responsible.
“I think you’re in a position where she might not know how to tell you no,” Robby said. Jack’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
The department kept moving around them, oblivious to the turmoil forming between the two attendings, though Jack heard none of it clearly.
“Watch yourself,” he said. His voice never rose. It did not need to.
Robby drew in a breath through his nose. For a second, he seemed prepared to leave it there. Then the thought of you on days, overwhelmed and apologizing, pushed him forward again.
“I’m not saying you’re a bad man,” Robby said.
Jack looked at him. The anger in his face was controlled but unmistakable. Robby lowered his voice even further. “I’m saying good men can still make bad decisions.”
The words settled between them with enough weight to make the space around the, feel suddenly narrow.
Jack stared at the man who had known him through war stories, grief, the death of his wife, and every self-destructive choice he had made in the name of being useful. Robby knew exactly what kind of man he was, which made the implication worse rather than easier to dismiss.
Jack could have defended himself.
He could have told Robby that you had set every boundary between you and that he had followed each one. He could have explained how carefully he watched for hesitation, how often he asked when you seemed unsure, how terrified he was of becoming another person who spoke over you.
He did not say any of that.
Defending the relationship to Robby felt too close to placing you on trial. It would require exposing things that belonged to you, private choices and private moments that Jack had no intention of turning into evidence.
More than that, anger had closed around his throat.
“I haven’t,” Jack huffed.
He shoved his tablet onto the counter with more force than necessary and turned away.
Robby watched him cross the department, shoulders rigid and gait sharper than usual as he moved toward the south corridor.
The invitation for a beer remained suspended between them, unanswered in every way that mattered.
Robby looked down at the tablet still resting in his hand. The sabbatical he had intended to mention now felt impossibly distant, the carefully imagined conversation reduced to another thing he had failed to say.
Across the ER, Jack disappeared around the corner before the anger could loosen enough to let doubt in.
Summary: Andy is out working another late-night job, leaving you alone with nothing but some anxiety, loneliness, and one of his old shirts. Missing him turns into something far more desperate, and when he comes home… he finds out exactly just how much you missed him.
Word count: 2.8k
T.W: Established relationship; Explicit sexual content; Masturbation; Scent kink; Dirty talk; Praise; Unprotected sex between established couple; Creampie; Overstimulation; Squirting; Breeding themes (but barely, its more implied i guess?).
A/N: I honestly got bored, I don't think this is one of my greatest works at all, and I'm totally prepared for this to flop, but figured I would post it anyway, kinda like making these little scenarios.
P.s: Wish that was me instead, sigh... also not proofread.
Anwyho
♡ Thank you so much for reading!
Lying in bed with your leg wrapped around the long pregnancy pillow you made Andy buy because you swore up and down it worked wonders when he wasnt home, you couldn’t help but have that deep sense of worry in your chest.
Worry for Andy.
You knew he was working a job, a late-night one, and you knew that he was usually, on a good day, being safe and careful. But you still worried. One wrong move and he’s back in prison… and who knows if he’ll be back.
The thought made your chest clench.
You wanted to call him, to text him, and ask if everything was going well. If he needed you for anything?
Which was stupid, you knew it was stupid. What could you possibly help with? But you couldn’t help but worry. Couldn’t help but want to reach out.
But you didn’t; you didn’t pull out your phone and text or call him. You just trusted he was being smart.
But you definitely needed a distraction. Something to get your mind off of it. You looked at the TV and dimmed the light on the screen as you moved off the bed.
You walked to your shared basket of dirty clothes and reached in, pulling out one of his used shirts he had worn the previous day. You knew this was a bit icky, that if any sane person saw this, they would call you out on it.
But you were so sad… and horny… and needy. You just needed something that brought you closer to him. You walked back to the bed and held the shirt in your hands. Carefully bringing it up to your nose as you took a small whiff.
A whimper slipping past your lips at the feel of your poor pussy clenching at nothing.
You grabbed your special pillow and placed it under yourself. Bunching it up enough to be semi-solid beneath. You raised your hips as you slipped off your panties. Tossing them on the floor as you moved to lower yourself, leaning back on your knees.
Once your wet pussy made contact with the cold pillow, a small gasp left your lips, bracing your hands on the headboard, and slowly rocking your hips. You moaned softly as you closed your eyes.
You grounded your hips deeper as you rocked yourself again. The friction rubbing perfectly against your clit. Your hand squeezing the headboard as you used the other to bring the shirt up to your face again, sniffing his scent once more.
You quickened the pace as you huffed a bit, hips hurting at the awkward position, but it felt good enough that you continued. Your nipples hardening against the big loose shirt you wore, rubbing against the soft fabric each time you rocked your hips.
You whimpered again, feeling more needy and upset that he wasn’t here to fuck you, to hold you in place as he dug into you.
The thought made you moan again. The sound of the mattress and bed frame rocking with your movements. You let your mouth fall open as you whimpered again. Calling out to Andy as if he could hear you.
The soft plea making you cry again.
You rocked faster, grinding down harder against the pillow as you felt your tummy tighten. Breathing getting labored. You grew more and more annoyed as time went on, wanting nothing more than for your orgasm to come. You were growing impatient at the long process of humping against this pillow.
So you stopped. Falling backwards on the bed as your body flopped against the mattress. You propped your legs as you wasted no time shoving your two fingers inside yourself. Moaning at the intrusión.
You were already so wet, so this wasnt going to take long.
You tossed Andy’s shirt over your face, the dark fabric covering every inch of your face as you took deep breaths.
Your pussy clenching around your fingers as you smelled him. You didn’t necessarily enjoy self masturbation since, after Andy, your fingers never felt as fulfilling. Always preferring his own thick, stubby fingers inside.
Making your own feel like two No. 2 pencils.
Not that they were bony and not enjoyable, just, it would just never be the same again. They could never compare to how he felt. So you only ever did this in emergencies such as now.
You curled your fingers up as continuing to work them inside yourself. The wet, warm walls welcoming you in squelches. Your mind going a bit hazy as you felt your orgasm building rapidly.
You moaned against the fabric of the shirt, the sound barely audible. You leaned more into the shirt, wanting it closer, wanting to wrap his scent all around yourself. If possible, you would have fucked it as well.
You felt your walls tightening around your fingers, feeling the liquid fire building deeper and deeper. “Y-yes…” you moaned.
Without warning, you felt your walls clenching tightly around your fingers. Legs stuttered as you moaned loudly. A warm sensation covering you like a blanket.
You jittered once, twice before going limp. Breathing heavily against the shirt, trying to catch your breath. But each breath you took, all you could smell was him. You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. But you must've relaxed a bit too hard, given the next thing you knew, you were out cold.
~
You heard your name being called. It was so faint and far that it sounded like an echo.
“Kid…?”
You groaned softly as it took a lot of strength and willpower to open your eyes. Or try to?
You paused, trying to focus them. But…? He was upside down, making you more confused. You assumed you were still sleeping or possibly dreaming. And not caring enough, you closed your eyes again, going back to the warm welcome of sleep.
He gruffed again. Warm, calloused hand touching your shoulder as he rubbed it softly. “What’r you doing with my shirt?” He asked, trying to use a soft tone, but still coming out in a half-huff, half-normal voice. You moaned softly as you opened your eyes again. More awake this time, hearing his voice more clearly. “Andy…?” you asked.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he confirmed. You scrunched your face as you slowly leaned up. Turning around to fully see him.
He looked a bit hurt. A few scratches near the side of his jaw, hair a bit ruffled and disheveled. But other than that? He looked good, safe even. Not life-threateningly injured. That was definitely a plus.
“What time is it?”
“Close to two.”
You nodded, then glanced down, seeing that he held his shirt in his hand. The same shirt you had used to get yourself off, causing a small flutter in your stomach at the sight. “Why’d you have my shirt on your face?” He asked again.
You felt your face heat up at the question, and you paused. “I don’t know?”
He just eyed you, clearly not buying the shit excuse. “Mmm, I think you do, caught you with your hand resting on your pussy.”
Shit.
You looked down. Seeing clear as day, you were, in fact, not wearing pants.
Clearly being caught red-handed, you went over the possibility of him getting upset at the truth in your head and figured he probably wouldn’t. Confused maybe? But not upset.
“Just wanted to borrow it,” you told him quietly as you smiled a bit shyly. “Wanted to borrow my shirt?” He asked, confused.
“Mhm…” you nodded.
You shuffled to lean back on your knees, still looking up at him as he watched you. “I was really sad…”
“Why’r you sad?” He asked gruffly. Moving closer to the bed.
“Really missed you, Andy.”
“You missed me that bad?” He asked. He moved onto the bed, the bed springs creaking under his weight. “What’d you do with the shirt, princess?”
You bit your lip softly as you looked at him. Tummy fluttering more. “I sniffed it…” You confessed, a bit embarrassed. Not at the truth but the mere confession of the truth. You could see how his eyes dilated a bit at the comment, the atmosphere getting heated. “What else you’d do?”
You smiled even bigger as he prayed closer. “I… humped a pillow wishing it was you...”
“How’d that feel?” He asked quietly.
“It didn’t feel as good as you… Made me frustrated,” you admitted. Voice getting higher. Your excitement jumping.
“Yeah… so what’d you do? Just give up and use your hands?”
You nodded as you bit your lip. His face now mere inches from you. “Did you cum?” You nodded again. “Words, use your words, sweetheart,” he told you.
“I came on my fingers, thinking of you.”
He let out a ragged breath, looking down at you as you poked your tongue out, wetting your bottom lip.
“Turn around.”
You felt your tummy flutter but did as he asked, turning around and lying on your tummy as you felt him lower himself on top of you. His own hard tummy resting on your lower back. His erection pressing firmly against your ass.
He took hold of your shirt, bundling it around your waist. Leaving your lower half exposed to him and the cool air of your room. Biting your lip, you were already getting ready for whatever it was he was going to give to you.
“I love your little ass, love the way it—” he gave it a hard slap, making you gasp, “—jiggles, whenever I give it little slaps… How perfectly shaped it fits right between my thighs…” he mumbled out as you heard him unbuckling his belt. “It's like you were made for me, huh, sweetheart?” he asked.
You simply nodded your head, causing him to give you yet another slap. Making you moan out a yes. You heard more shuffling behind you but didn't dare to turn and look. Suddenly, his hands grabbed your hips, lifting you into a position where you were arched and locked beneath him. His thick, meaty thighs, on either side of your own, holding you in place.
He gripped your ass in his hands, squeezing and gripping them tightly. Just playing with them and letting the cold air hit your dripping core.
“How are you already so wet?” he asked.
He slid one of his thick little fingers up and down your slit, playing with your weeping core as he circled your entrance. “Andy… please—Ahhhh,” you moaned as he shoved his middle finger in, all the way down to the knuckle.
Your gummy velvety walls clenching around his thick digit.
“Always so tight for me,” he muttered as he took his finger out, bringing the same finger down to your clit where he rubbed tight and menacing circles on the little bundle of nerves. Your hands gripping the sheets in response. Soft moans calling out to him.
You were so caught up in the pleasure of him rubbing your clit that you didnt even realise he had positioned himself at your entrance. Only realising when you felt the tight squeeze of accommodation to fit him within your warm walls.
Pushing all the way in until fully bottoming out inside of you.
“S-shit—” he moaned.
You could only squeal into the sheets, trying your hardest not to cry and scream at the same time. It always felt the same; each and every time he stuck it in, it always felt like the first.
“How’r you doing?” he asked.
Your face scrunched as you gripped the sheets in tightly balled fist. Trying to ease yourself before nodding your head. “G-good…”
He gave you another second before he continued his poor assault on your pussy. Pulling out just to shove himself back in.
Making you gasp for air, you couldn't even hold.
He started at a normal pace, fucking you neutrally as he gripped your hips. Face still shoved into the sheets, moaning out a symphony as each time he thrusted into you.
You also couldn't help but be vocal. He just always touched places within you, you didnt even know you had?
“How’r you still so tight?” he asked, amused. His hips snapping with each thrust. You were already sensitive from the previous orgasm you had given yourself, already gasping and moaning every five seconds. So with the added feeling of his hard cock kissing your cervix every single time, it was a beautiful mixture of pain and pleasure.
“Does it hurt, princess?” he asked mockingly. “Or are you taking it like a good girl?”
“T-taking it A-andy!” you cried out. Your back aching at the position he held you in, your spine crying for some relief from the pressure of being arched. But it felt so good at the same time, the feeling of him slipping in and out of you, hands squeezing the life out of your ass and hips. The sound of his balls slapping repeatedly against your ass making you roll your eyes back.
“I—I–” you tried to speak but couldn't, your voice being caught in small gasps. Your core just clenching all around him. “F-fuck…” he let out a small whimper.
“Want to see that pretty face of yours, sweetheart…” he groaned as he forced himself to stop, flipping you onto your back. Quickly slipping your shirt off, leaving you on display for him. He repositioned himself and slid back inside your warm core.
He reached down and connected his face with your chest, sucking and nibbling on your hard buds. Your hand reaching out to cradle his head, to shove more of your chest into his mouth. To see how much he could fit inside. His tongue swirling and licking and flicking you. All while he continued to dig into your guts.
You thrashed beneath him, the pleasure becoming overwhelming.
The feeling of everything happening all at once adding to your building pleasure. Your stomach sore from how tightly it was clenching. Your legs going numb from being spread open. You couldn't think straight, couldn't see straight, couldn't even breathe straight.
All while Andrew huffed and huffed, growing more rabid from how close he was to his own orgasm.
He reached a hand down and began to circle your clit again, rubbing in a tight motion. “N-no—” you cried, trying to pry his hands off of you. The pleasure was too much now, too unbearable to handle. You felt like you wanted to cry.
Shit, you probably already were?
“S-shhh,” he told you. Hand coming up to your wrist, holding them on your stomach tightly. Pressing down where the bulge of his cock would appear. Tears sprang from your eyes as you thrashed, moans getting higher and higher.
Legs shaking uncontrollably as your body worked on overdrive.
Your pussy now squirting all over the place, coating both of your bodies in its beautiful liquid.
You didnt even have time to recover before you were suddenly cumming. Face scrunching so tight it hurt your facial muscles. He continued to rut into you, chasing his own climax closely behind. “Shit-t!” he moaned as he went still. His hot, silky seed painting your walls as he dropped his head to your shoulder. Letting your tight walls trap him inside of you.
After what felt like the longest orgasm yet, you dropped like a sack of potatoes on the bed. Too weak to even try to prop your legs. Every muscle in your body quitting all at once.
You were such a wreck. Hair was a mess, all tangled and frizzy; your face was painted in tears from how overstimulated you were, voice raw and sore from crying out repeatedly into an abyss, nipples red and sore from being played and rubbed, and your poor pussy crying for some relief of his heavy cock.
Andrew took a few more minutes to return some air to his lungs before raising his head to look down at you.
He couldn't help but smile at how proud he felt seeing how fucked out you looked. How hard you were fighting for consciousness, eyes fluttering, breaths already evening out before his own eyes. All while he was still inside of you. “Sweetheart…” he rasped out, curious to see your reaction.
