I write fanfic, read fanfic and occasionally remember I have a degree to finish.
Perpetually working on at least three unfinished stories and thinking about five more. Here for fandoms, books, pretty aesthetics and whatever character has currently taken over my brain.
Trying to become a better writer one questionable draft at a time. I just got back into publishing fics so, please forgive the process while I figure things out again.
Summary: Jack Abbott’s wife rarely visits the ER so when she arrives during his birthday shift carrying homemade baked treats, the entire department becomes fascinated by the soft version of Jack that only exists around her.
Content Warnings: Fluff and romance, kissing scenes, teasing coworkers, hospital setting and workplace stress, reader insert.
Wc: 1.7k
An: in this I’m imagining Jack switched to day shift for his b day so he can spend the evening w his wife… hope ya like x also im so hungover pls forgive errors x
⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹
Nobody in the emergency department understood how Dr Jack Abbott had managed to get married.
It was not that he was unattractive. Quite the opposite, unfortunately. Tall(er than some), permanently exhausted and carrying the kind of quiet intensity that made half the hospital nervous around him. He was competent to an almost frightening degree and so deeply emotionally repressed that most residents thought he reproduced through mitosis.
Then occasionally, every few weeks, his wife appeared.
Always quietly.
One moment the department would be drowning in noise and movement then suddenly she would be standing near the nurses’ station with a tote bag over her shoulder and that soft smile that seemed wildly out of place in a trauma centre.
Nobody missed the way Jack changed when he saw her.
It was subtle if you did not know him well. His shoulders loosened slightly. The hard line between his brows eased. His voice lost some of its edge.
For everybody else, Jack Abbott was all sharp corners.
For her, he softened.
“She’s like a cryptid,” Santos whispered one night while pretending to update charts. “People claim she exists but sightings are rare.”
“She brought in coffee last month,” King replied.
“You spoke to her?”
“She apologised because I moved out of her way too quickly.”
Santos stared at her. “Jesus. She’s polite too.”
Jack looked up from his computer. “Do either of you have work to do?”
“No,” Santos answered honestly.
By the time Jack’s birthday arrived, half the department had become weirdly invested in the existence of his marriage. Jack himself wanted absolutely no acknowledgement of the day whatsoever.
“It’s just another shift,” he said flatly when Collins made the mistake of mentioning cake.
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m not interested in being fun.”
“See, this is why your wife is everyone’s favourite.”
Jack looked deeply unimpressed by that statement though a faint flush crept up the back of his neck anyway.
The day itself turned brutal before midday.
A multi vehicle collision flooded the department with patients. Every trauma bay filled within minutes. Nurses moved at impossible speed while monitors beeped continuously beneath the sharp smell of antiseptic and adrenaline.
By three in the afternoon Jack looked like he had not sat down once.
His scrub top was wrinkled. There was dried blood near the cuff of one sleeve and a coffee stain on the front pocket from a drink somebody had knocked into him hours ago. He moved through the chaos with clipped efficiency, exhaustion buried beneath professionalism.
Then the ambulance bay doors opened.
Conversation near the nurses’ station slowed almost instantly.
You walked inside balancing three bakery boxes carefully against her chest.
Warm air followed you in from outside along with the faint sweet smell of vanilla and brown sugar. She looked slightly windswept, hair escaping from its clip and cheeks pink from the cold.
Santos straightened so quickly she nearly fell out of her chair.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “The cryptid returns.”
Jack looked up from a chart.
Everything in his face changed.
Not dramatically. He was still Jack. Still tired and restrained and impossible to read half the time.
But his eyes softened immediately.
“There you are,” you, his wife said gently.
Jack crossed the station before she could properly adjust the boxes in her arms. One hand settled automatically against her waist while he took the stack from her.
“You drove here in this weather?” he asked quietly.
“It’s your birthday.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“I know,” you replied. “I wanted to.”
The residents watched the interaction like it was live theatre.
Jack glanced down at the boxes. “What is all this?”
“Well, I started at midnight and nearly cried over buttercream at two in the morning.”
Something unexpectedly tender crossed Jack’s face then.
Not amusement exactly.
Something softer.
His thumb brushed briefly against your hip before he stepped back enough to set the boxes on the counter.
The department descended instantly.
Within seconds the lids were open and the smell of fresh baking spread through the station. Somebody made an emotional noise over the brownies.
“These are homemade?” King asked in disbelief.
You nodded. “I wasn’t sure what people liked.”
Santos looked genuinely moved. “I would die for you.”
“A bit dramatic,” Jack muttered.
“I’m being sincere.”
You laughed softly at that and every person within range noticed the way Jack looked at her when she laughed.
Like it physically caught him off guard every single time.
The rest of the afternoon shifted strangely after that.
The department was still chaotic. Ambulances still arrived. Patients still cried behind curtains while residents sprinted between rooms.
Yet every time Jack passed the nurses’ station, his gaze found his wife first.
She stayed tucked beside the counter sipping terrible vending machine tea and chatting quietly with the nurses between emergencies. Every now and then Jack brushed past her just close enough for his hand to skim her back.
Small touches. Automatic ones.
The kind people only did when affection had become instinct.
“You’re telling me this man has a spice rack organised alphabetically?” Santos asked later while eating her third brownie.
You smiled into her tea. “By height too.”
“I hate this information,” Jack said from across the desk.
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted tiredly.
The confession startled half the residents more than the marriage itself.
Later the department finally slowed enough for everyone to breathe again.
Jack emerged from trauma looking exhausted down to the bone. He scrubbed a hand over his face while reading something on a patient chart, shoulders tight beneath fluorescent lighting.
You watched him for a moment before quietly stepping into his path.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“I had half a granola bar.”
“That was eleven hours ago.”
Jack exhaled softly through his nose. “You’re very annoying.”
“You married me anyway.”
Something in his expression cracked then. Not fully but enough.
His hand settled briefly at the back of your neck, fingers disappearing into the soft hair there. Intimate enough that conversation around the desk dipped noticeably quieter.
“You should go home soon,” he murmured.
She tilted her head slightly. “Do you want me to?”
The answer arrived instantly.
“No.”
The honesty in it seemed to surprise even him.
A slow warmth spread across your face and suddenly Jack looked away first, jaw tightening slightly like he regretted saying it out loud.
Unfortunately Santos witnessed the entire thing.
“Oh, he’s down horrendous.”
“Stop talking,” King hissed.
Jack’s wife laughed quietly and touched his wrist. “Can I steal you for five minutes?”
Jack looked towards the department automatically, already checking whether anybody needed him.
Collins waved him away without looking up from a chart. “Go before you start diagnosing people with your face again.”
Jack gave him a flat stare though he finally allowed his wife to lead him down the quieter corridor near radiology.
The further they walked from the main department, the quieter everything became. The constant noise faded into distant monitor alarms and muffled voices through walls.
An empty exam room sat partially open near the end of the hall.
The second the door closed behind them, Jack’s entire posture changed.
The exhaustion hit him visibly all at once.
He leaned back against the wall with a long exhale while his wife stepped closer, fingertips brushing gently beneath his eyes.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Come here.”
Jack made a rough sound somewhere low in his throat and pulled her against him immediately.
The kiss landed hard enough to steal her breath.
All the restraint he carried through the department disappeared the second his mouth touched hers. One hand slid firmly around her waist while the other tangled into her hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss her deeper.
She tasted faintly of lemon icing and tea.
Jack kissed you like he had been thinking about it for hours.
Slow at first then suddenly hungry.
His wife laughed softly against his mouth when he backed her against the counter, his body settling between her knees instinctively.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she whispered breathlessly.
“I am resting.”
“That’s not what this looks like.”
Jack kissed her again before she could finish speaking. Longer this time. Messier.
Weeks of missed mornings and late shifts and exhausted goodnight kisses poured into it. His hands moved over her like reassurance. Like memory.
“You have any idea,” he murmured against her lips, “how distracting it was watching you stand out there all day?”
She smiled faintly. “I was literally handing out brownies.”
“You wore my jumper.”
“That old thing?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
His mouth moved along her jaw and she felt the way he exhaled against her skin when her fingers slipped beneath the collar of his scrub top.
Outside the room a trolley rattled past.
Neither of them noticed.
Jack lifted his head only long enough to look at her properly.
Her lips were swollen from kissing and her hair had fallen loose around her shoulders. She looked warm and happy and entirely his.
The expression on his face softened so suddenly it almost hurt.
“There she is,” he said quietly.
Your chest tightened. “What?”
“My girl.”
The words came out absentmindedly. Honest enough that he probably had not meant to say them aloud.
You kissed him before he could recover from the admission.
This time Jack melted into it completely.
One hand cupped your face while the other stayed secure at her waist, holding her close enough to feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath wrinkled scrubs.