But you only hummed, not even trying to keep your eyes open anymore. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before softly holding your hips as he pulled out. Your eyebrows furrowed a bit at the loss of contact, but your body was already dragging you back to sleep.
Andrew didnt care to dress himself, to cover up. He liked being nude; he liked having his body out without the restrictions of clothes. He instead leaned down lower to look at your pussy. Slowly, as to not disturb you, open your thigh a bit more to watch his cum leaking out of your gaping hole. To look at your puffy clit and lips in simple admiration.
He reached a finger out and simply scooped up some of his cum that leaked down and lightly painted it all over your pussy. Claiming it you all for himself.
Once satisfied with everything, he leaned back, just watching you. Already ready for tomorrow, when he could wake you up with his head between your thighs.
Thinking about Abbot x Ortho surgeon no bullshit reader I KNOOOOW that man has a competency kink. Seeing you come down from the OR ordering everyone around. Yea that gets him hard. Idk I’m just such a sucker for Baddie Careerwoman x some guy
The Natural Predator
summary: brendon park swam through the pitt with beady eyes and a blood lust. however, after he overstepped his territory, he finds out that there's a bigger fish in the water who's more than willing to put him in his place. and jack abbot loves nothing more than to watch his wife take down her prey.
tags: jack abbot x ortho!wife!reader, no large age gap (41/50), jack has a major competence kink, medical inaccuracies (making up some bullshit), way too much ocean imagery used, ED? we don't know her, jack is getting hard in the trauma room (hashtag praise kink), smut (fingering, dry humping, cumming in pants), 18+ NSFW MDNI
notes: thank you @in-ky for this request! this was yummy yummy to write and I hope it's up to your expectations! taglist is at the bottom, enjoy!
word count: 3.9k
The Pitt acted like the sea.
Busy hours and waning slow periods were the waves. Patients, nurses, and doctors walked as though they were fish, constantly swimming through the hoards of schools and catastrophes, not needing to keep their head above water because that's exactly where they thrived. They found purpose in bobbing and floating and flicking their tails to get from one room to another. It had its obstacles, seaweed hoards of poles and monitors and gurneys, but when night came, the Pitt settled into lapping motions instead of crashing roars.
However, the calmer waters meant it was primed for the bigger fish to swim cleanly, jaws chomping at whoever dared to get in their current.
Known to all, the Pitt had a few big fish to worry about. Victoria knew to steer clear of her mother, Dr. Shamsi, and her biting words. When Garcia got called down, Dennis turned heel and hid in triage (safety in numbers). Even Robby, the very top of the pecking order in the emergency department, vanished when he caught the hint of Gloria coming down the elevator.
Yet, like all oceans, some fish weren't lucky enough to swim away fast enough. In all instances, everyone never wanted to get caught by the PTMC's very own great white: Brendon Park.
"Look alive, Santos, we got an incoming," Jack stated as he passed the sleepy-looking R2, fresh from pulling the first half of her second night rotation.
Trinity blinked wearily before pushing up from the table. She'd been seated during a lull in waves that seemed to always happen between the hours of 1 and 3 am. Jack had warned that things got weird after the sun went down, but most she'd seen was a puking toddler and a man who came in complaining of sleep issues.
"What do we have?" she asked after finding a place next to the older attending. "And please tell me it's interesting, cause so far I haven't seen the weirdest or wildest cases come through. I'd hate to see that your little pep talk is full of errors."
Jack barked out a laugh. "Trust me; it only gets weirder from here."
"Don't jinx us, please," Ellis joined in, stopping on Jack's unoccupied side.
"Those don't exist!" Shen called out as he rounded a corner before disappearing back into a room.
Trinity's jaw popped as she yawned. "I need something fast paced or I'm going to fall asleep standing up."
"We can always have you organize the third storage room. I don't think it's been redone since I started here," Jack mentioned.
"So, like, way back in the medieval era?"
Parker raised her eyebrows and smirked at the brunette. "Ooo-hoo-hoo, Abbot you set yourself up for that one."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Try the third dynasty. Pretty sure I saw a rat go in there once and it never left."
"I'll take standing up, thank you."
"Incoming trauma goes straight into room 1," Lena announced.
The sliding doors to the ambulance bay brought a gust of cool wind before offering a patient and two paramedics to the small group of doctors. On the gurney laid a man in his thirties whose face had gone ashen, eyes not even visible.
"We got a thirty-two-year old male. Partial traumatic amputation, left lower extremity at the mid femur. Clean cut considering he was run over by roadside milling equipment approximately twenty-two minutes ago. Significant blood loss on scene," one of the paramedics said once they got within ear range. "Detached extremity is here. Packaged separately and wrapped in saline gauze, double bagged, transported on ice but not in direct contact."
Trinity noted the bag that sat near the patient's remaining foot. It reminded her of one of those goldfish bags you got for winning a fair game.
Jack stepped forward and grabbed the side of the gurney, helping roll the man straight into Trauma Room 1. Behind him, he heard the normal sounds of gloves snapping on before both Trinity and Parker joined him.
"On my count," he ordered. "One, two, three—" He grunted under the weight of the man as they slid him over onto the bed.
"The tourniquet was applied high and tight to the left thigh around 7 minutes after the accent. One CAT failed, second CAT secured on the way over. Hemorrhage controlled after the second application," the second paramedic stated while he began to wheel the gurney away.
Jack looked over the man. "What's his pressure?"
"Last manual was eighty-four over fifty. Heart rate one-forty-eight. Respiratory thirty-two. Sp-Oxygen ninety-four percent on fifteen liters non-rebreather. GCS fourteen. Lost consciousness on the way over."
"Fluids?"
"Minimal crystalloids. Two-fifty LR. We started whole blood—one unit in progress. One gram TXA given over ten minutes."
Jack smiled and nodded. "Excellent."
Trinity leaned over the man with her stethoscope already off and bell pressing into his chest. "Airway's intact. Breath sounds equal bilaterally."
"Femoral pulse right side weak," Parker called out, two fingers pressed into the man's right upper thigh before moving up to his wrist. "Radial's thready."
"Pressure's seventy-eight over forty-six," Mateo called out near the head of the bed.
"He's hemorrhagic until proven otherwise," Jack breathed, hands moving to gently pull back what was left of the man's pant legs. "Let's cut the tourniquet down enough for me to visualize."
"Dr. Abbot, you think they'd just cauterize the leg back in your day?" Trinity bit with a smirk.
"Nah," he argued, "they'd just wrap it and pray infection didn't set in before harvest."
Parker snipped slowly at the tourniquet, and blood instantly welled through the mess of flesh and bone.
"Back up and tighten it," Jack said, halting Parker from going any further. "That's arterial, and can someone page ortho? This looks like it'd be right up their alley."
"Please tell me Park's not on shift tonight," Trinity muttered, already walking over to the red phone mounted on the wall.
"Well, if you hear the Jaws theme song when they put you on hold, you'll know."
While Trinity talked with upstairs, Jack and Parker did their best to pack the stump as much as possible, combat gauze soaking up red as fast as they put it on.
It couldn't have been more than five minutes later when the hiss of the trauma room's doors filled the air, the automatic sensor holding long enough for whoever to slip through. Jack's heart beat wildly as he held the gauze, trying not to think about his own experience of being on the receiving end of the painful pressure.
"What do you have for me, Abbot?"
If the room could have groaned, it would have caused ripples by the sheer sound, because, of course, Brendon Park just had to be the one to swim through. Trinity glanced up at him, eyes tracking the way he immediately hovered over their work like a shark coasting around its prey.
"Partial traumatic amputation to his left leg. Whatever machine he got under cut clean through his femur. Leg was bagged on site, and blood flow is slightly waning under the gauze and consistent pressure."
Park didn't seem all that impressed, and his eye brow raised when he spotted the fair-fish bag full of amputated leg sitting on a tray to the side. He narrow eyed the way Jack's hands almost wrapped completely around the stump, gloves speckled with blood that managed to seep through.
"You're going to damage the vessels if you hold on that hard," he muttered. "Thought you attendings knew better."
Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. "The pressure is what's keeping this man from bleeding out. But by all means, I can lighten up if you want to play Legos and 'click the leg back in place' on a dead body."
"You're the ones who paged me," he bit, teeth chomping around the word. "Unfortunately we can't all be surgeons, or maybe this ER would know how to perfectly pack a partial traumatic amputation."
"Now, now, let's play nice, Park," a new voice joined over the hiss of the trauma doors. "Without the ER, we wouldn't be standing here now would we?"
Now, Jack's heart beat wildly for a different reason. In a small glance, his eyes settled on the familiar figure of the Pitt's stand-in night shift Orthopedic Surgeon when Walsh had the shift off.
"Oh, boy," Parker whispered beside him. She nudged Trinity slightly, body twisting so she could be near the R2's ear. "You asked for wild, and, well, it's about to get wild."
Trinity barely processed her words as she fixated on the woman who just walked in. She couldn't note how put together she looked with her hair tucked neatly, gray roots peaking through a very expensive looking hair dye. Her white coat was crisp, and Trinity could only guess that it had been tailored with the way it hugged perfectly at her shoulders and waist. If she let herself, Trinity would be drooling, yet, the glimmer of a pair of rings that could probably pay off her entire student debt held her back from sputtering out some illy planned pick-up line.
"Nice of you to join us," Park gritted out, clearly not happy with the new addition. "But I had this handled.
You hummed lowly while you looked over the leg yourself and the hands around it. "Sure you did if by having it handled you meant berating Dr. Abbot and his more than capable team."
"His pressure is way off, and if he keeps it up, the leg isn't going to be able to attach back perfectl—"
"Aht, aht, aht," you tutted like talking to a child. "You're done talking, because obviously you can't tell the right amount of pressure from the wrong."
You stepped closer to the bed and leaned over the railing, never hovering but making sure your presence was noted.
"If you'd taken a breath and took the chance to actually look at the patient instead of wondering if he could be another gold start to your chart," you stated calmly, "you'd find that Dr. Abbot is currently keeping the femoral artery at around—" You leaned in closer to see just how tightly Jack's fingers held the gauze in place. "—250 to 300 mmHgs of the standard pressure needed."
Jack had to keep himself from blushing under your praise and keep concentrating on, just as you said, the needed standard pressure. He guessed that Park would back off, however, the bigger man wasn't one to ever give up the last word.
"No offense—"
"None taken," you slyly interrupted.
Park huffed, visibly irritated the more he stood there. "But clearly, they should have paged me the moment this man was wheeled in instead of trying to play hero and cut off the bleeding." He crossed his arms and puffed his chest. "They're not surgeons; they're—"
You held up a hand. "I'll stop you right there, Brendon. Yes, they might not have the specialty experience we both have, but they are more than equipped and competent to handle a partial traumatic amputation." Your lip crinkled in a small sneer. "Dr. Abbot is also more knowledgeable about this type of injury than the both of us, or do I have to remind you that he's lived through something like this."
Elation bloomed in the pit of your stomach as you watched Park swallow thickly, but you were far from done.
"And, as someone who volunteers as a S.W.A.T medic after spending countless hours down here, Dr. Abbot has undergone thousands of hours of medical, tactical, and physical training. His muscles are earned through hard work, unlike the ones you like to boast on your Instagram after doing a few sit ups and curls to increase the blood flow of your arms that are more for aesthetics than actual strength."
Jack was hard.
He was so incredibly hard, cock already pushing against the front of his scrub pants. He just prayed that Parker and Trinity would continue looking at you with stars in their eyes and not down at his . . . predicament.
Without moving, you held out your hand, palm up towards the ceiling. "Can someone hand me the case tablet? I'm taking over this, and I will personally be scrubbing in myself."
Park blanched at that, body finally squirming under your unwavering eyes. "You can't—"
"I can't . . . what, exactly? Take over a case while I am currently your superior as the chief orthopedic attending on call?" you shot back while your fingers curled around the tablet Mateo handed over. "Because that's exactly what I'm doing." You glanced down at the screen before looking back up into Park's dark, blue eyes. “You're more than welcome to observe, Dr. Park, but please, never insult me or any of PTMC's doctors ever again, or I will make sure that you're stuck wrapping soft tissue sprains for months."
You turned around with a smile on your face, demeanor completely the opposite of what you'd just shown. "Thank you three for making sure this man didn't bleed out on the spot. We'll prep an operating theater and get him transferred up shortly. Best of luck for the rest of the night."
Your steps were light as you walked away, however you couldn't help but let out an Hoo-Ahh! over your shoulder.
Jack watched in deep satisfaction that Park didn't even attempt to say anything else, choosing to walk away while he still held the ability to operate in the future. The mechanical doors hissed and closed off the room from the rest of the Pitt.
Only the monitors kept beeping continually, filling the otherwise silent room. Jack tilted his head down and closed his eyes while he took a deep breath.
After a moment, Trinity was the first to speak. "Who the fuck was that? I think my world's been rocked."
Jack looked back up, hazel eyes trained in the direction that you disappeared off into. He swallowed the pooling saliva down in one gulp before answering. "My wife."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The surgical cap tied tightly around your forehead itched, hair underneath poking and being pulled an at odd angle as a result of your haste to put it on. Park had overstepped, and you needed to show him that he wasn't the biggest fish in the Pitt's ocean, because that title belonged to you.
Jack would probably laugh at it all later due to your enjoyment of underwater documentaries and fascination with orcas, especially with how they hunted and preyed upon sharks. You'd seen the way he had tried to not look at you for very long down in the trauma room. The thought of him being embarrassed quickly passed through your mind before you shook your head.
He was never one to be ashamed of being your husband, often boasting at the fact that he put a ring on your finger before anyone else could. He loved you fierce and hard but also soft and sweet, so him looking away had to be because he was focused on making sure the man didn't bleed out before you could get his leg put back together with ease.
The hall to the surgical room was empty as you stripped from your gown and gloves and pushed them down into the nearest hazard bin. Your footsteps echoed while you walked toward the elevator, wanting to go back down and at least give Parker and Dr. Santos the good news. However, the moment you passed by one of the empty recovery rooms, a hand reached out, grabbed hold of your arm and tugged you in.
"What the fuck!" you shouted, voice coming out in a screech.
To your right, the door shut, and the motion-sensor lights flickered on, revealing the person who had yanked you. You sighed in relief.
"Hi," Jack whispered, pinning you to the wall, chest pressed against yours.
"Jack, what the hell are you doing up here?" you hissed. "I always come down to give you the update."
He said nothing and tucked his face into your neck. His lips lightly grazed your pulse point before his tongue peeked out and ran hotly along your jaw. Your hands instantly flew up and sunk deep into his greying curls.
"Jack?" you questioned again. "Wha-what are you doing?"
"Just loving on my wife," he muttered, teeth now gently nipping at your skin. "Can't a husband do that?"
You barked out a laugh that quickly turned into a moan as he sucked harshly. "I mean, he can. But normally he doesn't until after we get home."
Jack's neediness sent questions washing through your body as he slotted his thick thigh between your legs. Another moan punched out at the feeling, your scrub material bunching in delicious pressure against your heat.
"Jack," you breathily sighed. "Baby, we have work; we can wait and pick this up later."
"Can't," he bit, lips and teeth still attacking whatever inch of your neck he could reach. "Can't wait. Been hard since you left."
"Since I left?" you echoed, mind spinning until it clicked. "Wait, Jack—"
He hummed in an answer.
"Don't tell me you got hard because I told off Park in the ER."
Jack stilled against you and sighed heavily. "Is it really surprising that I'm turned on because my incredibly hot wife knocked asshole Park the Shark down a couple of pegs while simultaneously singing my praises?"
He pulled back enough that your eyes met his, the hazel hues already swimming with heat. Internally, you battled the pros and cons of having letting Jack continue, but obviously the pros definitely outweighed the cons, and he noticed the moment all fight drained out of you.
"Fine," you gave in, "but you need to hurry before either you or I get paged, and you're left with blue balls for another four hours."
"Hurry is my middle name," he quipped, facing going back in to mauling your neck.
You rolled your eyes. "No it's Waynefucking jeez.," the comeback dying into a moan half-way up your throat.
Jack's right hand rested against the length of your throat while his left danced along the waistline of your pants, fingers teasingly dipping below and toying with the hem of your underwear. He drew another gasp from your lips when he pushed his thigh up higher, the muscle nesting against your core. Taking your open mouth to his advantage, his hot, slick tongue dipped deep between your teeth and licked around. His chest rumbled in a moan at the taste of you.
While he kept your mouth distracted, his hand went further down your underwear, knuckles brushing against your navel until his fingertips found exactly what they were looking for. He couldn't help but groan at the feeling of your wet, sticky arousal already pooling between your folds.
"You're already so fucking wet. How long have you been like this, sweetheart?" he panted after pulling back. "Did you like putting big ole Park in his place while your husband watched? Cause I enjoyed every minute of it."
To show his enjoyment, Jack thrusted up against your stomach, his hardness evident through his own pants. Your eyes widened at the size of his bulge, cunt clenching with the thought of him putting it right into you. You whimpered loudly into the air, head tilted back to rest against the wall.
His pointer finger circled around your throbbing clit in soft, minuscule motions and drew pleasured breaths from your lungs. When you started rocking back and forth, he reached a bit lower before sinking two fingers into your sopping, fluttering hole. The thick and sudden intrusion had you whining.
"Jack! Ooh-ohh-oooohhh," you sputtered as the tips of both fingers found your sweet spot with experience swiftness. Stars dotted your vision, and your stomach and thighs tightened. "Feels good shiittt."
"Yeah?" Jack asked as his hips continued thrusting up into your center, the band in his gut drawing tighter. He could practically feel the clenching of your cunt around his throbbing length when you tightened around his fingers. "You close, sweetheart?"
You nodded. "C-close. So, so, so, so close; you're gonna make me cum."
Your words had Jack whimpering against your neck, eyes pinching closed to not blow his load prematurely. He needed to make you cum before even thinking of letting go himself.
He withdrew his hand in order to push your scrubs and underwear down, giving him more room to thrust his fingers upward while thumbing at your clit. Without the extra layer, your slick arousal dripped down his hand and spotted his dark scrubs.
"There we goooo," he drew out, words raspy between his gasps. "Soaking my hand and my pants, sweetheart."
You were getting close, and your hips canted harder to meet his fingers. Your inner thighs clenched around his hand, and a high-pitched whine squeezed between your teeth.
"I'm gonna cum!" you keened. "Gonna-gonna-shitfuckfuckfuckfuck! Jack!"
Your stomach flipped as your walls clamped down tightly around Jack's fingers. To draw out your high, he continued to circle your bundle of nerves and shallowly push in his fingers. He, however, didn't stop grinding against you, and while you were focused on feeling every hot dip of pleasure from climax, Jack grunted twice before his hips stilled and his cum spilled from his leaking tip into his boxers, soaking though to stain his scrubs.
You sighed dreamily and held Jack's wrist to stop his motions, your core becoming too sensitive for him to continue. Your chest heaved against Jack's, and he leaned back into languidly kiss at your mouth.
"Never," you managed to get out between kisses. "Never thought my husband would have a competency kink. Learn something new every day."
"Like I said: it was hot," he said.
You smirked when he finally met his eyes. "Hot enough to make you cum in your pants, I guess. What are your doctors going to think when you go back down in different color scrubs than you had on before?"
Jack laughed loudly. "I think Trinity will be too distracted because you are definitely her type, and it won't be the worst thing Ellis has ever seen."
Heat flooded your cheeks at the remembering of the one time Parker caught you and Jack actually fucking in an on call room. She teased the two of you for months after you promised to help her out with getting a shot at a surgical fellowship.
Once your pants were back in place, you smooshed close back into Jack's chest, cheek squished against his pec while his hands rubbed up and down your back in slow motions. Aftercare in a recovery room could never be the same as snuggles in bed, but Jack would be damned if he let you go without a little post-coital hugging and kissing.
You had just gotten his lips back on yours when the pager at his side buzzed to life. He pulled back with a groan.
"Duty calls."
"Duty always has the worst timing," you grumbled. "See you in four hours and then round two at home?"
Jack smirked and tapped the side of your ass. "Maybe I'll make sure Park comes back down so you can yell at him again."
You snorted, hand coming up to slap at your nose. "Your foreplay preferences are so weird. Maybe I should yell at you. I think you'd like that, Dr. Abbot."
With that, you slipped out the door and back into the empty hallway, leaving Jack in yet another blushy mess and length twitching at the thought of you talking down at him like you did for Park.
Summary: When you let slip to Lena one night that you want the kind of love where someone would do anything for you, Pope sees his opportunity to give you exactly that. His obsession with you now perfect since...isn't that what you want?
Pairing: Pope Cody x Lena's babysitter!fem!reader
TW: 18+ MDNI, NSFW; Sex scene includes oral f recieving, fingering, p-in-v, slight breeding kink if you squint; Andrew is down bad for the reader; reader has a crush on Andrew; Andrew prevents her from leaving and makes the first move; Lena and the reader are really close; mentions of alcohol. I think that's it. I hope so.
Credit: GIF by @littlebatx
A/N: Can I be completely honest that I have no clue what this fic is anymore? I wrote the beginning and by the time I got to the smut, the story I was intending was gone and Pope was just...sweet and...perfect...so. I dunno know, guys. Hope you enjoy it!
Pope remembers when he met you for the first time, June 1st 2012. You were eighteen and bright-eyed, happy, smiling. Precious. Catherine needed time to herself, needed help with little Lena, two years old at the time and you were there. The babysitter.
He met you when he went over to talk to Baz about a job and found that Baz and Catherine were out and you were there, holding Lena on your hip.
“Hi,” you had said, your expression concerned, drawn together, suspicious, your body put between him and your charge, the door not entirely open. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for my brother, Baz,” he had replied and your eyes had narrowed in that analytical way you have, the one he didn’t know then, but he grew to know. Grew to love. “Where can I find him?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell have gone out. They won’t be back for a few hours. Should I take a message?” You were perfectly polite, but all he’d done was shaken his head, angry at the stone wall you’d put up, the impenetrableness of the force which you created.
“I’ll be back later,” is all he’d said, storming off, walk rigid like always. He’d been told by his brothers that he didn’t walk like a human and when he’d reached his car, he’d glanced back, noticing the door still open. You were watching him, making sure he left, protective of Lena. Of the girl you were tasked to look after.
That was the first time he met you, but it was not when he fell into deep, sickening love, a kind of love that others would call obsession, stalking. That time came later, after you’d been introduced to him by Catherine and Baz and he became Mr. Cody, someone okay to be around Lena.
You were always there, watching over Lena, your laugh always echoing, infectious. A college student, he’d been told. One studying science, but no one ever told him what science, only that you were quite good, quite skilled at what you did. What you were studying. He could sometimes see you doing complicated equations while Lena scribbled with crayons.
But he did not fall into his love (obsession) until October 27th 2012, a date seared into his memory. He’d been tasked with checking on Lena, a task from Smurf who didn’t like Catherine and he knew that you were watching her, most likely at the park.
He’d shown up, lurking in the trees, watching as you played with Lena in the sand, pushed her on the swings, looking for all the world like a young mother or older sister. There was just something about you that made him feel you truly cared for the girl. He watched and he felt something shift inside of him, like the compass in his chest that was always steered to Catherine now steered towards you.
You’d looked up at that moment, your body haloed by the sun, attention on him. You had noticed him and waved him over, calling out “Mr. Cody!” Lena had grown excited and he complied, standing there awkwardly, standing there unsure what to do, unsure what to say the way he always was.
He did not know intimacy. He did not know love. He knew what had paid for, had been purchased, bought, and expected of him. He did not know what it felt to have someone entirely his to be someone else’s entire. He knew what it was liked to be used, forced and hurt.
He knew heartbreak.
But you made him want more. You made him want love. Especially because as Lena fell asleep against you, the three of you sitting on a grassy knoll, watching the birds as you explained that Lena liked to do, you had been at peace. You had not been scared of him, ashamed. You had felt comfortable, safe.
And you read him like an open book.
“You’re in love with Cath,” you had whispered and he remembers that he looked at you with shock, surprise. You had smiled at him, the kind of smile that came from being used to people’s surprise. “You don’t hide it, Mr. Cody,” you continued, the smile turning sad. “I just wish more for both of you.”
“What do you mean?” he had asked and you sighed, your hand stilling on Lena’s head from where you had been smoothing down her ever-growing dark hair.
“I mean that Cath deserves someone who loves her wholly and you deserve to love someone capable of loving you back, Mr. Cody.” He had wished that you would call him Andrew, called him by his name, but it seemed like you were incapable of that, a line drawn between professional and personal. Except for Cath, it seemed.
“You call her Cath,” he had said, unsure of how to ask, unsure of what to say and you had looked at him with softened eyes and a smile, one nostalgic.
“Because she asked me too,” you’d whispered. “She said that I’m more like Lena’s older sister than her babysitter and that I should call her Cath.” He had wanted to ask you what would happen if he asked you to call him Andrew, but he understood then that he was not Cath. That Cath was Cath and he was Mr. Cody, a line forever drawn.
But he didn’t want that line there. He just wanted you. You as his and he as yours. A part of him thought you wanted that too.
And then he fell headfirst into loving you, learning your music preferences, your favourite colours and foods and days. It didn’t matter, what you loved he knew about. He just wished that he made it onto that list.
When he was arrested in 2013, you were the person he thought of, cared about. Worried for. You visited him once at Folsom, a backpack on your shoulders, your body tense and rigid as you stepped into the visiting room, putting the phone to your ear as he did the same on the other side.
“I heard Mr. Blackwell and Deran talking about you being here,” you had said and he’d swallowed hard at your words, at this admission that he mattered enough to you for you to do that. “I thought I’d come by.”
“Why?” he’d asked, watching as your face shifted, shuttered, eyes darting around, refusing to settle on him.
“Because I figured no one else was.” It was true, the truest truth he’d heard since…well, ever and it did not surprise him that it came from you. You seemed honest to a fault. “And Lena wanted me to tell you about her ballet recital.” You had pulled your phone out, putting the screen against the dividing wall so he could watch as his niece toddled around the stage in a glittery blue costume. “Made the costume myself,” you’d told him and he felt his heart pound and pound and pound harder and harder because you were so…perfect.
You came every so often for a visit, some update about Lena over the three years he was away, but you mainly wrote him letters, keeping him apprised of her daily life, but never you. It was still a line drawn between you and him and what you could be.
But in the walls of Folsom, he pretended that the wall did not exist, spoke of you to the inmates as his wife. His, his, his, his, his. He wanted you to be his. So badly.
When he got out, the first person he went to was you, your apartment number burned onto his mind and he stayed in the rental vehicle he’d gotten, watching you through your curtains, watching as you moved around. Alone.
Blissfully alone.
He knew then, that night, his first of freedom, that you would be his.
He just had to wait until the time was right.
“Are you crying?!” Lena cries, standing up from the couch, her little face twisted into an expression of shock and disgust, hands on her slim hips.
“No,” you lie, looking away, your hands pressing against your eyes, moving from in to out, wiping away your tears.
“You so are! Why? That movie’s just weird,” she says and you can hear her grab her glass from the coffee table, small feet making a surprising amount of noise as she stomps to the kitchen.
“The Notebook is not weird, you little gremlin!” you call out, your voice teasing despite the thickness still there. The movie reduces you to tears every time, the way that love wins and yet it doesn’t. The way they fight for their happy ending and yet lose it so quickly.
“He’s so obsessed with her!” Lena calls out and you roll your eyes, untangling your legs from one another and the fluffy blanket you’ve curled up under, planting your feet flat on the hardwood floor, pushing up to a stand, grabbing the popcorn bucket and your glass, walking through the living room, back towards the kitchen, the movie’s credits still rolling.
“And what?” you ask, stepping in, walking to the sink while Lena pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. “What’s wrong with him being obsessed with her like that? I think it’s romantic.”
“He never moves on,” Lena says, her spare hand held up, index finger of her right hand, the one currently wrapped around the bottle ticking down the reasons, folding each finger. “He, like, falls apart and is all unkempt because she’s gone—”
“He did survive war too, you know,” you interrupt, but she waves you away, silencing your protests with an enthusiastic wave of her hand.
“He builds the house for her,” she says. “And he fights to have her even when she’s marrying someone else!”
“That doesn’t count!” you exclaim, turning from her to the sink, running some water in your glass, the one that held you cream soda. “She wasn’t in love with him. She loved Noah the whole time too.”
“Yeah, but,” Lena continues, “she was moving on. And Noah ruined it! Besides! Lon’s way cuter!”
“You take that back!” you cry, spinning around, eyes wide as they settle on the child who has completely and totally destroyed your faith in humanity. “Ryan Gosling is way hotter than James Marsden! That rain scene, man!” Lena’s laughing so hard that it’s more a cackle, her seven, nearly eight year old body, convulsing with her laughter while you roll your eyes, leaning back against the kitchen counter, hands splayed flat on the cool, smooth granite.
“I just,” she says, now that she’s calmed down, “think it’s creepy how in love with her Noah was. You know.”
“I don’t know,” you muse. “I think it would be romantic to have someone…willing do to anything for you—like the house. I think…ah, man, I think I would want that.”
“You’re weird,” she says, tone flat and thick black brows drawn together, her expression so stern and serious that it’s now your turn to laugh, the kind of laugh that starts deep in your stomach, rumbling through you.
“Yeah,” you tell her, amidst the laughter. “Don’t listen to me, kiddo. Now, go get ready for bed.” She runs past you, up to the stairs, her feet padding on the carpet noisily despite the fact that it’s carpet and she’s no more than 60 pounds soaking wet.
You can’t help but laugh again, the sound more of an exhalation than any real laugh, as you run some water in the sink, adding soap, knowing that Mr. Cody prefers his house clean, obsessively so.
A part of you wonders what would happen if you didn’t bother to clean, what he would say, but you know there’s no use going down that path, even if you sometimes wish that he would speak to you. Look at you.
But that line of thinking leads nowhere.
It’s best to just close it down.