When they finally pulled apart both of them were smiling slightly.
“You should probably go save lives again,” your murmured.
Jack rested his forehead against hers with a sigh. “Unfortunately.”
Another soft knock sounded suddenly from outside the room.
“Dr Abbott,” Santos called through the door, “we have respectfully decided to ignore whatever’s happening in there but somebody needs you in trauma two.”
Jack closed his eyes briefly.
You, as his wife, burst into helpless giggles against his shoulder.
From outside the door Santos added, “Also your wife’s brownies changed my life.”
Jack looked heavenward like he was searching for patience.
Then he glanced back at his wife and despite everything, despite the exhaustion and chaos waiting outside that door, he smiled.
got an ask that was REALLY mean, omfg I feel really shitty about my writing rn. like it mightn’t be your taste but I’m trying my best, i just got back into writing. Fandoms are supposed to be fun! (◞‸ ◟)💧
Summary: Jack Abbott’s wife rarely visits the ER so when she arrives during his birthday shift carrying homemade baked treats, the entire department becomes fascinated by the soft version of Jack that only exists around her.
Content Warnings: Fluff and romance, kissing scenes, teasing coworkers, hospital setting and workplace stress, reader insert.
Wc: 1.7k
An: in this I’m imagining Jack switched to day shift for his b day so he can spend the evening w his wife… hope ya like x also im so hungover pls forgive errors x
⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹
Nobody in the emergency department understood how Dr Jack Abbott had managed to get married.
It was not that he was unattractive. Quite the opposite, unfortunately. Tall(er than some), permanently exhausted and carrying the kind of quiet intensity that made half the hospital nervous around him. He was competent to an almost frightening degree and so deeply emotionally repressed that most residents thought he reproduced through mitosis.
Then occasionally, every few weeks, his wife appeared.
Always quietly.
One moment the department would be drowning in noise and movement then suddenly she would be standing near the nurses’ station with a tote bag over her shoulder and that soft smile that seemed wildly out of place in a trauma centre.
Nobody missed the way Jack changed when he saw her.
It was subtle if you did not know him well. His shoulders loosened slightly. The hard line between his brows eased. His voice lost some of its edge.
For everybody else, Jack Abbott was all sharp corners.
For her, he softened.
“She’s like a cryptid,” Santos whispered one night while pretending to update charts. “People claim she exists but sightings are rare.”
“She brought in coffee last month,” King replied.
“You spoke to her?”
“She apologised because I moved out of her way too quickly.”
Santos stared at her. “Jesus. She’s polite too.”
Jack looked up from his computer. “Do either of you have work to do?”
“No,” Santos answered honestly.
By the time Jack’s birthday arrived, half the department had become weirdly invested in the existence of his marriage. Jack himself wanted absolutely no acknowledgement of the day whatsoever.
“It’s just another shift,” he said flatly when Collins made the mistake of mentioning cake.
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m not interested in being fun.”
“See, this is why your wife is everyone’s favourite.”
Jack looked deeply unimpressed by that statement though a faint flush crept up the back of his neck anyway.
The day itself turned brutal before midday.
A multi vehicle collision flooded the department with patients. Every trauma bay filled within minutes. Nurses moved at impossible speed while monitors beeped continuously beneath the sharp smell of antiseptic and adrenaline.
By three in the afternoon Jack looked like he had not sat down once.
His scrub top was wrinkled. There was dried blood near the cuff of one sleeve and a coffee stain on the front pocket from a drink somebody had knocked into him hours ago. He moved through the chaos with clipped efficiency, exhaustion buried beneath professionalism.
Then the ambulance bay doors opened.
Conversation near the nurses’ station slowed almost instantly.
You walked inside balancing three bakery boxes carefully against her chest.
Warm air followed you in from outside along with the faint sweet smell of vanilla and brown sugar. She looked slightly windswept, hair escaping from its clip and cheeks pink from the cold.
Santos straightened so quickly she nearly fell out of her chair.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “The cryptid returns.”
Jack looked up from a chart.
Everything in his face changed.
Not dramatically. He was still Jack. Still tired and restrained and impossible to read half the time.
But his eyes softened immediately.
“There you are,” you, his wife said gently.
Jack crossed the station before she could properly adjust the boxes in her arms. One hand settled automatically against her waist while he took the stack from her.
“You drove here in this weather?” he asked quietly.
“It’s your birthday.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“I know,” you replied. “I wanted to.”
The residents watched the interaction like it was live theatre.
Jack glanced down at the boxes. “What is all this?”
“Well, I started at midnight and nearly cried over buttercream at two in the morning.”
Something unexpectedly tender crossed Jack’s face then.
Not amusement exactly.
Something softer.
His thumb brushed briefly against your hip before he stepped back enough to set the boxes on the counter.
The department descended instantly.
Within seconds the lids were open and the smell of fresh baking spread through the station. Somebody made an emotional noise over the brownies.
“These are homemade?” King asked in disbelief.
You nodded. “I wasn’t sure what people liked.”
Santos looked genuinely moved. “I would die for you.”
“A bit dramatic,” Jack muttered.
“I’m being sincere.”
You laughed softly at that and every person within range noticed the way Jack looked at her when she laughed.
Like it physically caught him off guard every single time.
The rest of the afternoon shifted strangely after that.
The department was still chaotic. Ambulances still arrived. Patients still cried behind curtains while residents sprinted between rooms.
Yet every time Jack passed the nurses’ station, his gaze found his wife first.
She stayed tucked beside the counter sipping terrible vending machine tea and chatting quietly with the nurses between emergencies. Every now and then Jack brushed past her just close enough for his hand to skim her back.
Small touches. Automatic ones.
The kind people only did when affection had become instinct.
“You’re telling me this man has a spice rack organised alphabetically?” Santos asked later while eating her third brownie.
You smiled into her tea. “By height too.”
“I hate this information,” Jack said from across the desk.
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted tiredly.
The confession startled half the residents more than the marriage itself.
Later the department finally slowed enough for everyone to breathe again.
Jack emerged from trauma looking exhausted down to the bone. He scrubbed a hand over his face while reading something on a patient chart, shoulders tight beneath fluorescent lighting.
You watched him for a moment before quietly stepping into his path.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“I had half a granola bar.”
“That was eleven hours ago.”
Jack exhaled softly through his nose. “You’re very annoying.”
“You married me anyway.”
Something in his expression cracked then. Not fully but enough.
His hand settled briefly at the back of your neck, fingers disappearing into the soft hair there. Intimate enough that conversation around the desk dipped noticeably quieter.
“You should go home soon,” he murmured.
She tilted her head slightly. “Do you want me to?”
The answer arrived instantly.
“No.”
The honesty in it seemed to surprise even him.
A slow warmth spread across your face and suddenly Jack looked away first, jaw tightening slightly like he regretted saying it out loud.
Unfortunately Santos witnessed the entire thing.
“Oh, he’s down horrendous.”
“Stop talking,” King hissed.
Jack’s wife laughed quietly and touched his wrist. “Can I steal you for five minutes?”
Jack looked towards the department automatically, already checking whether anybody needed him.
Collins waved him away without looking up from a chart. “Go before you start diagnosing people with your face again.”
Jack gave him a flat stare though he finally allowed his wife to lead him down the quieter corridor near radiology.
The further they walked from the main department, the quieter everything became. The constant noise faded into distant monitor alarms and muffled voices through walls.
An empty exam room sat partially open near the end of the hall.
The second the door closed behind them, Jack’s entire posture changed.
The exhaustion hit him visibly all at once.
He leaned back against the wall with a long exhale while his wife stepped closer, fingertips brushing gently beneath his eyes.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Come here.”
Jack made a rough sound somewhere low in his throat and pulled her against him immediately.
The kiss landed hard enough to steal her breath.
All the restraint he carried through the department disappeared the second his mouth touched hers. One hand slid firmly around her waist while the other tangled into her hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss her deeper.
She tasted faintly of lemon icing and tea.
Jack kissed you like he had been thinking about it for hours.
Slow at first then suddenly hungry.
His wife laughed softly against his mouth when he backed her against the counter, his body settling between her knees instinctively.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she whispered breathlessly.
“I am resting.”
“That’s not what this looks like.”
Jack kissed her again before she could finish speaking. Longer this time. Messier.
Weeks of missed mornings and late shifts and exhausted goodnight kisses poured into it. His hands moved over her like reassurance. Like memory.
“You have any idea,” he murmured against her lips, “how distracting it was watching you stand out there all day?”
She smiled faintly. “I was literally handing out brownies.”
“You wore my jumper.”
“That old thing?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
His mouth moved along her jaw and she felt the way he exhaled against her skin when her fingers slipped beneath the collar of his scrub top.
Outside the room a trolley rattled past.
Neither of them noticed.
Jack lifted his head only long enough to look at her properly.
Her lips were swollen from kissing and her hair had fallen loose around her shoulders. She looked warm and happy and entirely his.
The expression on his face softened so suddenly it almost hurt.
“There she is,” he said quietly.
Your chest tightened. “What?”
“My girl.”
The words came out absentmindedly. Honest enough that he probably had not meant to say them aloud.
You kissed him before he could recover from the admission.
This time Jack melted into it completely.
One hand cupped your face while the other stayed secure at her waist, holding her close enough to feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath wrinkled scrubs.
When they finally pulled apart both of them were smiling slightly.
“You should probably go save lives again,” your murmured.
Jack rested his forehead against hers with a sigh. “Unfortunately.”
Another soft knock sounded suddenly from outside the room.
“Dr Abbott,” Santos called through the door, “we have respectfully decided to ignore whatever’s happening in there but somebody needs you in trauma two.”
Jack closed his eyes briefly.
You, as his wife, burst into helpless giggles against his shoulder.
From outside the door Santos added, “Also your wife’s brownies changed my life.”
Jack looked heavenward like he was searching for patience.
Then he glanced back at his wife and despite everything, despite the exhaustion and chaos waiting outside that door, he smiled.
Summary: Titillate (verb) means to excite, stimulate, or arouse someone in a pleasurable or tantalizing way. You tease Jack at work! (No smut)
Content Warnings: Established relationship, workplace flirting, sexual tension, teasing and restraint, touching over clothing, suggestive dialogue, possessiveness undertones, mild profanity, public/workplace risk of getting caught, tension-heavy interactions, implied intimacy.
Pairing: Dr Jack Abbot x Reader
Wc: 1.2k
An: rediscovered this word while watching a quiz show, immediately thought of teasing my man Jack at work!
⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹
Jack was halfway through updating a chart when he felt you behind him.
Not touching yet. Just very close.
That alone was enough to pull a slow breath from his lungs.
“You’re supposed to be helping triage,” he said without looking up.
“I am helping.”
“Harassing your boyfriend during a shift isn’t helping.”
You hummed thoughtfully behind him. “Debatable.”
Jack tried to stay focused on the tablet in his hands. Tried being the important word.
Because then you brushed past him.
Slowly.
Your ass dragged against his hip as you squeezed between him and the counter despite there being more than enough room. Heat shot straight through him.
Jack’s jaw tightened instantly.
“You did that on purpose.”
You looked over your shoulder innocently. “Did what?”
He gave you a flat look.
God, he loved you.
And you absolutely knew what you were doing to him.
You leaned against the counter beside him while he continued typing, pretending not to notice the smug little smile pulling at your mouth.
Then your fingers hooked the pen clipped into the collar of his scrub top.
Jack paused mid-sentence.
Very slowly, you slid the pen free.
“Need this?” you asked softly.
“No,” he answered immediately.
Jack went still.
Your fingers dragged slowly over his chest as you slid the pen free. Heat radiated through the thin fabric beneath your knuckles.
“Just going to borrow this then.”
His eyes darkened immediately.
“You have your own pen.”
“I like yours better.”
“Yeah?” His voice dropped lower. “Why’s that?”
You twirled it between your fingers lazily while your other hand settled against his stomach.
Even through the scrubs you could feel him tense beneath your palm.
“Maybe because it came with the doctor.”
Jack exhaled slowly through his nose.
His eyes flicked to your mouth. “You’re testing me.”
“Maybe I miss you.”
“You saw me twenty minutes ago.”
“Still missed you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
You stepped closer again, invading his space until your thigh pressed against his. Your free hand drifted lazily up the front of his scrubs—over his stomach, slow enough to make him suck in a breath.
“Baby,” he warned quietly.
His abs tightened automatically beneath your touch. You could feel every tense line through the thin fabric.
That only encouraged you.
Your fingertips dragged higher, nails barely grazing him through the material before tracing back down again.
Jack’s hands stilled completely over the chart.
“You are being incredibly unfair right now.”
“You like unfair.”
“I like you.” His voice dropped rougher. “That’s the problem.”
You smiled and leaned into him deliberately, your ass brushing the front of his hips this time.
Jack closed his eyes for a dangerous second.
“Jesus Christ.”
You felt his restraint slipping. Tiny cracks in that polished composure he wore at work.
Best feeling in the world.
“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.
Instead, his hand landed hard on your waist.
Not enough to hurt.
More than enough to make your pulse jump.
“You have exactly ten seconds,” he murmured against your ear, “before I drag you into an on-call room.”
A laugh escaped you softly. “Promises, promises.”
His grip tightened.
Then someone called his name from down the hallway.
Jack stared at the ceiling like a man personally betrayed by fate.
You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing.
He looked back at you slowly, eyes dark and exhausted and completely obsessed.
“You are going to be the death of me.”
You slipped the stolen pen back into his scrub collar, patting his chest sweetly afterward.
“Good thing you’re a doctor.”
Jack made a low sound in his throat that nearly melted your knees.
Then he leaned close enough for only you to hear.
“You’re not wearing those scrubs to work again unless you want everyone here knowing exactly what I’m thinking about all day.”
…
Jack barely got the exam room door shut before your hands were on him.
One fist curled into the front of his scrub top, dragging him down toward you while the other slid into his hair. The second your mouths met, he made a low sound in his throat that nearly melted your knees.
“Jesus,” he breathed against your lips.
The kiss turned messy immediately.
Hungry.
Hours of teasing finally snapping tight.
Jack’s hands landed on your waist hard enough to pull you flush against him, your body trapped between his and the exam bed. Heat radiated off him in waves, all that tightly controlled frustration finally spilling out through rough kisses and uneven breaths.
You smiled against his mouth.
“Don’t,” he muttered instantly, kissing you again before you could say anything smug.
His lips moved hot and demanding against yours, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. Every kiss felt impatient, like he couldn’t get enough no matter how close he pulled you.
Your fingers tightened in his curls.
Jack groaned softly.
“There,” you whispered against his mouth. “That’s my favorite sound.”
“You’re evil.”
“You like me anyway.”
“I’m obsessed with you,” he corrected roughly.
The honesty of it hit hard.
Jack kissed you deeper before you could recover, one hand sliding up your spine until it settled at the back of your neck. The angle forced your head back slightly, letting him kiss you slower now—deeper, more deliberate.
Like he was savoring it.
Your stomach flipped.
God.
You could feel the tension still wound through him, even now. The restraint. The effort it took not to completely lose control after you’d spent all day tormenting him.
Which only made you want to push him further.
You rolled your hips lightly against his.
Jack broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, forehead dropping to yours.
“Sweetheart,” he warned breathlessly.
You kissed the corner of his mouth innocently. “What?”
“That.”
His grip tightened on your waist.
“You cannot do that to me in the middle of a shift.”
“But you look so pretty when you’re frustrated.”
Jack laughed once under his breath, completely wrecked sounding.
“Pretty?”
“Mhm.”
“You’ve officially lost your mind.”
“Maybe you kissed it out of me.”
That earned you another kiss instantly.
Harder this time.
Jack crowded you back against the bed fully, his body warm and solid against yours while his mouth worked over yours with devastating patience. Your hands wandered down his chest slowly, feeling firm muscle tense beneath thin blue scrubs.
He caught your wrist before you could tease him again.
“Absolutely not,” he murmured against your lips.
You smiled. “Still pretending you’re in charge?”
Jack’s eyes darkened dangerously.
Then he kissed you until you forgot your own name.
Slow at first.
Then deeper.
His hand slid into your hair while the other stayed firm on your hip, keeping you pinned close enough to feel every uneven breath he pulled from your lungs. The room felt too hot suddenly, the air thick with tension and stolen moments and the constant risk of someone walking in.
It only made everything worse.
Or better.
Probably both.
When Jack finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.
His lips were pink from kissing you.
You stared for a second too long.
He noticed immediately. “What?”
“You look kissed.”
“That would be your fault.”
You grinned.
Jack shook his head slowly like he genuinely couldn’t believe you existed.
“You spent an entire shift trying to drive me insane.”
“And?”
“And it worked.” He leaned down to brush one last lingering kiss against your mouth. “Congratulations.”
Hi, I just wanted to point out that on your last post (Lunch Break) , the top said "gn!reader" but the story included she/her pronouns and use of feminine terminology. Otherwise love your posts but wanted to ask if you could make sure to tag them as fem!reader if fem terms are used<3
Ah! Apologies. My mistake, I’ll fix that- thanks for pointing it out! I wrote it on my notes app then pasted into a working google doc (I tend to use the same doc so maybe I won’t do that from now lol!) to format so I think it may have been the remnants of another post sorry about that!! Silly me for not proof reading!-Ty for reading and pointing it out Xx
Summary: Late night diner visits become the best part of your week when you start falling for exhausted night shift doctor Jack Abbott over coffee, fries and 2 a.m. conversations.