Pope’s heart is in his throat, pulsing and pounding erratically, his lungs tightening and clenching, constricting and burning. He heard you, those words I think it would romantic to have someone willing to do anything for you…I think I would want that still echoing around him, surrounding him, choking him.
He’s been waiting for the right time, the right way and here it is. He just has to show you that he’ll do anything for you.
And he can do that.
The club is loud, music pulsing in the air, almost in a way that you can see, the sound so loud, more noise than music. Your friends are laughing, yelling at each other just to be heard over the music, but you’re quiet, hand turning your glass in circles, a single shot of tequila downed. You’re not much of a drinker, never have been, preferring to stay present in your mind. Preferring to stay present.
“YOU OKAY?” Jonathan yells, his voice still just barely audible as you turn to him, shrugging.
“IT’S TOO LOUD,” you reply and he nods, looping his arm through yours, his touch gentle and kind, sweet in his way. Jonathan is sweet though and pretty, bright green eyes set in skin the colour of toffee, dark hair curling down his forehead and a smile even and pretty. Not crooked in the slightest. Not like…nope, you won’t go there, not even in your own mind.
“Better?” he asks, pushing out of the club, the autumn breeze cool and crisp, tinged with cigarette smoke and car exhaust, yet still better than the sweat and alcohol smell of the club that mingles with mildew and broken leather.
“Much,” you tell him, sighing and leaning against the brick wall of the club, your head falling back against it, a buzzing in your jacket pocket. “One sec,” you tell him, walking a ways away, pulling your phone out, noticing LENA in all caps on your screen. “Lena?! What’s wrong?”
“Uncle Deran fell asleep before he could help with the bedtime routine!” she cries, her voice thick and pained and you sigh, your eyes closing for a minute. The bedtime routine became sacred after Cath left, an open sore, her disappearance still a question of what? Where? Who? When? Lena needs to see her door close, needs to know someone is there, the way Cath isn’t.
You wanted a single Saturday night to yourself, with friends. You wanted to have fun, to return to a world that wasn’t full of the Cody’s and the Blackwell’s, but rather the life you could have had if you had never accepted the babysitting gig that your friend, Elizabeth, skipped out on seven years ago.
You wanted to forget and be someone young. You wanted to act your age. But you just can’t get that.
“Hey, I have to call it a night, Jonathan,” you say, tucking your phone into your pocket after assuring Lena that you’ll be there, just wait for a bit, you’ll be there, always.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, hands tucked into his jean pockets, cheeks darkening from the cold.
“My…Lena needs my help,” you tell him, your lips twisting into an apologetic smile, but he shrugs, eyebrows rising.
“I could give you a lift and then, you know, when you’ve helped her…maybe you and I could grab something to eat or…something,” he says and you can feel something inside of you, some kind of feeling that you don’t entirely know rise as you nod and he smiles, a bright kind of smile.
“That sounds good,” you tell him, mind only half here, the other part on Lena and who was supposed to be watching her.
Why wasn’t Mr. Cody there?
Where is he?
Did Lena lose another person again?
You fumble with the keys that Mr. Cody gave you, the ones needed for the days that you pick Lena up or for the occasional times that you have to take her somewhere and lock up and unlock it again to come back.
They’re slipping through your fingers, chiming and clinking against one another as you finally slot it into the door, unlocking first the deadbolt then the knob, twisting the handle and pushing the door open. You step into a quiet house, still except for the sound of snores coming from the couch.
Deran, the fucker.
“Deran!” you hiss, closing the door behind you with more force than necessary, delighting in the way he jumps on the couch, hissing shit in a startled voice, head swivelling until he sees you, standing, arms crossed, no doubt a seriously pissed off look on your face.
“What are you doing here?” he asks you, blinking, sleep still heavy in his eyes, in his voice.
“I’m here because Lena called me, fucking crying because you fell asleep before the bedtime routine could happen,” you hiss, watching as realization dawns on his face, his hand coming up, scrubbing down his face as he murmurs “shit” for a different reason now. “And where the fuck is Mr. Cody? He’s supposed to be here watching Lena.”
“He left real fast. Said he had to check on some girl,” he answers, his voice becoming more alert as he sits up and you grit your teeth together, turning to dart up the stairs, taking them two at a time, conscious of the fact that Lena’s up there, she’s sad and scared and her routine has been thrown out of order.
“Lena!” you call out when you reach the second floor landing, pushing open her partly closed door to see her sitting on her bed, face stained with tears. “Lena,” you whisper, “let’s do the routine, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers, standing and walking over to you, her face brightening at your presence. “You look fancy,” she says, “were you out with a boy? And did he look like the love of your life Ryan Gosling.”
“Oh ha-ha, little one,” you say and she giggles, heading across the hall to the bathroom to rewash her face and brush her teeth, but in truth…Jonathan kinda does look like Ryan Gosling. But even as you think that, you swallow hard because that’s not exactly what you want. You want someone older, you want someone rougher around the edges who never looks at you and is awkward and someone you should never want, but do. Someone with dark auburn curls and hazel eyes…you blink, refocusing on the here and now and the nice boy waiting for you who has never seen the inside of a prison.
“Okay,” Lena says, bounding into her room, her face clean and words trailing minty breath. “I’m ready.” She runs across the room, leaping onto her twin bed, disturbing her piles of stuffies, tucking herself in as you cross the room towards her, kneeling down and smoothing the hair back from her face.
“I miss, Mommy,” she whispers and you can feel something crack inside of you. Something you’ve kept inside, locked up tight.
“She was a good woman,” you whisper, feeling tears in the back of your throat as you press a kiss to Lena’s forehead, tucking her blanket in tight all around her and rising, swallowing hard. Lena really does look like Cath, does carry that bit of her.
“She liked you,” Lena says and those words threaten to bring you to your knees.
“I liked her too. She was my friend.” Lena nods, satisfied with your answer before snuggling deeper into her blanket, eyes still open, watching as you click off her lamp and walk to the door, pulling it closed while you mouth good night. You know as the door clicks shut, the light flipped off that now she’ll fall asleep. Because she saw you leave.
You didn’t disappear in the dead of night.
You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head against the onslaught of tears that threaten you, bounding down the stairs preparing to rip Deran a new one, except…the living room is empty. You glance around, seeing nothing of Deran, instead just Mr. Cody standing there in the entrance way, his hazel eyes on you.
“Where’s Deran?” you call out, watching as Mr. Cody walks towards you, his presence making your mouth go dry and you swallow hard, his walk like that of a predator.
“I sent him home,” he says, his voice husky, rough. Dark, in a way that you like but wish you didn’t. You shouldn’t like him; you can’t like him. You are nothing if not professional.
“Well,” you say, nodding once and moving to step past him to the door. “I best let you get on with your night. Lena’s all tucked in, Mr. Cody.” You begin to walk, but he catches your wrist, his fingers calloused and warm against your skin in a way that feels good, feels nice, but no, stop that. You can’t think that way.
“It’s late,” he says.
“I know,” you answer, keeping your gaze trained straight ahead. “But I have a ride waiting for me outside.”
“The boy?” he asks, his voice darkening, deepening. Primal in a way, if a sound can really be primal, which, you think it can.
“Yeah, Jonathan…why?” you ask, feeling a small bit of fear like ice creeping up your spine, goosebumps spreading along your skin.
“I sent him home,” he says and you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and you know his body is far too close, but you also don’t want him to step away and god, you’ve always had that line of professionalism, but this man…since Cath disappeared, he’s been the best with Lena and you never expected to feel anything for him, but…you do.
“Why?” you whisper and then he’s tugging on your wrist, turning you around, pulling you against him, his broad chest against yours.
“Because it’s late,” he whispers, his words actually rumbling through his chest, echoing into your body. “Because you’re already home.” You swallow hard at his words, at the way he’s just said that this…his home…is yours too.
It’s not like you haven’t stayed here before on nights when you’ve been told that no one will be watching Lena and you’re needed for a few days, but calling it home…that’s different. That’s making it seem like he likes you, that he caresfor you.
“I’m not home,” you whisper, looking down at the ground where the toes of your shoes are against his. You forgot to take your shoes off in the rush to get to Lena and you never do, but he’s forgotten too.
“Eyes on me,” he says, two fingers under your chin, tipping your head up, your gaze landing on him because how could it not? Everyone else is afraid of him, but how can they be, when he’s kind and caring and sweet and he’s quiet. He doesn’t just speak what’s on his mind, he looks at a room and decides what to do from there and god, professionalism. Professionalism, you remind yourself even as his proximity is fraying the last of your control because his lips look reallysoft and kissable.
Oh god, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?
His stare is unrelenting, tracing every part of you as if he expects to find some damage on you, but you’ve been safe all night.
“Why were you gone, Mr. Cody?” you whisper, noticing the way his jaw tightens at your words, the way his eyes darken and the grip on your wrist tightens.
“Andrew,” he spits out, “call me Andrew.”
“Why were you gone, Andrew?” you ask and he drags his fingers from under your chin to trace your lips, the digits replaced by his thumb pressing down on your bottom lip, a pressure that has a fevered feeling growing beneath your skin.
“I was watching someone,” he whispers, his voice husky, watching every bit of your face for a reaction. For a response.
“Who?” you ask, the word just slightly muffled by his thumb digging into your lip.
“Who do you think?” he asks and Jesus Christ, has his voice always been this hot, this capable of getting a reaction out of you? And you really need to leave now, really need to get going, but with the way he’s looking at you, the closeness of your bodies, you press your thighs together, hoping he doesn’t notice.
But of course he does.
Because he’s Andrew fucking Cody. And he notices everything. And really, where does he get off on ruining your professionalism, on breaking that line you’ve built, a tentative wall? Where does he get his attitude? And what deity decided that making your boss look like that was fair?!
You hate your life right now, but also not because as he presses his body against yours, the hard lines of his body fitting against the soft lines of yours, you realize that everything you’ve imagined is not even close to reality.
God did not make everyone equal because Andrew Cody might be the hottest man in the entire world and you are so fired if you don’t end this now.
“I have to go!” you blurt out, pulling back and sliding your wrist from his hold, running from him to the front door, but he’s faster than you, putting his body between you and the door.
“No,” he says.
“Why?” you ask him, swallowing hard feeling both serious lust and fear inside of you, the two warring together and yet working together at the same time too.
“Because you said you wanted this,” he whispers and you can feel confusion added to the choking mix of emotions, your throat tight, lungs burning and chest constricting, heart pounding, pounding, pounding almost as odd a beat as “Edge of Seventeen”’s drumbeat.
“Wanted what?” You don’t want the answer, you’re slightly afraid of it because you really don’t know what he’s talking about, only that he’s blocking an exit.
“Someone willing to do anything for you.” His words ring in the room where just yesterday, in the kitchen, you mentioned that to Lena, how you thought Noah was romantic and Jesus! He was there the entire time.
“That’s…that’s out of context,” you tell him, blinking fast, trying to see him while also not see him at the same time.
“What context did I need?” he whispers, stepping towards you, steps slow and quiet as if he’s afraid that you’re a doe he’s about to startle before he can get off the killing blow and should that idea really turn you on as much as it does? “Because I would do for you anything that Noah did for Allie? You want a house like he fixed for her because I’ll do it, sweetheart. I’ll do anything for you.”
“What?” you whisper, confusion winning out over fear because those aren’t the words of someone who only wants one thing. Those are the words of someone in love. Those are the words of someone who wants you for more than sex.
“Don’t you get it?” he asks and honestly, not really, because this is the most he’s ever spoken to you before. “I’m in love with you. Completely in love with you.”
“You don’t talk…to me,” you whisper, turning from him, from the words he’s saying that sound pretty and honest but at the same time like lies and you walk, your shoes dragging against the hardwood floor, your steps slightly off-beat towards the kitchen, the tile floor.
“What was it that Noah said?” you hear Andrew whisper behind you. “‘So it’s not gonna be easy. It’s going to be really hard; we’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, every day. You and me…every day.’”
“What did you memorize the movie?” you whisper-yell, spinning around, taking note of his relentless proximity to you.
“Maybe,” he whispers and the sheepish expression on his face has you laughing, but not a laugh built of humour, more of someone delirious and surprised and horny, yeah, horny too because he has no right to look that good.
You can feel your knees giving way, this night having been too much, too much and you slide down the counter, the handles of the cabinet digging into your spine as you sink down, your head landing in-between your knees.
“June first,” you hear him say, his body landing beside yours. “Twenty-twelve. The first day I met you.”
“What?” you whisper, your head pressing against your left knee as you tilt your head, looking at him.
“Yeah,” he says, “I was looking for Baz, but you were there, Lena on your hip, watching me until I disappeared.”
“No way you loved me then,” you whisper, your arms wrapped around your knees, body folded into a self-contained unit.
“No,” he agrees. “That came later. October 27th 2012. You invited me over when I was lurking and I fell in love with you because you were the first person not afraid of me and you talked to me. And I didn’t want to live without that. And then…you visited me in prison and wrote me letters…and…you love me too. I know you do.”
“Mr. Cody,” you whisper, but he shakes his head, eyes darkening again.
“Andrew,” he hisses, “call me Andrew.”
“You’re my boss,” you cry. “I can’t be with you. That breaks every moral and ethical code I have!”
“But do you love me?” And for once, you fall silent, the answer in you truth, the answer resting on your tongue a lie and you don’t like to lie.
“I knew it,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours, his hands pulling you, shifting you, your body coming to rest on his lap, straddling him as he kisses you relentlessly. He kisses like he stares, deep and dark and predatory. It’s not a battle or a conquest, but a claiming, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip, his tongue controlling yours, sliding along it and leaving you breathless, his hands everywhere, hips moving up into yours, the bulge pressing into you, telling you just how much he wants you.
“Andrew,” you whisper, pulling back from his lips as best you can, his hand on the back of your head, holding you close to him. “We can’t do this. Lena’s home.”
“I’m sick of people telling me what I can’t do,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous and so unfairly hot. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Andrew…” He’s kissing you again and you don’t want to fight this. You don’t want to stop, you want this closeness, you’ve wanted this for so long, but you need assurances. You need to know that this isn’t going to ruin the babysitting job. “Pause,” you murmur against his lips and he listens, his head falling against yours, forehead pressing against you, eyes on you.
“What?” he asks, his voice not curt, but concerned.
“What does this mean for me? You’re my boss, Andrew,” you whisper and then he’s shifting again, rising, pulling you with him and shoving your hips into the counter, the granite digging into the small of your back, his body pressing into you, caging you in.
“Be Mrs. Cody,” he whispers, one hand tracing your face with a feather-light touch. “Be Lena’s aunt…just,” he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder, “be mine. Please.”
“I don’t have a ring,” you whisper, “but alright.” And then he’s lifting his head and looking at you, deep and dark and now you understand that expression he’s been giving you for years: love. He does love you.
Then his lips are on yours again, tongue sliding along yours as he guides you up the stairs, his hands firm on your hips, guiding even as his lips trail from your mouth to your neck, to the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth sinking down onto it, your gasp muffled as you bite your tongue, skin fevered.
He pushes you down the hall, to the very last door and inside, shutting the door with his foot, hand leaving you. You can hear the lock flip and then Andrew is walking you back to the bed, his hands drifting to the front of your hips, fingers pulling open the button of your cutoffs, undoing the zipper and they drop to the floor. You step out of them and you want him now, want this relentless ache and throb to end, but he’s someone who seems to savour, his mouth trailing over your neck, teeth sinking into the skin every few minutes, tongue lashing out to soothe the bite marks.
He pushes you back, your body landing on his bed and he’s rough, but at the same time gentle as he kneels on the ground, sliding your underwear from off your hips, down your legs, set aside. He pauses for a moment, folding your cutoffs and underwear, setting them aside, his room obsessively neat, something you appreciate.
“God,” he whispers when he turns back, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, “so pretty.”
“Andrew,” you whisper and he looks up at you, eyes black with desire. “You’re too dressed up.” He stands, taking his shirt off and god you wish you’d said nothing because who made him look like that? He’s too attractive for his own good. It’s highly unfair.
He unzips his jeans, folding them and his shirt, setting them in a pile beside yours, boxers still on, just like your baggy shirt is still on. He kneels again, a coil in your stomach tight, yet not tight enough, your legs on his broad freckled shoulders. He presses a kiss against each side of your arousal slicked inner thighs before, pulling you closer to him, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe from your entrance to your clit, the fucker locking eyes with you the whole time.
He knows exactly what he’s doing and where the fuck did he learn to do this? Because the way he circles your clit with his tongue, doing figure eights, his one hand sliding along your thigh, long fingers slipping along them, into the space between. He teases two fingers between your folds, scissoring them apart before plunging both of them inside of you, sinking them up to the knuckle and scissoring you open before pulling them out, knuckles dragging along your walls.
“Jesus—Christ!” you cry as he continues to finger you, tongue never stopping its ceaseless rhythm on your clit, little figure 8s which stop every time that he pulls his fingers out, rather his tongue pressing against your clit, against the swelling pearl. “Andrew! Fuck!”
You can feel his chuckle against your clit, your pussy and you want to hit him, but also not because that coil in your belly is winding tight, tight, tighter and it’s about to burst and his mouth and hands are really unfairly good at what they’re doing right now. You’d hate to mess up his—rhythm.
He has four fingers inside of you at this point, all his extremities pumping in and out of you at a faster and faster pace, knuckles dragging down your walls one by one, each finger leaving you at different times, his index finger the last to leave always, the slowest drag against your walls, stimulating every part of you that it touches.
It’s not long before he has you coming apart, your orgasm ripping through, that coil snapping as he pushes all four fingers in again, his tongue pressing against your clit. He holds his fingers still while your cunt trembles with aftershocks.
“I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he whispers against you, his breath causing you to hiss as he pulls the four fingers out of you, slipping them in his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes locked on yours as he steps out of his boxers, cock hard and the tip leaking, a bead of precum sitting on top, sliding down, a vein bulging.
“Andrew,” you whisper, “how’d you get so good?” He comes to sit beside you on the bed, pulling you up, holding you, his lips on yours for a moment and the kiss is sinful and oh so hot because you can taste yourself on his tongue.
“When they…” he looks down at his hands for a moment, “when they paid for women to sleep with me, I learned what they liked because I…I never liked anything.”
“Andy,” you whisper and his head jerks to yours, “what do you like?”
“You,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours again and your body is flat on the bed, his cock teasing between your folds, kissing against your entrance as his tongue slides along yours and he murmurs, you, you, you into your mouth.
He slides his cock from your entrance to your clit like he did his tongue, circling your clit with his tip once before sliding back down and pushing inside, sinking into the hilt with a single thrust. He moans at the feeling of you all around him, a kind of whimper that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it is.
“You’re okay,” you whisper when he pulls back from the kiss, his eyes closed. “Keep going, Andy. Use me.” And he does, pulling out and slamming himself back in over and over in a brutal rhythm that has your entire body moving with each thrust, his mouth hot on your neck.
“You’re so perfect, sweet girl,” he says, his words slightly unclear, but you know what he means, can hear it, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix. “Gonna fuck a baby into you. Give Lena a cousin, maybe?” He’s hesitant in his words, but you nod and he looks up at you.
“Go ahead, Andy,” you whisper and his pace picks up, relentless and punishing and delicious, his one hand on your waist, the other resting on your mons, thumb circling your clit, drawing you to orgasm at the same time he does. His release is thick and hot inside of you, cock pulsing and then he’s collapsing beside you, his body pulling yours tight against him and you’re not aware of much, except that he pulls the covers over the two of you and you fall asleep to his kiss against your neck.
“Good night, Mrs. Cody.”
“I knew it!” Lena screams the next morning, taking in the sight of you and Andrew both in the kitchen, making breakfast, your body in his clothes, a ring on your finger that he went out and bought for you. “You’re gonna be my auntie!” And then her stick arms are around you and holding tight.
“Yeah, bug,” you whisper, your hand smoothing down her hair, the pancakes in the pan, “I am.”
“And hopefully,” Andrew chimes in, “you’ll have a cousin soon.”
“Andrew!”
Lena giggles when you hit him with the oven mitt and his response is to press a kiss against your cheek and you feel a contentment you’ve never felt before.
summary; andrew pope cody with a soft gf, one who treats him with so much kindness and patience, that he isn't sure how to accept it sometimes.
a/n; i just love my popey so much i cant help but write soft stuff about him, he deserves so much better </3 this is kind of a mini-birthday drabble, since pope's bday was not too long ago :3
warnings; some bad language, sm*rf mention (i hate her), some mentions of andrews bad childhood
The family Andrew grew up in was built on tough love. If he scraped a knee, he didn't expect comfort. If he made a mistake, he waited for the yelling to start. Year by year, his walls built higher and higher.
But somehow, you've managed to weasel in through the cracks. Always treating him with kindness and patience, never ever raising your voice around him. He fucks up? You say 'oh Andy, it's okay...' in the sweetest voice, heart clenching and the guilty look in his eyes.
Physical touch has always been a touchy topic for him. Smurf had a habit of weaponizing her love against her children, using each hug and kiss as a manipulation tactic. So when you, in bed, slowly curl up into Andrew's chest, soft, warm breaths hitting his collarbone? He freezes.
You do this kind of stuff all the time. In public, you'll let your hand curl into his sleeve, or hug his arm in crowds. At the start of your relationship, it always made him freeze up. But now, he waits for it. He doesn't often seek out contact first, just waits for you to do so.
But you've gotten good at reading him. His eyes keep darting to you every other second, when he wants you to curl up to him, and pull his arm over your shoulder. He'll anxiously tap his fingers when he wants to hold your hand.
And in bed, he always leaves enough room for you to curl up to him.
But what really did him in, was when one morning, he woke up without you in bed. Now, Andrew had a habit of waking up really early. He's always up hours before you, you've even joked about it. So, of course, he was worried. You out of bed before him?
He rushed to the kitchen, only to feel relief flood his veins as he saw you there. One of his shirts on, hem brushing against your thighs, as you hummed to the spatula in your hand, breakfast frying on the pan.
As if sensing him, you turned around, giving him the biggest grin possible. "G'morning, Andy!" You set the spatula down to scurry over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck for a tight hug, "Happy birthday! I got up early to make you breakfast."
His hands shook a little, before they dropped to your waist, slowly sliding to wrap around you, pulling you as close as he could. You got up early to make a birthday breakfast for him.
"Y'didn't need to do that." He murmured quietly, lips a little pursed, fighting a small smile, "I know how much you love sleep. I coulda' made breakfast.."
You knew he wasn't being ungrateful. That's just how his brain is wired. Nothing is free, that's what he learned growing up. But you keep showing up for him. Giving him love packed up in a plate of eggs and bacon. Never expecting anything back.
"It's okay..." You hummed, slowly pulling back to go back to the stove, "I can take a little nap later. I haven't made many plans for us today, just thought we could do what you wanna do. Could go surf. Or for a walk. Or jus' stay here." You offered options, carefully plating his breakfast.
Two fried eggs, an unhealthy amount of bacon (because in this house, food is measured with love!), of course some fruits and vegetables.
Setting his plate and your own down on the kitchen island, you tugged him closer by his hand. He'd practically been frozen in a trance the entire time.
"Mhm." He grunted, kissing your temple quickly before sitting down, eyes staying on you, until you sat down and started eating. "Jus' wanna be with you today. I don't really care what we do..."
He really means it too. He doesn't care what he does today, as long as you're by his side. Andrew would literally watch paint dry, if he got to sit with you while doing so.
The rest of breakfast was spent in comfortable silence, with non-stop eye contact. And somewhere between his second serving of eggs and third glass of orange juice, Andrew reached across the island, and placed his hand in yours.
masterlist inspired by this ask, thank you lovely!
it’s 9:00 when sammy gets home, and he’s exhausted. the day’s been rough, to put it simply, and all he really wants is to just take a nice, warm shower and lay down with his girl.
as soon as you hear him walking through the door, you’re running to him and squealing, “sammy baby! you’re back!” you pepper kisses across his face, clearly happy to see him after a long shift. “how was work? i missed you! did you get the lunch i packed for you?”
ever since you found out about how… lacking in affection his marriage with tammi was, you’ve made it your mission to make sammy feel as happy and cared for as possible, and that started with packing cute little lunches every day. it’s always something different, always with fruits cut into cute little shapes and with a note telling him you love him and you hope his day goes well.
sammy is tired, but damn if he can’t resist you. he gives a tired grin, “yeah, baby, i missed you too. work was tiring, y’know how it is… but the lunch helped.” he kisses your hair, finally relaxing after such a long day. “wanna take a shower. you gonna come with me?”
you nod quickly, always up for a quick shower with him. it’s one of your favorite things to do, you love feeling close to him that way, and you love being able to take care of him when he’s not feeling the best. “mhm! let’s go!”
in the shower, you and sammy just… relax for a while. you’re in his arms, lathering him with his favorite soap while telling him about your day. he likes coming home to this, likes hearing you talk while you take care of him. you’re so good to him and he knows it.
eventually you tap his cheek to get his attention and ask, “do you want me to wash your hair?” you wash his hair with your shampoo sometimes, just because he likes smelling like you. and because maybe yours is softer than his 3-in-1.
sammy hums, “yeah, i do, actually. thank you, angel.” he kisses your forehead, allowing you to work the shampoo into his hair and wash it for him.
when the two of you are done in the shower, you curl up on the couch together, putting on his favorite tv show. it’s kind of shitty, but he loves it so you always watch it with him. you rest your head on your shoulder, “are you feeling better now, sammy?”
he doesn’t respond, so you turn to look at him, only to find he’s fallen asleep like that. you smile softly, closing your eyes and just reveling in the calm of the night.
summary: everyone always saw him as the weird cody brother, the guy who stared a few seconds too long at people nearby. but what happens when he meets a woman that is just as much of a looker as himself, maybe even more so? does he like the taste of his own medicine, or will he do everything in his power to avoid the one woman that actually makes him feel something other than lonely?
contents: tension, hints of slow burn, pope can't explain his curiousity about you, apparently everyone here loves staring contests, no smut
word count: 2.5k
chapter 1 | chapter 2
as the days went by, your presence only seemed to grate on pope's nerves even more. you were always around, talking with deran or j about the plan for this upcoming job. but even while you're in the middle of a conversation, your eyes always manage to find pope lingering in the background. he hates how easily you find him when he's used to going undetected, hiding in the shadows. even when he's working out in the garage late at night, it always feels like you're somehwere nearby watching him.
perhaps the most off-putting thing about you was the fact that you hardly spoke to pope, never saying much more than a sentence in conversation with him. he shouldn't be uncomfortable with that fact, seeing as he does virtually the same when he speaks to anyone else, but it's as though you could talk without physically uttering a syllable. your eyes speak for you, and pope hates that he wants to read them, hates that he wants to hear what your eyes have to say.
he subtly shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present as he listens to deran and craig bickering over what their tasks at the job site. thankfully, you weren't around today and it was just the rest of the Cody family. "how much are we looking at?" pope's eyes dart to j, who has been silent for a bit too long. "we're looking at about $100k." j nods as he meets pope's gaze. pope's eyes narrow when he suddenly remembers that this money would no longer be split amongst 4, but 5. once again, he finds his thoughts drifting to you, the unsettling woman who was so unfortunately efficient as a scout.
j, as if sensing pope's inner turmoil, chimes in. "she's only taking 5% of the cut." all three heads snap towards j at the revelation. "woah, man. are you seriously gonna low ball her like that? she's been putting in a shit ton of work." craig speaks up. "it wasn't my decision. that's what she asked for. didn't think you guys would mind the extra cash, so i didn't say anything about it." j shrugs, sitting back in his chair. "nobody else finds that suspicious?" craig raises an eyebrow, looking around at his brothers. "who gives a shit? she's doing what we need her to do." pope sends craig a sideways glance. what the hell was that? why did he just jump in to defend you when he could hardly stand you?
the younger codys exchanged looks of understanding, before eventually gravitating toward the kitchen in search of something to eat for dinner. the familiar creaking sound of the front gate opening stops everyone in their tracks. they hadn't been expecting visitors, much less one that knew the code to smurf's front gate. "i'll take care of it..." pope mutters before heading out the sliding back door, cautiously walking across the cobblestone path to where he could hear the idling car. when his eyes landed on the familiar vehicle, he felt the goosebumps rising on his skin once again.