Wc: 2.1k
Cw: sleep deprivation, hospital mentions, late night loneliness, flirting, emotional vulnerability, soft jack abbott, anxious yearning, night shift exhaustion, diner romance, mutual pining.
An: to be cringe is to be free, fluffy Jack is my baby. Also as a European girl I always loved American diner culture, like yes I want pie and coffee at 3am hello!
⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹
At 2:17 a.m. the diner across from the hospital was quiet except for the hum of the coffee machine and the occasional clink of silverware.
You sat curled into your usual booth by the window with a slice of pie and a book you had stopped reading twenty minutes ago.
Mostly because of him.
Jack Abbott walked in wearing wrinkled navy scrubs and an expression so painfully exhausted it almost circled back to cute.
Not messy in an intimidating way.
Messy in a soft way.
Like he needed someone to tell him to take a nap and drink water.
He dropped onto a stool at the counter and thanked the server with a tired little smile.
Immediately suspicious behavior for a man that pretty at two in the morning.
An older woman in the booth beside yours leaned toward you conspiratorially.
“He comes in every night,” she whispered. “Always orders fries.”
You smiled. “That’s kind of adorable.”
“I know.” She sighed dramatically. “If I was forty years younger I’d ruin that man’s life.”
You nearly choked laughing.
Unfortunately the sound carried.
The doctor at the counter glanced over.
Your eyes met.
And then he smiled.
Small. Sleepy. Warm enough to make your stomach flip over completely.
Terrible.
You looked down at your pie like it had personally betrayed you.
A few minutes later his food arrived and the older woman beside you shamelessly waved him over.
“Doctor Fries,” she called. “This girl says your order is adorable.”
You stared at her in horror.
Jack blinked once then looked at you.
“Oh, does she now?”
“She’s lying,” you said immediately.
“She’s blushing,” the woman corrected.
Jack laughed quietly and honestly that might have been worse.
He walked over carrying his coffee mug. Up close he somehow looked even more tired. Soft brown eyes. Slightly messy hair. Sleeves pushed up his forearms.
Cute enough to be genuinely annoying.
“You think my fries are adorable?” he asked.
“I think ordering only fries for dinner is concerning.”
“It’s lunch.”
You glanced toward the hospital across the street. “At two in the morning?”
“Night shift.”
“That explains the haunted look.”
He smiled into his coffee. “Yeah.”
The older woman beside you pointed at the empty seat across from you both.
“Sit with her,” she ordered him. “You both look lonely.”
“Oh my God,” you muttered.
Jack looked weirdly amused.
“I mean,” he said carefully, “if that’s okay with you.”
You should have said no.
Instead you heard yourself say, “Only if you share the fries.”
“Deal.”
A few minutes later he was sitting across from you stealing glances over the rim of his coffee cup while you both pretended this was normal.
It was unfair how easy he was to talk to.
You learned his name was Jack. He learned you came to the diner because your apartment was too quiet at night. He admitted he was surviving mostly on caffeine and spite.
“You seem too nice to run on spite,” you told him.
Jack smiled softly at that. “You’ve known me for twelve minutes.”
“Still. Your vibe is less evil mastermind and more sleepy golden retriever.”
He laughed hard enough to duck his head.
The sound made your chest feel warm.
When his phone buzzed on the table his expression shifted immediately.
Back to work.
“Oh,” you said quietly.
“Yeah.” He looked almost disappointed. “Break’s over.”
For some reason that made you sad too.
Jack stood slowly then hesitated.
“You here tomorrow night?”
Your heart did one stupid little flip.
“Maybe.”
He smiled again. Softer this time. Almost shy.
“Cool,” he said. “Maybe I’ll order something besides fries to impress you.”
“You better not,” you replied. “I’m emotionally invested now.”
That made him laugh all over again before he headed back toward the hospital.
And for the rest of the night you kept smiling every time the diner door opened hoping it might be him again.
⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹
The next night you told yourself you were not waiting for Jack Abbott.
That would be insane.
You were simply returning to the diner because you liked the atmosphere.
And the pie.
And maybe the old songs they played softly from the jukebox.
None of that had anything to do with a tired doctor with messy hair and pretty eyes.
Absolutely nothing.
Which was why you kept checking the door every thirty seconds.
You sat curled into your usual booth with your book open in front of you, pretending very hard to read while your stomach twisted itself into knots.
The bell over the diner door rang.
Not him.
Again.
Not him.
You turned a page without absorbing a single word.
This was humiliating.
You barely knew him. One conversation. Shared fries. A few smiles that had lodged themselves directly into your brain for reasons you refused to examine too closely.
Still, every time someone walked through the door your chest lifted hopefully before dropping all over again.
By 2:35 you started feeling stupid.
By 2:42 you were fully considering leaving.
Maybe he had been busy. Maybe he’d picked up another patient and forgotten completely. Maybe he flirted like that with everyone during night shift because exhaustion made people weird.
You stared at the same sentence in your book until the words blurred together.
The older woman from last night appeared beside your booth carrying coffee.
“No doctor yet?” she asked immediately.
You sighed. “Please don’t make this worse.”
“Oh honey, your face is making it worse all by itself.”
“I am not making a face.”
“You’ve looked at that door eighteen times since I walked in.”
“I hate you.”
She patted your shoulder sympathetically. “No you don’t.”
You dropped your forehead dramatically onto your book.
This was exactly why you avoided crushes.
Crushes turned normal intelligent women into people who sat in diners at two in the morning internally screaming every time a door opened.
Another ring of the bell.
Your head lifted automatically.
Not him.
The disappointment hit sharper this time.
The older woman softened a little when she saw your expression. “Maybe the hospital’s busy tonight.”
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Probably.”
You looked back down at your book before she could see how embarrassed you suddenly felt.
God. What if he just…didn’t come back?
Why did that thought hurt your feelings so much?
You had just started forcing yourself to actually read when a shadow fell across your table.
“Okay,” a warm sleepy voice said softly. “Either that book is incredible or you’re using it as emotional support.”
Your head snapped up so fast your bookmark fell onto the floor.
Jack stood there looking exhausted and slightly rain-soaked with his coffee in one hand and the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.
And the relief that hit you at seeing him was so immediate and overwhelming it almost made you angry.
“You came back,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.
Jack’s expression changed instantly.
Something softer.
Gentler.
Like maybe he had hoped you’d be happy to see him.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m late. Sorry. Ambulance pileup.”
You stared at him for a second too long trying to calm your suddenly racing heart.
“It’s okay,” you said quickly. “I wasn’t waiting or anything.”
Jack glanced at your untouched pie.
Then at the book still open to nearly the exact same page as yesterday.
One tired eyebrow lifted slowly.
“You sure?”
Heat flooded your face.
“Oh my God.”
His laugh came out low and sleepy and unfairly cute.
“I’m kidding.” He slid into the booth across from you with a soft sigh like sitting down beside you was the first chance he’d had to breathe all night. “Mostly.”
You tried to focus on your book again but it was impossible with him looking at you like that.
“You look exhausted,” you said finally.
“I am exhausted.”
“You should probably sleep.”
“I probably should.”
“But instead you came here.”
Jack’s mouth curved slightly at the corners. “Yeah.”
The way he said it made your stomach flutter.
A server passed by and immediately dropped a plate of fries onto the table without asking.
“You’re predictable now,” she informed him.
Jack looked offended. “That feels judgmental.”
“You come here every night and order the same thing.”
“You know what? Fair.”
You laughed quietly and he glanced at you immediately like the sound pulled his attention without him meaning to.
It did something strange to your chest.
“You had a bad day?” he asked after a moment.
You shrugged. “Not bad. Just long.”
“Could tell.”
“How?”
“You keep fake reading.” He nodded toward your book. “You’ve turned two pages in ten minutes.”
“You’re weirdly observant.”
“I work in emergency medicine.” He stole a fry. “Noticing things is unfortunately part of the job.”
You smiled despite yourself.
For a little while conversation settled into something easy again. Comfortable. Like picking up a thread you hadn’t realized you missed.
Jack told you about a nurse who threatened to hide his coffee if he skipped another break. You told him about your coworker accidentally replying-all to an email insulting your boss.
He laughed so hard at that he actually covered his face with one hand.
“You’re evil for enjoying that story this much.”
“I’m sleep deprived. Morality’s blurry.”
You watched him smile into his coffee cup and felt that same dangerous warmth spread through you all over again.
Then his phone buzzed against the table.
Immediately his whole expression shifted.
Still kind. Still soft around the edges with you.