"sorry to show up unannounced. but uh- i found something that might throw a wrench into our plans." you rest against your car, eyes trained on pope. "we don't take surprise visitors... and who the hell gave you the code?" his gaze was intense, voice rough with intimidation. it directly contrasted the unease he felt inside being in your presence. you don't flinch, instead taking a step closer to him with a smirk appearing on your face. "smurf gave it to me, said i could be in charge of her boys while she went on her little trip." you dangle a set of keys in front of you. pope felt his entire body stiffen at the implication of your words. not only was smurf going off on one of her mystery trips again that would last for who knows how long, but she was using you as a tool to keep all of the men in check while she's away.
you quickly notice the discomfort in his posture, chuckling at him. "relax, she didn't actually say that. but, she did tell me that i was welcome any time i wanted. today, well- i wanted." you stand there, looking calm as ever, in direct contrast of what pope was feeling. neither of you move for a few seconds, your eyes are shamelessly roaming over pope's muscular form. after this short standoff that truly felt like hours, you take another step closer to him and offer a gentle smile. "hope you guys didn't start dinner without me." you pat him on the shoulder as you walk by, heading inside the house.
it felt like an electric shock, that brief one-second contact of your hand on his shoulder had pope feeling lightheaded. he stood there for a few more minutes, eyes trained on nothing in particular as he tried to settle his nerves before attempting to face you once again. as he makes his way back in the house, he notices how you managed to blend in seamlessly with his brothers as you all scurry around the kitchen. you all were talking and laughing, something that pope had never gotten used to because it never lasted. all eyes turn in his direction when he steps back inside. you're looking at him over your shoulder, a small smile spreading across your face as you saw him standing there looking awkward as ever. "hey, stranger. saved one for you." you hold out a beer bottle to him. he just stares at the bottle for a few seconds, still stuck on the previous image of seeing that look you'd given him over your shoulder. this was going to be a long night.
eventually, he takes the bottle from you, popping it open with his bare hands. while craig, deran, and j have already occupied themselves with another conversation, your focus remains on pope. "didn't realize everyone in this family was a show-off." you tease him as you take a sip from your own bottle. pope forces himself to look away instead of watching the way your lips pressed against the bottle. "anyway, mind if we talk business outside for a minute?" your voice is lowered so only pope can hear you. he nods quietly, following you outside. you're both standing near the edge of the pool, arms crossed with beers in one hand. "there's something off with-" you start but are quickly cut off. "why are you only taking 5% of the cut?" he talks over you, not letting you finish your previous sentence.
you're stunned to silence for a moment by the question. your brain takes a few extra seconds to catch up before responding. "i'm not doing this shit for the money, andrew." why did you insist on using his name like that? more importantly, why did he want you to keep doing it? "bullshit- nobody works for free." his glare turns a bit hostile toward you, suspicious of your intentions. "correction, you don't work for free. the only reason i'm even taking any money at all is because your nephew is a pain my ass." you scoff, taking a long swig of beer. he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of getting involved in a job like this without wanting something in return. unless you had something personal attached to it, which would make you a huge liability. "this isn't the kinda thing you get your personal feelings involved with." his tone only sounds more unimpressed the more you talk.
visibly frustrated, you let out a heavy sigh. "i don't anyone an explanation but j, since he's the one orchestrating this whole damn thing. so, i suggest you drop it." your playful demeanor was long gone, now having a white-knuckle grip on your beer bottle. to your surprise, he didn't push any further. instead of focusing on why he even bothered sparing your feelings, he excused himself back into the house. "fuck..." you mutter to yourself, watching him leave. you hated how easily he managed to get you all worked up, subconsciously knowing every button of yours to push.
a while later, dinner was finally ready and the table had been set. everyone took their designated seats, with you additionally seated next to deran, the same seat that happened to be directly across from pope. pope didn't bother hiding the fact that he was staring at you the entire meal, wondering if anything else could rattle you tonight. but he quickly realized that you were staring at him, quite often at that. at one point, you'd actually held his gaze long enough that he got paranoid and looked elsewhere. once dinner was finished, pope would normally be the one to wash the dishes because he hated when anyone else tried to. they never did it right, always leaving an uncomfortable amount of specs on the plate when they sat them on the drying rack. however, tonight you had taken the liberty of starting dishes before he could get to them.
he's standing behind you, watching closely over your shoulder to see how you'd clean them. you could feel his gaze, but it didn't bother you in the slightest. "you're not doing it right." he grumbles, taking the plate back that you'd just sat aside. he inspects it further; too many specs, not clean enough, do it all over again. "what's the right way, then?" you question him, cheeks heating involuntarily at the proximity between the two of you. you face forward again, suddenly not feeling as brave to look at him. he slides on the yellow gloves, grabbing the plate, and taking the sponge. he doesn't speak while re-cleaning the plate, making sure to do it the way he needed to.
you watch him silently, making a mental note of his thorough process so that you could try again some other time. although he had no trouble pretending not to notice your attention on him, he felt a strange sense of intrigue. the thought of someone taking the time to understand his complex ways of doing things, it didn't settle well in his stomach. "dry these and don't put them away until every drop is gone." he mutteres, handing you some of the dishes he'd finished re-cleaning. you nod and grab a fresh dish towel, following his instructions as closely as you could. "like this?" you hold the plate in front of him for confirmation.
"yeah, like that." he nods and goes back to washing. "do you put them away one at a time, or wait until they're all dry?" you ask before picking up the next clean plate. he pauses, looking over at the dry platte sitting in front of you. such a simple question, yet you look like you really care to know the answer. "wait... then make sure pans and pots get put away first, plates, then utensils last." he answered calmly. you two continue your methodical teamwork until every last dish was cleaned, dried, and organized properly. once you finish that, pope gets to wiping down the counters and dinner table, not waiting up for you to help.
as if understanding his desire to work alone, you lean against the island counter in the kitchen and observe. "those gloves, whoever invented them is a genius." you think out loud as you stare at the yellow rubber sitting on the edge of the sink. he glanced up at you, your attempt at distracting him from cleaning had been successful. "can use 'em all around the house." he nodded slowly, confused with himself as to why he'd even bothered to add that comment. "good to know." you wear a satisfied smirk at his response. "but, out of curiosity. how badly would it piss you off if i sat on this counter right now?" you stand, walking toward the corner of the countertop, ready to hoist yourself up.
his expression darkened immediately, throwing the washrag into the sink with a little more force than necessary. "don't..." he shot you an intense glare, taking a step closer as if ready to throw you off the counter the moment you tried. he doesn't expect the genuine laugh that escapes your lips, feeling his stomach flip when you step away from the counter and closer to him. "you're pretty fun to tease, you know that?" your eyes meet his, as if challenging him again just like you had at the dinner table earlier.
for some reason, the renewed proximity was causing those familiar goosebumps to erupt all over pope's skin. he holds your gaze, noticing the flush on your cheeks. neither of you were sure why you couldn't seem to look away, let alone step away from each other. "you know, before you went and pissed me off earlier, i needed to tell you something about the job." your voice is barely above a whisper, entertaining this weirdly intimate moment between the two of you. he stood in silence, his eyes locked on you. "there's only going to be enough time for one of you to go inside the building at the job site. i think it should be you." not expecting that, pope's gaze finally breaks away from you for a moment, briefly glancing at your lips.
"the hell does that mean?" he rasps, already not liking the sound of this new plan. "you're obviously the most efficient out of everyone here; you've got the strength, the speed, the brains." you shrug, as if stating the most well-known information in the world. "what if i don't want to do it?" he raised an eyebrow. he doesn't really hate the idea of being in control, but your plan seems to random to trust it immediately. "then i'll do it." you offer casually, this time your eyes flick down to his lips. you couldn't deny the anticipation growing in your gut for his reaction.
"not gonna happen." he answers right away, talking half a step closer as if trying to prove how serious he is. "i guess it's all up to you then, andrew." you breathe, enjoying how worked up he was getting. he leans in close enough for your noses to almost touch, one of his most common intimidation tactics. "i don't take orders from strangers." he declares, fists clenching at his sides. however, instead of backing down, you stay in place, pleased by his attempt to frighten you. "all the more reason to get to know each other better then, huh?" you look into his eyes, the tension between you almost palpable. before you can say anything else, craig walks through the sliding door. "yo, you guys down for a swim or what?" you chuckle at the interruption, finally distancing yourself from pope and glancing over at craig. "sure, why not?"
once again, pope is left standing there in silence. the goosebumps on his skin had yet to disappear; he was still on edge fro that way-too-close interaction with you. what would he have done if you'd leaned in closer like he wanted you to? in an attempt to snap himself out of it, he made his way toward his bedroom to shower.
alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: whew, you can cut the tension in here with a knife 0-0
Summary: You bring your daughter into the world with Jack's help. Literally.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Pregnant!Reader
Content warnings: MDNI, Al-Hashimi and Dana cameos, anxiety, labor (positive experience for Baby Mama ((with the exception of one ignorant nurse)) b/c I love her and could never let anything awful happen to her that doesn't serve the storyline), Jack is an excellent advocate/support person, epidural is used as well as other methods of pain relief, possible medical inaccuracies, childbirth, fluff, baby is named but is given a silly and cute nickname that she will be referred to as going forward (y'all voted on this)
Word count: 6,131
Series Masterlist | Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/lariesographic
Author's note: the things I know about labor and childbirth now... I'm not traumatized b/c I'm mature, but this is lowk more than I wanted to know at this stage of my life. some of this stuff is random things I learned from the TikTok for you page, and then some of it came from very detailed Google searches, and some is from birth stories I watched on YouTube. I tried watching birth vlogs, but some of these dads seemed evil, so I couldn't do it, plus it was kind of scary for me, so yeah. anyways I hope you enjoy b/c this series has lowkey become my baby so pls lmk what you think and here's your reminder that reblogs (empty or not) are good for your health! ily thank you for being here pls enjoy! <3
additional note: if you are on any of the taglists here and don't reblog this post after liking/commenting, you are getting side eyed hard.
40 weeks and two days. In other words, hell. That’s the state you’re currently in.
You just had to all but push Jack out the door to go to work, but he’s gone. Sure, you told him to go, but now you’re bored. You’ve watched all of Adam Sandler’s and Queen Latifah’s movies, so now you’re not even sure what to put on the TV.
Eventually, you decide to put on an episode of Shameless, and once you’ve got all your snacks and two drinks nearby, you’re ready to camp out on the couch for the foreseeable future.
//
At noon, Jack’s left hand can’t stop tapping against his leg while he fills out a chart on one of the computers in the hub. His mind can’t get off of you, and he was just a little uncharacteristically harsh on one of the residents. He prides himself on his stern but empathetic approach; he hasn’t snapped at anyone in years.
Al-Hashimi walks over, calmly, with no readable expression on her face. She leans over, elbows on the countertop.
“Whitaker will get over it,” she says softly. “So there’s no need for you to feel this bad about it.”
Jack looks up at Al-Hashimi through his lashes.
“You said your wife’s due date was September third, correct?” she asks.
Jack looks back at the computer and nods. “Yeah.”
“It’s the fifth.”
“I know,” he says, a little annoyed and snippy. He sighs and looks at her again. “Sorry.”
Al-Hashimi sighs and considers her words for a moment. “My ex was the same way before I had my son. This isn’t an abnormal reaction to waiting for your baby to be born. The doctor tells you the due date, and even though we all know babies come on their own schedules, you expect them to come when they’re ‘supposed to.’”
Jack finally logs out of the computer and leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
“Am I wrong to suspect your wife all but kicked you out today because you were maybe a little overbearing?” Al-Hashimi ventures.
Jack’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a passionate man, Abbot,” Al-Hashimi says, seemingly holding back a smile. “And while your wife definitely loves you, she’s uncomfortable, and at this point, overdue. The last thing she needs is a husband who won’t bend to her will because of his own anxiety.”
Jack frowns.
“I bend,” he mutters under his breath.
Al-Hashimi grins. “I’m sure. I just mean to say, she needs you to be relaxed and amenable, not tense and rigid.”
Okay, maybe she’s got a point. He can’t imagine what it feels like to have an entire baby pushing his lungs out of the way and fuck with his center of gravity. You need him to be calm and willing to do what makes you happy and comfortable.
Jack nods and sighs.
“You’re right. I need to relax more,” he says.
Al-Hashimi smiles softer now. “You’re going to be a great father. We’ll miss you on paternity leave.”
Jack perks up at that. “Eh, you’ll all manage. I might bring the baby by for you all to meet once she’s big enough.”
“We’d all love that.”
Just then, Dana calls Jack’s name.
“Abbot, I got your wife on the phone,” she calls out.
Without missing a beat, Jack’s out of his chair and heading over to Dana, who’s got the hospital landline in her hand.
“Sweetheart?” he speaks into the receiver.
“Hi, I didn’t want to take the chance of you missing the call on your personal phone.”
“That’s fine. Are you okay?”
You pause on the other line for a moment.
“Um,” you begin. “I think I’m in early labor. Contractions every eight minutes, 30 seconds long. I think I had the bloody show or whatever that stuff is.”
Jack’s heart is in his throat. When he tries to talk, he can’t. He clears his throat and sighs.
“Okay,” he says. “How’s the pain?”
You sigh. “Uh, like day two period cramps, but I’ll live.”
Jack rubs his temple. “Okay. You want me home, I take it?”
“Yes,” you say quickly. “Please. As fast as you can, but don’t drive like a maniac; I’m okay so far.”
Jack nods even though you can’t see him. “Okay, I’ll leave now. You got this, sweetheart. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
When you hang up, Jack hands the phone back to Dana, his eyes wild.
“Whoa, is it baby time?” she asks him, one hand on his forearm to steady him.
He nods, his body gearing up to be your rock for the foreseeable future.
“Yeah,” he says, panting like he just ran ten laps around the E.D. “She’s in early labor. Eight minutes apart, thirty seconds long.”
“Okay,” Dana says calmly. “Al-Hashimi can handle things on her own down here until another attending gets here. And besides, we’ve got all our best residents today, so you’re leaving everyone in good hands, Abbot.”
“Right. Yeah, I know,” he breathes.
Dana pats his arm.
“I’ll call Dr. Rosen in. Good luck, Dad,” she says as she steps back over to her workstation.
Jack mumbles a ‘thanks’ as he starts moving on autopilot. He makes a beeline for the locker room to grab his bag and then heads straight for the parking lot.
He’s prepared for this moment in his last few therapy sessions. He just has to drive back home, ask you what you want from him, and do exactly that.
//
When he pulls into the driveway, he takes a minute to compose himself. As soon as he walks through the front door, he’ll be a rock, completely steady and dependable for you. His only priority is you and the baby.
After some deep breaths, he shuts the truck off and grabs his things before heading inside.
“Sweetheart?” he calls out as he locks the front door behind him.
“I’m in the kitchen,” you call out.
Jack drops his bag on the floor and pads into the kitchen to find you making sandwiches.
“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him momentarily.
He smiles softly and walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks.
“Okay still,” you say as you cut both sandwiches diagonally. “I just had a contraction right before you walked in.”
Another kiss to your cheek. “Any progress?”
“No, it’s the same as when I called you.”
“Okay, um, do you want to sit at the table or on the couch?” he asks softly, stepping back to take both plates.
“Couch,” you decide.
He leads the way, setting both plates on the coffee table so he can help you get comfortable on the couch. Once you say you’re good, he hands you your plate and sits next to you.
After a minute of realizing what’s going on on the TV screen, Jack’s brows furrow.
“Wait, this fifteen-year-old is gay, and his hookup of choice is a 35-year-old?” he asks, looking from the screen to you.
You snort. “Yeah, but later in the show he gets with an age-appropriate guy, so it’s–” You sigh and clear your throat. “Fuck, that hurts. Anyways, this guy’s gonna be okay.”
Jack’s eyes go to his watch to time the contraction, his right hand offering itself to you, which you gladly take.
“I don’t even get to yell at you and tell you this is all your fault; I did this completely to myself,” you sigh as the contraction wanes.
Jack smiles sympathetically and brings your knuckles to his lips.
“Yell at me all you want,” he says softly. “You’re doing an incredible thing here for both of us,
After lunch, Jack changes clothes and removes his prosthesis when he gets back to the couch. The two of you stay there for a couple of hours, softly talking over the TV as the contractions grow more intense.
“You’re doing good, sweetheart,” he mutters softly when another one comes. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you mutter softly, your grip easing up as the contraction lessens. “Can I sit on your lap?”
He’s a little surprised, but he nods anyway and scooches all the way back to the corner of the sectional, his legs straight in front of him. You lower yourself onto his lap, your back to the plush arm of the couch, one hand resting on Jack’s shoulder farthest from you, the other on your belly.
Jack joins hands with you on your belly and drapes his other arm around your shoulders.
“I’ve narrowed down my favorite names,” you say softly, head tucked under his chin.