But underneath it there was exhaustion again. Responsibility. The reminder that eventually he always had to go back.
Something in your chest sank a little at the thought.
Jack noticed.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” You forced a smile. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby.”
You huffed out a laugh.
Then before you could lose your nerve completely you asked quietly, “You almost didn’t come tonight?”
His expression softened again.
“I wanted to.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Jack looked down at the table for a second before answering.
“Shift got bad.” He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “But I kept thinking about you sitting here waiting and feeling awful if I didn’t show up.”
Your heart squeezed painfully hard.
“Oh.”
His gaze lifted back to yours carefully. “Was I wrong?”
You looked down immediately because there was no way your face wasn’t giving everything away.
“I hate that you noticed.”
A sleepy smile tugged at his mouth. “So I was right.”
You groaned softly and covered your face with your hands. “This is deeply embarrassing for me.”
Jack laughed quietly then gentled almost immediately.
“I’m glad you waited.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in the nicest way.
For a second neither of you spoke.
The diner hummed softly around you. Coffee machines. Clinking plates. Rain tapping against the windows.
Then Jack cleared his throat.
“So,” he said carefully, almost nervous now. “Can I ask you something?”
You lowered your hands. “Depends.”
“I was wondering if maybe I could get your number.”
Your stomach flipped so hard it honestly felt ridiculous.
Jack suddenly looked less confident after asking. Like maybe he thought you might say no.
Which was insane considering you had practically been experiencing emotional warfare over whether he’d come back tonight.
“You want my number?” you asked softly.
He smiled a little. “Ideally, yeah.”
“Why?”
That earned you a surprised laugh.
“Because I like talking to you.”
The answer came so simply that it caught you off guard.
No games. No smooth line.
Just honest.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Also because I’d like to see you outside of my thirty minute lunch breaks eventually.”
Your heart melted a little.
You held your hand out silently.
He blinked. “What?”
“Your phone, Abbott.”
His smile widened immediately.
“Yes ma’am.”
Your fingers brushed when he handed it over and both of you paused for half a second at the contact.
Tiny.
Still enough to send warmth all the way up your arms.
You typed in your number carefully then handed the phone back.
Jack looked down at the screen with a sleepy little smile that made him look unfairly soft.
“There,” you said lightly. “Now you can text me during your nutritionally devastating lunches.”
He tucked his phone safely into his pocket like it was something important.
“Good,” he murmured.
“Good?”
“I was starting to think the only time I’d get to see you was at two in the morning over diner fries.”
Pairing: Dr Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Younger!gn reader
Summary; You bring your boyfriend Dr. Robby coffee during a brutal night shift and tease him for looking unfairly hot while exhausted. He pulls you close, kisses you softly and admits you’re the only thing getting him through the night.
Cw: age gap, hospital setting, flirting, tension, exhaustion, affectionate teasing, younger reader, soft romance, suggestive themes. No smut (I haven’t graduated to that yet).
Wc: .9K
An: my close and personal boyfriend, Michael.
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The hospital quieted down after two in the afternoon. The chaos never fully disappeared but it softened into something slower. Distant monitor alarms blended into the hum of fluorescent lights and tired footsteps echoed through the halls instead of rushing. Most people hated this hour. You secretly loved it because it was the only time Dr. Robby ever stopped moving long enough to breathe.
You found him exactly where you expected. Bent over paperwork in his office with his glasses slipping down his nose and one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. His white coat hung abandoned over the chair beside him and the sleeves of his dark blue shirt were rolled unevenly to his elbows. He looked exhausted. Beautiful too, unfortunately for your sanity.
You knocked lightly against the open doorframe and held up the takeaway coffees in your hands. “Bribery.
Robby looked up immediately and the tension in his face eased the second he saw you. “You’re came back here?”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound concerned.” His eyes flicked toward the clock on the wall. “It’s late.”
You stepped inside anyway and nudged the door half shut behind you. “Funny coming from the man who’s been awake for twenty hours.”
“That’s different.”
“It always is with you.”
His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile and failing badly at it. You handed him one of the coffees and his fingers brushed yours as he took it. Warm hands. Slightly rough. Your stomach betrayed you instantly.
“Careful,” you said. “I nearly fought a surgical resident for that caramel syrup.”
“That serious?”
“You have no idea.”
He laughed quietly then leaned back in his chair, finally taking a proper sip. The sound alone made something warm spread through your chest because Robby didn’t laugh much during shifts like this. Not unless you dragged it out of him.
“You should go home,” he murmured after a moment.
“You first.”
“Younger people need sleep.”
You folded your arms. “You know saying younger people like that makes you sound ancient.”
“I am ancient.”
“You’re like thirty something.” You said in jest.
“That’s ancient in hospital years.”
You grinned and moved closer without really thinking about it until you were standing beside his desk. From there you could see how tired he actually was. Faint shadows under his eyes. The crease between his brows that only showed up after difficult cases. He looked worn down in a way that made your chest ache a little.
“You okay?” you asked more softly.
Robby looked at you for a second too long before answering. “Yeah.”
“You hesitated.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous, must hurt”.
“There it is.” His smile deepened slightly. “I was wondering how long before you started bullying me.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“It’s definitely something.”
You tried not to notice the way he was looking at you. Tried and failed horribly. There was always this shift when the two of you ended up alone together. Something quieter. Warmer. Like the rest of the hospital disappeared around the edges. He watched you too carefully sometimes and you knew you did the exact same thing to him.
Your eyes dropped briefly to his loosened tie. “You look wrecked.”
“That bad?”
“Kind of hot actually.”
The words slipped out before your brain caught them.
Heat rushed into your face instantly and you looked away. “Forget I said that.”
Robby went completely still.
For one horrible second you considered launching yourself out the nearest window.
Then he laughed under his breath. Slow and surprised. “Hot?”
“Oh my God.”
“You think I’m hot when I’m sleep deprived and covered in coffee stains?”
“You’re making this worse.”
“I’m trying to understand the psychology behind it.”
You covered your face with one hand while he smiled openly now. Really smiled. The kind that softened every sharp edge in his face and made him look unfairly attractive.
“I hate you,” you muttered
“No you don’t.”
The worst part was how gently he said it because he knew. You were pretty sure he’d known for a while.
Your hand dropped from your face slowly and the room suddenly felt too small. Too warm. Robby was still watching you with that same impossible softness in his eyes and it made your heartbeat stumble embarrassingly hard.
“You’re staring,” you whispered.
“Can you blame me?”
That should not have affected you the way it did.
You swallowed hard and tried to recover some dignity. “Pretty sure HR would blame you.”
“Good thing this conversation never happened then.”
His voice had dropped lower. Warmer.
You stepped closer before you could overthink it and his gaze flicked immediately to your mouth. The movement was tiny but you caught it. So did he apparently because a faint flush crept across his face right after.
The sight nearly destroyed you.
“You’re blushing,” you said softly.
“You bring me coffee in the middle of the night and call me hot. What exactly did you expect?”
“I didn’t expect you to notice.”
Robby stood slowly from his chair until suddenly he was right there in front of you. Close enough that you could smell coffee and soap and the faint clean scent of his cologne. Your breath caught stupidly fast.
“I always notice you,” he said quietly.
The confession settled straight into your chest.
Neither of you moved for a second. The tension felt thick enough to touch. Then his hand lifted carefully to brush a strand of hair away from your face and the gentleness of it nearly melted you on the spot.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured.
“You seem into it.”
His smile turned softer then. Fond in a way that made your knees weak.
An: 300 followers??? Everyone line up for a kiss! Thank you kindly for the support, all of my love☁️☁️☁️
Pope Cody loves you !!!! You’re his baby💋🏳️💗💌 soft Pope makes me 💖💖💖💖
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The argument started because Pope disappeared for eleven days and came back looking like somebody had dragged him through hell by the throat.
You had stopped sleeping properly around day six.
By day eight, every siren outside your building made your stomach twist painfully. You started checking local news without meaning to even though you knew whatever Pope got involved in never stayed public for long. He did not answer texts. Did not answer calls. At one point you nearly convinced yourself to drive around Oceanside looking for him before realising how insane that sounded when you barely even knew where he lived.
That was the worst part of loving Pope.
He kept whole sections of himself locked away behind steel doors and still somehow made you feel like the centre of his entire world.
When the knock finally came at your door, it was almost two in the morning.
You opened it immediately.
Relief hit so hard it almost made you angry on the spot.
Pope stood there soaked from rain with bruises blooming across his face and blood dried dark against the sleeve of his hoodie. His breathing looked uneven. Exhaustion carved deep lines into his expression and for one horrible second you thought he might actually collapse standing there in your doorway.
Still, the first thing he did was look past you into the flat automatically.
Checking.