“Let’s hear ‘em.”
“Vivian. Felicity. Colette. Amelie. And Charlotte has grown on me.”
“I’m happy with those,” he says softly.
You press a soft kiss to Jack’s chest. “We’ll know when we see her.”
Jack hums in agreement and kisses the top of your head.
//
Around 6:00 PM, things feel more intense. You’ve had contractions every 5 minutes, each lasting a minute, for the last half hour.
After asking what you want to do, Jack helps you to the car, triple-checking that the bags are in the trunk and that the baby’s car seat is in place. Before heading to the hospital, he goes through a Dairy Queen drive-thru, and the two of you eat dinner in your car.
When you’re done, you start really making your way to the hospital.
Triage goes well. Both you and the baby have good vital signs, contractions are consistent, and the cervical exam confirms that you are four and a half centimeters dilated.
Check-in is easy, but it causes some anxiety. It’s all real. This is really happening. The baby you’ve wanted since you were a little girl playing with dolls is about to come into the world. You want her. You wanted her so badly, you made her all by yourself, and she’s about to come.
You’re about to get hooked up to monitors that tell you she’s really coming.
Jack holds your hand as the two of you are led to a room.
You hand the hospital gown back to the nurse in the interest of wearing the birthing gown you bought online after it was recommended to you by your cousin after she had her baby. The nurse, Rhiannon, hooks up the fetal monitor to your belly, though this one is sticky and allows for movement rather than the belts you’d seen on TV shows before.
“Okay, last thing is an IV, or what we can do is an IV port that isn’t connected to any tubes or wires until you decide that maybe you need an epidural or we end up needing to administer a different type of medication,” Rhiannon says as she readies her equipment. “Either way, I’ve gotta poke you.”
“Port sounds good.” You hand Rhiannon your arm with the best veins and turn your head toward Jack, who’s looking at you with the same awe he had in his eyes the first time he saw you naked and when you put his wedding ring on him in the courthouse.
As Rhiannon gets to work, she asks, “Do you know what you’re having?” in an easy voice, clearly confident in her ability to multitask.
“A girl,” you answer, smiling at Jack.
He reaches out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, his thumb caressing your cheekbone.
“Yay,” Rhiannon says, clearly smiling. “I love girls. I have two nieces. You guys are gonna love having a girl. Um, how long have the two of you been together?”
“Um,” both you and Jack say at the same time.
You laugh softly. “We got married about a month ago. We met, like, over three years ago when I moved in next door.”
“Neighbors to lovers, that’s so cute,” Rhiannon says as she finishes up. “Okay. I skimmed over your file before I walked in, but I think I remember seeing you wanted to wait on the epidural for freedom of movement, correct?”
You nod as you turn over to look at your nurse. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Rhiannon nods. “Okay, well, as soon as you do want it, if you end up wanting it, just press the call button, and I’ll come in, and we’ll find the anesthesiologist, okay? Perfect. Good luck, and I’ll check back in later.”
Then it’s just you and Jack, and a contraction hits almost as soon as the door shuts, and your fingernails dig into his skin.
He leans his forehead against yours, and with his free hand, he gently scratches your scalp.
Since you’ve stopped being able to talk through the contractions, he’s stopped talking to you during them. For one, you can’t answer, even if he is just praising you, and for two, he can only imagine how annoying the sound of his voice is going to get towards the end of this anyway, so he’ll keep his mouth shut as much as he can.
As the contraction wanes, you loosen your grip on Jack’s hand and let out a soft sigh.
“You okay?” he asks after a moment.
You nod and smile tiredly at him. “I love you.”
Jack smiles and pecks your lips. “I love you, too. I’m gonna dim the lights, okay? That sound good?”
You nod again.
He kisses your forehead before he stands and dims all the lights. It’s about 8:30 at night, so things are naturally winding down with the exception of your uterus and cervix.
When you’re satisfied with the lighting, you hold your hand out. Jack sits on the edge of the bed and takes your hand, putting his free hand on your belly.
“You’re doing really good, sweetheart,” he tells you, his expression one of sincerity and love. “You’re handling everything really well. I’m so proud of you.”
You smile and lean your forehead on his shoulder, sitting with your legs crisscross, your left knee brushing against his left thigh clad in soft sweatpants.
Jack tilts his head down to kiss your hair, his left hand gently brushing up and down your back.
“You wanna switch positions soon?” he asks softly.
You nod and look over at the birthing ball in the corner. He heads to the corner to bring the ball to the middle of the room, then helps you stand from the bed, a gentle hand at the small of your back as he leads you toward the ball. You take both his hands as you lower yourself onto the ball.
“Feel okay?” he asks softly, crouching in front of you, hands on your knees, fingertips brushing yours.
“Yeah,” you mutter softly.
You cup his jaw with both hands and lean in to kiss him. You can tell it surprises him at first, and you can’t really blame him, but after a few seconds, he starts reciprocating, his hands sliding up the length of your thighs to rest on your hips while you gently sway them on the ball.
When he hears you moan, out of pain and not pleasure, he pulls back, but you lean back in.
Jack lets you take the lead. As soon as you pull him back in, he’s back to kissing you with all the love in his heart. His hands on your hips press in, hoping the counterpressure will help.
Once the contraction passes, you pull back, eyes glazed over as you look at him.
“The article I sent you a few weeks ago,” you say breathlessly. “On kissing and oxytocin and labor and stuff. Sorry, I thought you remembered.”
Realization hits him quickly.
“Oh,” he sighs, smiling softly. “Okay, I remember now. I’ll kiss you all you want.”
//
A few hours go by pretty peacefully. At around 9:15, Rhiannon comes in to do a cervical check and tells you you’re at six centimeters. She cracks a few jokes, keeping things light, and when she leaves, you tell Jack to make a reminder to nominate her for a DAISY award when you get home.
Around 11:30, the contractions pick up in intensity. In the middle of the room, you stand with your arms around Jack’s neck, face buried into his chest. He keeps his hands on your hips to deliver counterpressure during contractions, now two and a half minutes apart.
There’s a knock on the door, and the nurse who walks through isn’t Rhiannon.
“Hi,” she says. “Rhiannon is otherwise occupied at the moment, so I’ll be doing your cervical check. My name is Jane.”
She snaps some gloves on, and as you try to peel yourself off of Jack to greet the new nurse, another contraction hits. This one steals your breath and pulls an almost animalistic moan from your throat. You dig your fingernails into the back of Jack’s neck, but he doesn’t waver.
“Oh, honey, why don’t you just get the epidural already?” Jane asks. “There’s absolutely no reason for you to feel the need to cause all that ruckus and scratch up your husband’s neck. I’ll call the anesthesiologist.”
All this from your knockoff of Rhiannon before the contraction is even over, mind you. Jack doesn’t miss a beat.
“There’s absolutely no need for that,” he says immediately, hands still steady on your body. “If my wife wants an epidural, she’ll ask for one, and she certainly doesn’t need you to make decisions about her body without even giving her time to think. Now, if you don’t mind, she’ll opt out of the cervical check for now. We’re happy to wait for Rhiannon.”
Eventually, you hear the door open and close, and once the contraction is over, you look up at Jack.
What a man.
“Am I really scratching up your neck?” you ask with a soft and feeble voice. “Or being too loud?”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not, and don’t worry about it anymore.”
You sigh softly and press your cheek to his chest.
“Could you do the cervical check?” you ask. “I feel like I should be further along, and I don’t wanna wait to find out.”
It’s a little bit surprising to hear this request, but if he’s going to catch the baby in a few hours, he can definitely check to see how dilated you are. Hopefully you’re nearing the end, and he can inspire some motivation with the news.
He nods and kisses your forehead.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s get you back on the bed for a second,” he says softly as he guides you back toward the bed.
Once he’s got you in a good position, he heads to the counter and takes some sterile gloves, then heads back to the bed where he takes a look, and for about a minute, he’s both your husband and a doctor.
“I do want an epidural,” you say breathily while Jack checks you. “I just want to be the one to ask for it. I’m asking for it, Jack. Unless you say I’m at a ten, I’m asking for a fucking epidural.”
Jack nods and looks up at you, simultaneously pulling the gloves off.
“You’re at a seven. Do you want me to step out and ask for you?” he asks.
If you press the call button, fucking Jane might come back in, and hers is the last face you want to see even if you didn’t get a good look at it.
You nod and reach for his hand, another contraction building. He lets you pull him in for a kiss, doing anything you can to minimize the pain before you get some real relief.
It’s somewhat strange, kissing you in this situation. It’s not doing anything for him in the way kisses this passionate usually do, but it’s causing another emotion entirely.
You’re so in control, and he’ll do anything to make sure you keep that. He’ll kiss you through the pain, he’ll rub your hips, he’ll let you scratch up his skin, he’ll tell off a nurse for you. Anything you want. The admiration he has for you right now is unlike anything ever before.
You’re such an incredible woman; he already knew that. But witnessing you bring life into this world and stay so strong through it all is strengthening his feelings toward you. Not that they ever faltered.
When it’s over, you pull back, and Jack exits the room as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the first nurse he sees at the nurse’s station is one he knows.
“Hey, Abbot,” she greets as he approaches.
He smiles but gets right to the point. “My wife wants an epidural. Where’s the anesthesiologist?"
“Uh, she’s finishing up with a patient right now, but there’s no one else waiting. Do you know how many centimeters she was at the last cervical check?”
“Seven, just a few minutes ago.”
The nurse nods. “Okay, I’ll send her in in a few minutes.”
He quickly thanks the nurse and heads back to your room, making it just in time for your next contraction.
Just as he walks through the door, you reach your hand out, whimpering softly. He grabs your hand and reaches around with his free one to rub your back.
This time, he kisses you, moaning softly against you every so often to get your mind literally anywhere else besides this room.
When it’s over, and you lean your forehead against his, he tells you that the epidural is on its way.
“You’re doing really good, sweetheart,” he says softly. “I’ve seen lots of labors and deliveries, but this… It’s incredible. You’re doing such a hard thing so amazingly.” He pauses and kisses your cheek. “I’m more in love with you, and I didn’t think that was possible. You’re gonna be such a good mom. I know it. Our baby girl’s so lucky to have you.”
A silent tear falls down your cheek, brow furrowed as you focus on his face, every wrinkle, every freckle, every short hair of his stubbly beard and the smooth and gravelly sound of his voice.
Jack doesn’t tell you not to cry. He just smiles softly and wordlessly wipes your tears with the back of his knuckle.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m so lucky to be here.”
You shake your head and reach out to cup his cheek.
“It’s not luck, Jack,” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I chose you. You chose me and this baby, and I chose you back.”
He leans in for another kiss. This one just because, not particularly for pain relief, even if that’s an added plus.
You breathe him in, and take his hand and guide it to the side of your bump. He feels your skin tighten underneath his palm with another contraction. He keeps his hand perfectly still, hoping not to overstimulate you, and keeps kissing you.
After it passes, you stand with Jack again, only this time with your back to his chest. He holds your belly up for you one last time, taking the weight off your back for you, his lips pressed to your hair as the two of you slowly sway. You rest your palms on his forearms and stare across the room at the baby warmer, empty for now.
Soon, the anesthesiologist comes in and sets up for the epidural. She lets Jack stay in the room for the procedure and instructs him to stand in front of you, hands in yours.
Once it’s administered, and you’re in a comfortable position on your side, and the room is cleared, Jack turns off almost all the lights. He brings one of the chairs up to your bedside and holds your hand.
Within a few minutes, the epidural kicks in, and your eyes start to droop.
“Feeling good?” he asks softly, bringing a hand to cup your belly over the blanket.
You nod, a happy smile on your face. “Yeah, I can finally sleep now.”
Jack pulls his phone out of his pocket and props it up against your water bottle on the side table to record a video.
You cover his hand on your bump and admire the sight of your wedding rings and hospital bracelets brushing against each other.
“What are you most excited about becoming a mom?” he asks softly.
You hum thoughtfully.
“Shaping a person,” you say. “Showing her things and watching her form her own opinions on them.”
Jack smiles and nods along.
“What about you?” you ask.
Jack sighs and chews on the inside of his cheek. “Probably the same. Just getting to witness her and see her grow and learn and experience the world.”
You smile brightly at him, and he leans in to peck your lips.
“Okay, last chance for betting,” he says.
You giggle softly and shut your eyes as you think, then open them again.
“She’ll come after 6:00 AM, seven pounds and ten ounces, 19 inches long. That’s my guess,” you say.
“My guess is before 6:00 AM, eight pounds and one ounce, 20 inches long.”
You smile. “Either way, I’m excited to meet her.”
“Me, too,” Jack says softly, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I already love her like crazy.”
Your smile widens, and you squeeze his hand. “I know. She’s gonna be perfect.”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Just like you.”
He leans in to peck your lips, and before he pulls away, you mumble out an “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Then he stops the video and puts his phone in his pocket.
“You wanna get some rest?” he asks softly, his hand moving from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth against your skin.
You nod. “I love you, baby.”
Jack leans in for another kiss. “I love you, too, sweetheart. I’ll stay right here.”
“Take your prosthesis off,” you remind him.
He nods and leans back in his chair and pulls his pant leg up. Once it’s off, he places it out of the way but still in reach. By the time he looks back at you, your breathing is deeper.
He smiles and leans down to kiss your bump for possibly the last time.
“I’ll see you soon, baby girl,” he whispers.
//
At almost 3:30 AM, Rhiannon comes back in for another cervical check.
Jack wakes first.
“Hi,” she says, speaking softly. “It’s time for another cervical check.” She snaps on some sterile gloves. “I find that it’s better for you to wake her up than me.”
Jack nods and gently rubs your shoulder to wake you. He presses a kiss to your cheek and whispers for you to wake up.
Your eyes flutter and land on Jack.
“Rhiannon’s back to check your dilation,” he says softly.
You nod, and Rhiannon helps you turn over on your back while Jack puts his prosthesis back on.
When she’s done checking you over, Rhiannon smiles.
“It’s baby time,” she says as she pulls the gloves off. “I saw in your chart that you wanted to use the squat bar, lower your epidural dose to push, and that if there were no complications that you wanted Jack to catch the baby. Still good with all that?”
You nod, yawning softly.
Rhiannon gets everything ready, and soon the bed is modified to accommodate the squat bar. Your OB-GYN, who was thankfully working the night shift, comes in, along with a second nurse, and suddenly, you’re just waiting for the next contraction so you can push.
You were a little nervous that pushing would take hours, but after only about 40 minutes of pushing and grunting and Jack whispering praise in your ear, your doctor smiles.
“Abbot, it’s your turn,” she says as she steps to the side.
You turn your face toward Jack, sweat dotting your hairline but the biggest sparkle of excitement in your eyes. You lean in for a peck, and Jack whispers, “I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too,” you sniffle, smiling brightly.
Jack gets into position, your OB behind him, clearly monitoring the situation, but Jack’s delivered hundreds of babies, even just delivered one last week, so she’s not too worried about him biting off more than he can chew here.
Once he’s got sterile gloves on, he gets his hands into position.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he sighs, letting the doctor inside of him take over just a bit, though it’s clear the man in front of you is still your husband first and foremost. “On the next contraction, give me a big push.”