Always checking.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
Something inside your chest cracked.
“You disappear for nearly two weeks and say hi?”
Pope lowered his eyes immediately.
Not defensive.
Just… ashamed.
That somehow made it worse.
You stepped aside silently so he could come in. Rainwater dripped onto the floor behind him while he shut the door and immediately locked it. Then checked the lock again.
You watched him carefully while he moved through the apartment with restless energy vibrating through every part of him. He checked the windows next. Your balcony door. The hallway through the peephole.
Only after finishing did he finally stop moving.
The silence between you felt thick and painful.
Pope peeled off his hoodie slowly and tossed it over the back of a chair. Beneath it, his t shirt clung damply to his body and you caught sight of another bruise darkening along his ribs.
Your stomach dropped again.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothin’.”
“Andrew.”
“I’m okay.”
“You look like somebody beat the shit out of you.”
A faint flicker crossed his face at the concern in your voice. Something soft and guilty and exhausted all at once.
“I said I’m alright.”
You stared at him in disbelief.
His hair was soaked through from rain and there was a cut splitting the skin above his eyebrow. His knuckles looked raw. One side of his jaw had already started bruising dark purple beneath the dim kitchen light.
“You should’ve called me.”
The second the words left your mouth, Pope looked away.
That reaction hurt more than if he had argued.
You walked towards the bathroom cabinet with tightness burning in your throat and grabbed the first aid kit before returning to the kitchen.
Pope had not moved.
He stood near the counter with both hands braced against the edge and his head lowered slightly like he was trying to keep himself together through sheer force.
“Sit down,” you said quietly.
“I don’t need—”
“Please.”
That stopped him.
Pope sat heavily onto the edge of the sofa a second later and you realised then just how exhausted he actually was. The adrenaline keeping him upright seemed to be fading now that he was here.
Safe.
With you.
You stood between his knees while opening antiseptic wipes with slightly trembling fingers.
For a while neither of you spoke.
Rain battered against the windows while you cleaned the cut above his eyebrow carefully. Pope stayed unnaturally still beneath your hands. His eyes remained fixed somewhere near your shoulder the entire time.
You noticed his breathing change the second your fingers brushed his skin.
“You scared me,” you admitted softly.
His jaw tightened immediately.
“I know.”
The quiet guilt in his voice nearly undid you.
“You don’t get to disappear like that,” you continued, struggling to keep your voice steady. “You don’t get to vanish for days and leave me wondering if you’re dead somewhere.”
Pope closed his eyes briefly.
“You’re better off not knowing where I am.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It’s true.”
“No,” you said, pulling your hand away from his face. “It’s easier for you. That’s different.”
The words hung heavily between you.
Pope stared down at the floor for several long seconds before speaking again.
“You think I don’t know what this does to you?”
“Then why keep doing it?”
His throat moved hard when he swallowed.
“Because if people know about you, they use you.”
The raw fear in his voice stunned you silent.
Pope finally looked up then and the emotion in his face hit you like a punch to the chest. Real fear. Real panic buried beneath all that control.
“You don’t understand how bad people are,” he continued quietly. “I do.”
Something inside you softened painfully.
You reached up and touched his jaw gently despite yourself. Pope leaned into the contact instantly before seeming to realise he was doing it.
“You act like loving somebody is dangerous,” you whispered.
“It is.”
His answer came immediately.
Not angry.
Certain.
Pope’s hand wrapped around your wrist carefully while his eyes stayed fixed on yours.
“I know what happens around me,” he said quietly. “I know what people become when things go wrong. You’re the only thing in my life that still feels…” He stopped speaking abruptly and looked away.
“Feels what?”
His expression twisted slightly like the word itself hurt.
“Good.”
God.
Your chest ached so badly you could barely breathe.
Pope laughed softly then, but there was nothing amused in the sound. He dragged a hand across his face and stood suddenly, pacing towards the window while rain streaked endlessly down the glass outside.
“You know what’s fucked up?” he murmured. “Whole time I was gone I kept hearing your voice in my head.”
You stayed quiet.
“I’d be trying to deal with something and suddenly all I could think about was whether you remembered to lock your windows before bed.” Another humourless laugh. “I drove past your building three times two nights ago just to make sure your car was outside.”
Your throat tightened painfully.
Pope stood with his back towards you now, shoulders tense beneath the damp fabric of his shirt.
“I keep trying to stay away from you,” he admitted quietly. “Every time things get bad I tell myself this is it. I should leave you alone before my life spills onto yours.” He swallowed hard. “Then I end up standing outside your door anyway because I can’t fucking breathe when I’m away from you too long.”
The confession shattered something in you.
You crossed the room slowly until you stood behind him. Pope went completely still when your hands slid around his waist. For a second he just stood there breathing unevenly while rain hammered outside. Then he turned suddenly and pulled you into him so hard it almost knocked the air from your lungs.
“I’d kill for you,” he whispered against your hair.
The words should have frightened you.
Instead they broke your heart.
Because he sounded devastated by the fact.
You lifted your head slowly and found him already looking at you with an expression so raw it hurt to see.
Pope’s hand moved into your hair before he kissed you.
The force of it pushed you backwards immediately until your lower back hit the kitchen counter. His mouth moved against yours with desperate intensity, months of restraint and fear and exhaustion crashing apart all at once.
The kiss felt hungry in the deepest possible way.
Pope kissed like somebody starved for affection but terrified of needing it too much. Every touch carried emotion he could never say out loud properly. His hands slid along your waist and back like he needed constant reassurance you were still there beneath them.
You felt him shaking slightly when your fingers moved under his shirt.
A rough sound escaped him against your mouth and suddenly the kiss deepened even further.
His tongue brushed yours slowly, messily, while one hand tightened in your hair hard enough to make heat rush straight through your body. The other gripped your hip possessively as he pressed closer between your thighs.
“Christ,” he breathed against your lips.
The low rasp in his voice nearly ruined you.
Pope rested his forehead against yours for half a second, breathing hard, before kissing you again even deeper than before. His control kept slipping in waves. You could feel it happening every time you touched him.
Every time your nails dragged lightly across his stomach beneath the shirt.
Every time you kissed him back without hesitation.
The desperation in him turned almost painful.
Like he genuinely could not believe somebody could know him this well and still want him anyway.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered roughly against your mouth.
Then his lips moved down your jaw slowly and the sound you made at the feeling seemed to destroy the last piece of restraint he had left.
Summary: On slow mornings in their oceanside apartment, Andrew forgets to be dangerous for a little while. Wrapped up in warm sheets and half asleep beside you, the only thing he wants is to keep the rest of the world outside the bedroom door for another hour.
Wc: .9K
Cw: established relationship, implied violence, mentions of injuries/bruises, possessive behavior, themes of hypervigilance and paranoia, soft domestic intimacy.
An: soft pope to fill my soul!! Also I love writing in second point of view. I had an English teacher in school who told us it was a poor form of writing…. Girl stfu
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You woke up because Andrew was moving.
Not suddenly. Not in the sharp restless way he usually did when something outside pulled him awake. This was slower than that. Heavy sleepy shifting beneath warm blankets while dawn crept pale and gray through the curtains.
His arm tightened around your waist before you even opened your eyes properly, like instinct reached for you before he was fully conscious enough to think about it.
The apartment was quiet except for the distant sound of waves somewhere beyond the buildings and the low rattling hum of the ceiling fan overhead. Andrew had fallen asleep with the balcony cracked open again despite complaining every single night that the ocean air made the apartment cold.
You could feel the chill against your bare legs where the blanket had slipped down during the night. Andrew apparently noticed too because a second later he dragged it back over both of you without opening his eyes.
“Cold,” he muttered.
“You’re the one who opened the door.”
“Mhm.”
The response barely counted as a word. His voice was rough with sleep, warm against the back of your shoulder where his face was pressed.
You smiled a little and settled deeper into the mattress. Andrew was practically sprawled over you at this point, one leg tangled between yours and an arm hooked firmly around your middle like sometime in the night he had decided distance was personally offensive.
Outside this room Andrew never really relaxed.
You had watched him sleep on couches with one eye half open during jobs. Watched him clock exits automatically whenever he walked into restaurants. Even at home there were nights he woke instantly at sounds you barely noticed. Car doors slamming downstairs. Footsteps outside the apartment. Phones buzzing at banshee hours.
But mornings were different.
Mornings were the closest thing Andrew had to peace.
He made another quiet noise when your fingers slid into his hair, not quite awake enough to react properly but leaning into your touch anyway. The curls at the back of his neck were soft from sleep, flattened unevenly against the pillow.
For a long moment neither of you moved.
The light kept shifting slowly across the room. Andrew breathed steadily against your shoulder. Somewhere downstairs a motorcycle roared briefly through the street before fading into the distance.