Rhiannon counts for you as you push. You white-knuckle the squat bar and breathe deeper than you ever have as you bear down.
“Good, good, good,” Jack mutters softly, his hands on the baby’s head, holding back tears by the grace of God. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”
With a soft whimper, you take a break from pushing.
“You’re doing great,” your doctor says from behind Jack. “Less than five pushes, I’d say.”
You nod and focus on your breathing.
“You wanna feel her hair?” Jack asks. “She’s got a lot.”
“Mhm,” you hum softly, the lack of sleep catching up to you.
Jack takes your hand and guides it between your legs.
“That’s not me?” you joke.
The entire room lets out a soft chuckle, with the exception of Rhiannon, who snorts softly into her shoulder.
“No,” Jack says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “That’s our baby; she’s got a lotta hair.”
You smile and take a steadying breath as another contraction builds.
“Okay, sweetheart, you got this,” he says softly, growing serious again as he focuses on the baby.
That push delivers the head.
“Perfect,” Jack praises. “Just a couple more, sweetheart, let’s get the shoulders out.”
Two pushes later, the air is pierced by a sharp but oddly beautiful cry.
“She sounds kind of like a bird,” someone remarks. “So cute!”
You let out a sob of relief and hold your hands out as Jack places her on your chest.
Looking down at the squirming infant is all it takes to fall completely in love with her.
“Hi, baby girl,” you coo at her, holding your hands over her back so she doesn’t get cold. “Hi. Hi, sweetie. I’m your mama.”
At some point, Jack has moved from your legs and peeled his gloves off because now you feel his hand on your shoulder and hear him whispering in your ear, “You did so good.”
The baby continues to cry, but seems to begin to settle on your chest.
“Wow, you’re really here,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. “I love you so much, beautiful baby girl.”
You look up at Jack on instinct, and tears are streaming down his face. He kisses your temple, then gently gives the baby his finger so she can wrap her first around it.
“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers. “I’m your daddy.” He sniffs. “Wow, you look just like your mom, sweetie.”
At the sound of her daddy’s voice, the cries die down into softer whimpers, still mad about leaving her warm home, but obviously happy Mom and Dad are near.
You press your lips against her head, uncaring about all the gunk on her head.
“Oh, God, she’s amazing,” you sigh, eyes shutting for a moment as you soak it all in.
You look over at Jack, and he smooths your hair back.
“You did incredible,” he whispers, eyes red-rimmed as he lets his tears fall.
You smile and blink out your own tears. “I love you. Thank you for catching her.”
Jack smiles back and kisses your cheek, then you turn to kiss his lips.
After another moment, you feel the need to push again. You swear softly under your breath and gently push on instinct. After about a minute, you vaguely hear your doctor tell you the placenta’s out, and you sigh relieved again.
“You’re all done,” Jack tells you. “You both did amazing.”
Once the cord turns white, Jack cuts it, and a few minutes later, the second nurse takes the baby over to the warmer to do some testing.
You send Jack over after he takes his shirt off, excited to see him actually hold the baby for the first time.
Jack stands near the baby warmer, eyes following his daughter’s every move as the nurse weighs, measures, and does everything else.
“Okay,” the nurse sighs, smiling at the screen that says all the levels are good. “Baby Abbot is seven pounds and eight ounces and 19 inches long. Five-minute APGAR score of ten. Congratulations. Jack, you can hold her now.”
Excitedly but carefully, Jack reaches his hands around the baby’s body and brings her to his chest. The nurse helps him cover her with a blanket, then he walks over to the chair by your bed.
Once everything else is determined to be okay, everyone leaves the room with soft whisperings of congratulations.
Jack sighs and smiles at you with all the love in his heart.
“You’re both incredible,” he says. “I’m in awe of you.”
You smile tiredly and sigh contentedly. “I’m so fucking happy.”
Jack smiles again, then stands and hands the baby back to you.
Soon, a lactation consultant comes in and helps you and the baby figure out the latch. Once you get the hang of it, you’re left alone again.
“Charlotte,” you say softly, looking at the baby.
Jack nods, the back of his finger caressing her cheek. “Charlotte Vivian Abbot?”
He looks to you to gauge your reaction. You smile.
“I like that,” you mutter softly.
Charlotte Vivian Abbot. Seven pounds and eight ounces. 19 inches long. Born at 4:26 AM on September 6, 2026.
Perfection in a very small package.
//
You and Jack manage to sleep for close to an hour before the baby is restless. After nursing, you’re starving, but luckily, Rhiannon brings you some breakfast before her shift ends.
“It’s not the best food, so if you’ve got people coming, you should ask them to bring you some food. Though, you can get food delivered, too. Anyway, my shift is ending, but I wanted to tell the little birdie and her sweet parents goodbye,” she says.
You smile and look down at the baby.
“Birdie,” you muse. “That’s cute.” Then you look back at Rhiannon. “You’ve been really incredible. I can’t thank you enough.”
Rhiannon smiles and shrugs. “I’m just happy things went well. You three make a very cute family. Okay, I’ve got a breakfast date, so I’ve gotta go. Bye, guys.”
Then she’s gone.
“Birdie,” you sigh, smiling at the baby. “I like that, it’s cute.”
Jack sends the birth announcement to his parents, your mom and stepdad, his sister, then Robby and Dana.
After that, he puts his phone on “Do Not Disturb” and puts his focus on you and Birdie. A little later, though, he notices a text from his mom asking if it’s okay to call at some point. You say it’s fine, and Jack steps out into the hall, leaving you alone with the baby.
You had put her into a pink onesie so she wouldn’t get cold once the hospital AC started blowing a little too hard for your liking.
Your little pink baby is finally here. She’s tiny and perfect and yours.
You hold her up by her armpits for just a moment, still supporting her head. The two of you just look at each other for a moment. Her face is scrunched up, but she’s perfect.
It’s hard to put into words how you’re feeling right now. You wanted this baby enough to raise her on your own. Jack is outside the door, but there was once a very real reality where he wasn’t supposed to be.
And looking at her right now, it’s so clear to you that it would absolutely be worth it to be her mom by yourself. Anything hard that would come with raising her on your own would have been worth it, because the look in your daughter’s eyes that you can’t name is telling you that it all would’ve been okay.
You’re incredibly fortunate to have Jack by your side, but you could handle Birdie alone, and so could he. She’s worth all the pain in the world that got you both to the place of being her parents.
You bring her back to your chest and soak in her snuggly body and soft baby noises. You kiss her downy hair and keep your hands secure on her back.
“One day, I’m gonna tell you all about how you got here,” you say softly. “Just know for now that it was all very special and very precious, just like you, little Birdie, and that Mommy and Daddy love you very much.”
end author's note: wow the baby is here and I feel like I gave birth myself bc this series is such a labor of love lol. original Doctor Google was meant to be a one-shot, so thank you to everyone who believed in this story's potential and politely asked for more <3 pls let me know what you want to see from this story! (requests are open for that)
after hearing about when s3 of The Pitt is going to be set, it is safe to say I will probably never reference canon again (at least in a big way), so pretty much anything is possible over here. thank you guys so much for reading! I know I have no schedule for this series at all and that can be annoying, so anyone loyally reading along is a fucking G in my book. for anyone who ever feels like you're annoying leaving persistent comments, whether it's an emoji or a more thoughtful comment, I guarantee you that you are not annoying, and in fact are someone I look forward to getting notifications from. I'm crazy; I see everything. ily all and pls be well <3
p.s. for anyone who is curious: Birdie is a virgo sun, cancer moon, and leo rising
All works taglist: @person-005 @madpanda75 @tearsweetenedtea @canonisoptional @xoxoloverb @saralovesjoelmiller @youknowiloveyou-so
All Shawn Hatosy works taglist: @realwhoreforfictionalmen @ezmina98 @hehehehahahohohuhu @janeety @jennataurus @esmemia16 @rumoured-whispers @1dhoe93 @dopeasope
p.s. if you would like to be removed from any taglist, just let me know! and if you would like to join a taglist or change your current preferences, click here! <3
You are bend over, hands on your belly as you get wheeled into the ER. The pain started so suddenly and wasn't going anywhere so your coworkers called you an ambulance.
You protested at first, not wanting to be trouble but now you are more than happy to be inside a hospital.
You don't see any familiar doctors or nurses. No Robby, no Dana. Only that pretty, blonde doctor who's name you can't recall right now.
"Hello, I'm Dr. King. Did you eat something unusual today? Any allergies?" She starts off firing questions while she pokes at your stomach with her hands.
You wince as she does it, pain only growing with the touch. "No, no. No weird food, no allergies."
She asks a few more questions but you can barely remember enough to answer her, the pain becomes just too much.
Thankfully, Dr. King has a diagnosis for you almost right away. "Unfortunately, it seems like you have appendicitis. You'll need to have a surgery or it could burst and cause much bigger problems. Is there anybody who you would like for us to call?"
They are quickly wheeling you out of the room and that hurry sends your worry spiking a little. "Call Jack. My emergency contact."
You see her nod, and she hurries away, probably to make sure that somebody calls him. You just hope he'll be there by the time you wake up.
-
"Hey, Dana. Could you call the emergency contact of my patient please? Thank you." Mel hands your papers to Dana.
"Sure, kid. You got it." Dana reaches for the papers and stops short when she sees your name sprawled on top of it.
She reaches for her own phone, dialing Jack immediately. Jack's pretty, lovely girl is about to have a surgery and he's nowhere to be found? No way, Dana can't have that.
"What's wrong?" Robby clocks in Dana's distressed face almost instantly, too.
She only shake his head at him and pushes the papers towards him. He curses when he reads your name.
"Is she still here?" He asks as Dana starts explaining everything quickly to Jack. It's all quick and precise words, just to get him here as soon as possible.
"She wasn't with Jack?" Robby asks with a frown after Dana hangs up.
"No, she got here from work. Ambulance brought her in. Jack didn't even know and she looked pretty bad, Robby..."
"Jesus." Robby scrubs his beard. "Will she get a bed upstairs after the surgery?"
"Doubt it. But I'll see what I can do." Dana promises, already picking up her phone again. Recovering in the ER is not that ideal with all the noise.
"Thanks, Dana. Send Jack my way if you see him before me, yeah?" Robby gets a nod and gets back to work. A piece of his mind still on you though. You've become his very good friend ever since you met Jack. And he hates seeing the people he loves get hurt.
-
Jack doesn't go to the Pitt, he heads straight to the surgery floor. He almost convinces the nurses there to let him inside but they make him stay in the waiting room.
And by the time you get out, Jack's sick with worry. He immediately runs to your bed as they wheel you out. He only listens to the surgeon say that everything went perfect with one ear.
His sole focus is on assessing you with his own eyes and touch. He brushes some stray hair away from your pale face.
He blows out a breath of relief, finally able to function full, again. Jack hasn't felt this kind of panic in a long, long time. Not since his late wife.
"Is she staying here?" Jack asks the nurses, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.
One of the nurses shakes her head. "No, we don't have any open beds. We are taking her downstairs."
Jack nods, it's nothing unusual. He takes ahold of one side of the bed and helps push you. He's gonna stay with you until you wake up and until he can take you home and take care of you there.
Jack stays quiet the whole way down. Clutching your hand in one hand and the bed in the other. When you finally get inside the halls of the Pitt people Jack's colleagues, gawk at him.
Murmurs go around as they look with wide eyes. He didn't even realise that people didn't know that he had a girlfriend. But he finds that he doesn't particularly care about their interested gaze, not when you are there.
"Jack, room 4 is ready for her." Robby comes up to him, clasping him on his shoulder in comfort.
Jack gives him a curt nod. Words a little bit thick with emotions as he says. "Thank you, brother."
"Don't even mention it. Call for me if you need anything, yeah?" Robby squeezes his shoulder one more time before he leaves you two be, needed in trauma again.
Robby is replaced by Dana almost immediately. She helps Jack wheel you in and hook you up to all the monitors.
"What did the surgeon say?" She asks with soft eyes.
"She said that the surgery went well, and that if all tests are good, she can go home tomorrow." Jack doesn't even know how he managed to remember all of that when he was barely listening.
"That's great, Jack." Dana tucks the blanket higher up your chin. "How are you holding up though?" She gives him a look that says that he shouldn't try to lie.
"Better now that I'm with her. I was so worried, Dana." He shakes his head, it's not easy to talk about his emotions. "Thank you for calling me."
"Of course, Jack. She's a strong girl and she got here just in time. Just stay with her and you'll both be fine. And don't worry about work, Robby already talked to Gloria. You can take as much time off as you need."
Jack mouths 'thank you', afraid that his voice might betray him with all of the emotions he's feeling.
Dana leaves him with a warm smile, waving his gratitude off.
Jack waits for the anesthesia to wear off and to finally see your pretty eyes.
-
You find Jack leaning over you with a relieved smile when you wake up. The second thing you notice is the pain being gone, replaced by the floaty, painless state.
"You are here." You whisper with a hoarse voice. Hand reaching up to wipe away the lonely tear sliding down his rugged cheek.
"Of course, I'm here, angel. More of a surprise is that you are here." Jack tries to crack a light joke, just to see your smile.
"Sorry." You say sheepishly, giving him that damned smile he wanted to see. The last bit of worry slips away as the corners of your mouth go up.
"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Good thing you came here. The surgery went well, they took it out so there shouldn't be any more pain like that." He gives your hand a gentle squeeze.
"Good, the pain was so sudden. I didn't know it could feel like that. I thought I was gonna pass out from it." You explain. "I didn't even want to come here at first but I'm glad I did."
"Jesus, baby, next time call me if anything like this happens to you, please. And don't even try to say you didn't want to bother me, that's such a nonsense."
You give him a shy smile. "Okay, Jack. I promise to call next time." And then you ask. "Do you know when can I go home?"
"If the tests are good, then I'm taking you home tomorrow. And I'll be fussing around you until you are back to 100 percent." Jack grins at you. "You might even start getting sick of me by then."
"Sick of your handsome face? Never, Jackie."
"Is that all I am to you? Just a pretty face for you to look at?" Jack's heart is practically singing with happiness as he hears you banter back.
"Maybe." You smile teasingly at him, even forgetting that you are in a hospital when Jack is with you.
"Wow, okay, I'm going to call Dr. King, and let her keep you here forever." Your laughter dies down at his words, realisation striking you.
"Wait. Does...Does everyone know about us then?" You ask, a little wide eyed but excited. You've been itching to meet everyone. Especially Dr. J, her videos are so fun.
"Yes. Is that okay?" Jack questions, eyebrows raised up uncertainly.
"Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to meeting everybody."
Jack gives you a big smile at that answer, leaning in to softly brush his lips against yours.
"Okay, sweetheart, I'll let them know that they can come introduce themselves later. But you should try resting some more, okay?" He can't resist planting one more kiss onto your cracked lips. He should find you a lip balm, he pockets that thought for later.
"Okay, will you stay?"
"Of course, angel. I told you, I'm not going anywhere." And with his reassurance, you close your eyes and let the exhaustion pull you asleep once again.
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