You thought he was asleep again until he spoke suddenly.
“What time is it?”
You reached toward the nightstand blindly until your fingers found your phone. “Eight thirty.”
Andrew groaned immediately and buried his face deeper into the blanket.
“That’s disgusting.”
“It’s morning.”
“Nobody should be awake at eight thirty.”
“You are.”
“I’m not participating in it though.”
You laughed softly at that. Andrew cracked one eye open just enough to look at you, clearly pleased he’d managed it.
There was a faint bruise shadowing the line of his jaw from a few nights ago. You touched it lightly without thinking and watched his expression shift immediately softer around the edges.
“Does it still hurt?” you asked quietly.
Andrew shrugged against you. “Not really.”
That probably meant yes.
He caught your hand before you could pull it away and pressed a lazy kiss against your wrist, still half asleep through the motion. Affection came strangely easy for him here. In private. Curled into warm sheets with no audience and nowhere else to be.
Other people got the version of Pope that felt dangerous even standing still.
You got Andrew.
The sleepy version with messy curly hair and tired eyes who complained every morning about getting out of bed like it personally offended him. The one who held you automatically during the night. The one who softened every time you touched him like his body had learned you meant safety long before his mind did.
His phone started vibrating somewhere in the room.
Andrew ignored it.
A few seconds later it buzzed again against the dresser.
You felt the tension creep briefly back into him this time. Small enough most people would miss it. His shoulders tightening slightly. His breathing changing.
Work, Smurf,trying to claw its way back in.
You turned carefully in his arms until you were facing him properly. “You gonna answer that?”
Andrew looked at you for a second before dropping his forehead against yours dramatically. “If I say no enough times eventually everybody should leave me alone.”
“That’s not usually how crime works.”
A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it, low and sleepy, in his groggy morning voice.
“You’re funny this early in the morning. It’s suspicious.”
“You love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
His hand slid beneath your shirt absently, warm against your waist while he looked at you with that exhausted softness he never let anyone else see. The phone finally stopped vibrating. Silence settled back over the apartment again.
Andrew visibly relaxed.
“There,” he said quietly. “Problem solved.”
“You ignored it.”
“Exactly.”
You shook your head a little, smiling despite yourself. Andrew only pulled you closer in response until there was barely space left between you at all.
“Stay here a while,” he murmured.
It wasn’t really a request.
You could feel sleep still dragging at him around the edges, making him slower and softer than he ever allowed himself to be during the rest of the day. As you continued to runyour fingers through his curls you know that in a few hours, he’d get up and pull himself back together again. Sharp eyes. Careful voice. Guard back in place.
But right now he was just warm and heavy against the sheets holding you like he had nowhere else in the world he needed to be.
Summary: Baran comes home after a brutal day shift exhausted, overstimulated and desperate for something soft. Luckily, you are waiting for her on the couch in her hoodie exactly where she wants you.
CW: Established relationship, suggestive content, kissing, praise, possessive behaviour, soft dom/sub dynamics, exhaustion after work, clinginess, touch-starved behaviour, heavy make outs, emotional intimacy, reader wearing Baran’s clothes. No smut (I fear I haven’t graduated to that yet)
Wc: 2k
An: I love her so much
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Rain slid steadily down the windows in silver streaks and blurred the city lights outside into soft pools of colour. The television was still running quietly in the background, some reality dating show you had not actually been paying attention to for at least forty minutes, but the low noise filled the silence enough that the apartment did not feel empty while you waited.
Baran’s hoodie hung heavily around your frame, sleeves covering most of your hands, carrying that familiar scent of her perfume and laundry detergent that always made missing her worse somehow. You had changed into it almost immediately after getting home from work yourself, curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket over your legs and your phone beside you waiting for updates that had grown shorter and shorter throughout the day.
07:00 start shifts always destroyed her.
By midday the messages usually became blunt and exhausted. Around 13:00 she had texted:
I’ve consumed enough caffeine to kill a Victorian child.
Then at 16:18:
Someone yelled at me because they Googled their symptoms.
And finally, just under an hour ago:
Leaving now.
Nothing else after that.
No joke, as she normally would.
No sarcasm via voice note.
Just the exhaustion condensed into two words.
You glanced at the clock again.
19:34.
The second you heard keys fumbling outside the apartment door your whole body reacted before your brain even caught up. You muted the television immediately and sat up straighter beneath the blanket while the lock clicked open.
Baran stepped inside looking utterly exhausted.
Not dramatic exhaustion. Not the kind people exaggerated after normal office job, your office job offers sufficient exhaustion but barans..
Real exhaustion.
The sort that settled visibly into posture and expression after twelve straight hours of noise, pressure and fluorescent lighting. Her shoulders sagged beneath her coat and loose curls framed her face where she had clearly been dragging her hands through her hair all day. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes and her expression looked almost blank for a moment, like her brain had not fully caught up to being home yet.
Then she looked up.
Saw you waiting on the couch.
And everything about her softened instantly.
It happened slowly enough that most people probably would not have noticed it. The tension left her shoulders first. Then her eyes lost that distant exhausted look and warmed immediately when they settled on you sitting there wrapped in her clothes.
“There’s my girl,” she murmured quietly.
Your chest tightened at the sound of her voice.
“Hi baby.”
Baran shut the apartment door behind her carefully before crossing the room toward you without another word. You watched the exhaustion in her movements the whole way over. The heaviness in her steps. The way she rolled one shoulder slightly like her back hurt.
The second she reached the couch she exhaled deeply and sank down beside you before immediately pulling you into her lap like it was instinctive.
You went willingly, knees sliding over either side of her thighs while her arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The moment your weight settled against her she let out a low tired sound and buried her face against your neck.
For a few quiet seconds neither of you spoke.
You simply held her while rain tapped softly against the windows and the warm light from the lamp beside the couch painted everything gold.
Baran’s hands moved slowly over your back beneath the hoodie, broad warm palms dragging lazily beneath the fabric while she breathed you in like she had needed this all day.
“You waited up for me,” she murmured eventually.
“Obviously.”
“You should’ve gone to bed.”
“You say that every shift.”
A faint laugh left her, rough with exhaustion. “Because every shift you’re half asleep by the time I get home.”
“I wanted to see you.”
The words came out softer than you intended.
Baran lifted her head slowly at that.
God.
The look she gave you nearly melted you straight into the couch cushions.
Exhausted affection sat openly across her face now that she was home. There was something deeply tender in the way she looked at you after long shifts, like she spent all day holding herself together and then came home and finally allowed herself to feel things properly again.
Her hand slid up beneath the hoodie and settled warm against your waist.
“You’re wearing my clothes again,” she murmured quietly.
“You leave them here on purpose.”
“I absolutely do.”
Her thumb moved slowly against your skin beneath the fabric and you felt warmth spread instantly through your stomach. Baran noticed the reaction immediately because she noticed everything about you.
A slow tired smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.
“Missed me?”
You tried to shrug casually. “Maybe a normal amount.”
“A normal amount,” she repeated softly like she found the idea ridiculous.
Then she leaned in and kissed you.
It started slow.
Baran always kissed slower after difficult shifts. Like she needed time to settle back into herself. Her lips moved gently against yours while her arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against her chest. You could still feel the lingering tension in her body beneath her scrubs but every second she held you seemed to loosen it further.
You melted immediately.
Completely.
Your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric at her shoulders while she kissed you deeper, patient and warm and devastatingly affectionate. She tasted faintly like coffee and mint and the exhaustion of a twelve-hour day.
The kiss lingered until your breathing slowed to match hers.
Until the rest of the apartment disappeared.
Baran pulled back only slightly, forehead resting against yours while her eyes drifted slowly across your face.
“You have no idea how much I thought about this today,” she murmured quietly.
“This?”
“You.”
The word settled heavily in your chest.
Her hand slid lower along your thigh beneath the blanket while she watched every reaction cross your face with tired focused attention. The warmth of her palm against your bare skin made your breath hitch slightly and the look in her eyes darkened immediately at the sound.
“There’s my sweet girl,” she murmured softly.
Your stomach tightened hard.
Baran always sounded rougher after long shifts. Her voice dropped lower from exhaustion and every word landed heavier because of it. Combined with the way her hand moved slowly over your thigh, deliberate enough to make your entire body hyperaware of every touch, it was almost unfair.
“You’ve been sitting here all evening waiting for me to come home,” she said quietly, gaze fixed entirely on you. “Wearing my hoodie. Looking this pretty.”
Heat crept steadily up your neck.
Baran smiled faintly at the sight before leaning forward again, lips brushing slowly beneath your jaw. The scrape of her tired voice against your skin made your head tip back automatically.
Immediately her grip on your waist tightened.
“Good,” she murmured against your throat. “Relax for me.”
The praise alone made your thighs press together instinctively.
Baran noticed that too.
Of course she did.
A low tired sound of approval left her while her hand slid further up your thigh beneath the blanket, fingers spreading warmly against your skin.
“You get so needy after I’ve been gone all day,” she whispered softly. “Every time.”
Baran’s hand remained steady against your thigh while she kissed slowly along your jaw, the exhaustion from the day still clinging to her in every movement. Usually after shifts she moved with sharp efficiency, every action clipped and purposeful from hours spent constantly thinking three steps ahead, but this version of her was different. Slower. Heavier. More openly affectionate.
You loved this version of her almost painfully.
The apartment felt warm around you both, wrapped in the sound of rain and dim amber light while Baran sat sunk deep into the couch with you in her lap like she intended to keep you there for the rest of the night. Her curls brushed softly against your cheek every time she leaned in to kiss you and her hands kept roaming lazily over your body beneath the oversized hoodie, like touching you was the only thing grounding her after the chaos of the hospital.
“You know what the worst part of long shifts is?” she murmured softly against your throat.
You shook your head slightly.
“Not being able to touch you.”
The words sent warmth flooding instantly through your stomach.
Baran pulled back just enough to look at you properly after saying it, dark tired eyes moving slowly across your face while her thumb stroked absentmindedly along the inside of your thigh. She looked exhausted still. You could see it clearly in the shadows beneath her eyes and the way she leaned heavily into the couch cushions, but underneath it sat something warm and possessive that only ever seemed to surface fully around you.
“You sit here looking this pretty and expect me to survive twelve hours away from you,” she said quietly. “Feels cruel honestly.”
You laughed softly despite the heat creeping across your face and Baran’s expression softened immediately at the sound.
“There’s my girl,” she murmured.
Every time she said it your chest tightened.
Her hand slid higher beneath the hoodie resting around your thighs, slow enough to make you hyperaware of every inch of movement. She was not rushing. Baran never rushed you when she got like this. She seemed to enjoy drawing reactions out slowly, watching you unravel piece by piece beneath her attention.
The television still played quietly somewhere behind you both but neither of you had paid attention to it for a long time now.
Baran kissed you again, deeper this time, one hand settling firmly at the back of your neck while the other remained warm against your thigh. You melted into her immediately, fingers curling against the fabric of her scrubs while she tilted your head slightly to kiss you exactly how she wanted.
There was something unfair about the combination of exhaustion and confidence in her tonight. Her voice rough from a twelve-hour shift. Her hands heavy and warm against your body. The tired affection in every touch making you feel completely adored while she slowly worked you into a flustered mess in her lap.
A soft sound escaped your throat when her lips brushed beneath your jaw again.
Immediately she hummed approvingly against your skin.
“So responsive tonight,” she murmured quietly. “Missed me that badly?”
You buried your face briefly against her shoulder instead of answering and felt her laugh softly beneath your hands.
“Baby.”
The word came out low and warm enough to make your stomach flip.
Baran tipped your chin upward gently until you looked at her again. There was something impossibly fond in her expression now despite the obvious exhaustion still weighing down her features.
“You know I love when you get shy for me,” she said softly.
Your face burned hotter instantly which only made her smile widen slightly.
Rain continued tapping steadily against the windows while Baran’s hands moved slowly over your body beneath the hoodie, comforting and affectionate and just teasing enough to keep your pulse racing. She looked at you like she could stay here forever. Like after an entire day spent dealing with noise and stress and strangers, this was the only thing she wanted now.
You shifted slightly in her lap and immediately felt her hands tighten instinctively at your waist.
“Careful,” she murmured softly.
The warning in her voice was gentle but enough to send another wave of heat through you.
Baran noticed every reaction immediately. The way your breathing changed. The way your thighs pressed together. The way your eyes kept dropping toward her mouth before darting away again.
“So needy,” she said quietly, not mocking. Affectionate if anything. “Been sitting here all evening thinking about me coming home and touching you.”
Your silence answered for you.
A slow smile spread across her face while she brushed her thumb lightly along your jaw.
“Thought so.”
Then she kissed you again, lingering and warm, pulling you impossibly closer against her chest while the rain and television noise faded entirely into the background.
An: just a short self-indulgent one because I’m currently in the depths of my msc dissertation lol! Hope u enjoy x
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The key scraped against the lock twice before the door finally opened.
Jack came in quietly out of habit, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of a twelve hour shift and another forty minutes of traffic on top of it. The early morning light followed him through the doorway in pale streaks, washing the flat in cold gold. He shut the door with his hip and dropped his bag beside it, already loosening the collar of his scrubs.
Then he saw you.
You were still sitting at the kitchen table exactly where he’d left you the evening before. Your laptop screen glowed weakly beside a stack of books and highlighted papers. Empty mugs cluttered the table. Your hair was a mess. Your eyes were red.
And you were crying so quietly he almost missed it.
Jack’s exhaustion disappeared all at once.
“Hey,” he said softly.
You startled, immediately scrubbing at your face like you’d been caught doing something embarrassing instead of heartbreaking.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you when you got in.”
His face pulled into a frown. “I wasn’t asleep.”
A watery laugh escaped you at that. You looked awful. Completely wrung out. The kind of tired that sat somewhere deeper than sleep.
Jack crossed the room without another word. He crouched beside your chair first, one hand settling carefully against your knee as his eyes moved over the disaster spread across the table.
“You’ve been up all night?”
You nodded once.
“I can’t do it.” Your voice cracked instantly. “I genuinely think I’m too stupid for this course.”
Jack’s expression softened in a way that always made something ache inside your chest. He leaned back against the cabinet beside you with a tired sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before speaking.
“Sweetheart, I just spent ten hours watching two residents argue over whether somebody’s appendix was left or right sided pain. One of them went to Yale. You’re not stupid.”
Despite yourself, another small laugh escaped you, shaky and wet.
“I mean it,” he continued quietly. “You’re exhausted. There’s a difference.”
You shook your head. “No, Jack, I don’t think you get it. Everyone else on my course is handling this. Everyone else understands the reading and they’re publishing papers and doing presentations and I can’t even finish one chapter without feeling like my brain’s melting out of my ears.”
He listened without interrupting, which somehow made it worse. Or better. With Jack it was hard to tell. He had this way of letting you unravel completely without making you feel pathetic for it.
You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I’ve been staring at this stupid analysis section for three hours and every time I write something it sounds wrong. I don’t even know what my supervisor wants from me anymore.”
Jack looked at the screen for a moment like he could somehow diagnose the problem the same way he diagnosed patients.
Then he reached over and shut the laptop.
“Jack.”
“Nope.”
“I need to finish it.”
“You need to stop crying at a kitchen table at nine in the morning.”
You opened your mouth to argue but he was already standing, gently pulling you up with him. The second you were upright your body folded towards him automatically, exhaustion finally winning out. Jack caught you easily, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other settled against the back of your head.
The smell of antiseptic and hospital coffee clung to his scrubs. Usually you teased him about it. Today it just felt comforting.
He rested his cheek against your hair and spoke quietly.
“I know this feels massive right now, I know it feels like if you don’t get this perfect immediately then everything falls apart. But you’re running yourself into the ground trying to prove something that already exists.”
You swallowed hard against the tightness in your throat.
“You are one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Not because you know every answer all the time but because you care this much. Because you work for it. Because even after sitting here all night miserable and exhausted you still kept trying.”
His thumb brushed slowly along your back.
“Do you know how many people quit when things get difficult?”
You muttered something against his chest that sounded suspiciously like, “Probably loads.”
“Exactly. But you don’t.” His voice gentled further. “And that’s why you’re going to be fine.”
The tears started again then, quieter this time. Less sharp around the edges.
Jack just held you through it.
After a while he spoke again, sleep roughness creeping into his voice.
“Come to bed for a few hours.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“My draft…”
“Will still be there at noon. Unfortunately.”
You huffed another weak laugh and felt him smile against your hair.
He pulled back just enough to look at you properly. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes and there was a crease between his brows from the shift he’d just finished, but all his attention stayed fixed on you like nothing else existed.
“I don’t need you to be brilliant all the time,” he said quietly. “I just need you.”
Something inside you cracked open at that.
Jack noticed immediately, because of course he did. He always did.
He kissed your forehead softly then gathered both your hands in his.
“Bed. Now. Doctor’s orders.”
“You are literally the worst doctor imaginable.”
“Correct,” he replied solemnly. “But luckily you’re dating me for my personality.”
For the first time all night the laugh that escaped you felt sincere, and not out of pure frustration.
Jack smiled tiredly at the sound of it and squeezed your hand before leading you away from the table, leaving the half finished work and the cold coffee behind for a few precious hours.
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