warnings . . . curse words, mean reader, literally a one day time skip from last chapter lol. probably could’ve made it more clear that the “drinking plan” with j just meant a small heist…
“You can’t be grouchy right now.” Pope pulls his face from between your legs, looking up at you with a bored expression.
You sigh dramatically, sitting up and letting your skirt fall back down around your legs, covering you up. The drive back to the city was spent smacking his hand off your thigh when he subconsciously let it drift. He’d glare at you for a moment and relent, but the cycle started all over again. Now, the two of you are in his apartment with your legs spread as you’re perched up on his counter. “How was your night out with J?”
“You were thinking about J while I was—“
You interrupt him with a grimace, “ew! Shut up! Don’t even say that!”
He leans his arms beside you, sighing softly. “Why are you grouchy, then?”
You bite your bottom lip nervously, unsure of how to voice yourself. You know you’re a good person. You don’t view yourself as a loathsome person who no one can get along with. But you often wonder why people like you. Why do they put up with your attitude and anger and worries, just to be around you? And when they do put up with it, it’s hard for you to accept. Even harder to accept when they finally get rid of you.
“Are you hiding something from me?”
He doesn’t look taken aback by your question, his eyebrows furrowed as he takes you in. “Like what?”
“You tell me, Andrew.”
“Andrew?” He’s amused, the corner of his mouth quirked up.
You nod, “yeah, some lame ass advice J told me.” You sigh dramatically once again, “are you cheating on me?”
He huffs, “I’m not cheating on you.” He pauses and you can tell it’s a strain to speak his next words, “you’re the only one I want.”
“Until the next one.” You chime with a scoff.
His grip on your chin isn’t tight, but it’s enough for him to force your eyes onto his. “There’s no next one.”
“Until there is.”
“You’re incredibly—“
“Gorgeous? Smart? Funny?” You interrupt with a small smack to his chest. “You’ll tell me if I annoy you, right?”
“You don’t annoy me.”
“You are such a liar.”
“I don’t lie.”
“He lies—“
“Shut up.” His lips press to yours. It’s a tender kiss, his hands cupping your face as his lips move against yours. It doesn’t last very long, your mouth chasing him when he pulls away. “I can promise you, there’s no one else. You don’t annoy me. You’re not too much for me. You are very pretty. Anything else I need to cover?”
You hum, a grin plastered on your face as you lean your chin on his chest. “Tell me my ass is fat.”
“Your ass is fat.”
You hum, content by how well he obeys. “You’re the only old man in my life who listens to what I say.”
“How many old men do you have in your life?”
“Nunya. Keep eating me out.”
authors note . . . me vs putting in my hyperfixations and rn it’s those shitty vertical movies. love you give me your thoughts
Hi!! I’ve had this Resident!Reader x Robby idea for a while. Reader has secretly been in love with Robby for ages and hides it perfectly. Then Noelle shows up in the ER, casually dropping hints that she’s sleeping with him. Reader’s heart shatters and she forces herself to move on and stop feeling anything for him. One day, reader gets brutally assaulted by a violent patient and Robby suddenly realizes the person he’s actually been in love with all along is Reader. Love your work btw!!
PAIRINGS: Michael Robinavitch x Reader
TW: reader gets attacked, stabbed, gravely injured, medical inaccuracies etc. pls be cautious whilst reading. not proof read. open-ending (ish). R basically replaces McKay in the first bit.
AN: Guys it's my birthday week yet it's also my worst week of the year (so far), I feel like I'm going insane. Anyway, this is also for another anon who requested reader getting injured however this has no comfort.
"How’s our shoulder guy?" Robby asks, joining you in the hallway as your patient is pushed out of the elevator.
"Oh, he slept like a baby. CT angio shows no vascular injury." You update him, stepping away from the patient as the porters move ahead.
"What about your slip-and-fall guy with a labile affect?" Robby steps back a few paces and you join him.
"Mm, Michael Williams. He’s still in the scanner. He seems to have settled down, so he doesn’t need babysitting."
"Good." Robby nods, "Maybe he’s coming around. Ortho can take Mr. Billings here up for surgery."
"Belay that order, sailor." A new voice behind you makes both you and Robby spin around.
"Dr. Robinavitch." The vaguely familiar woman greets Robby.
"Nurse Hastings." Robby greets back, his expression lifting in the presence of the woman, "You can call me Robby."
"You can call me Noelle." The woman smiles back at him.
You watch them in confusion. There was something clearly going on between them, that brief interaction they had put them in their own little bubble before they looked back at you. There was something you were explicitly missing —oh.
They were flirting.
It was subtle sure, if you weren't so close to overhear them then you probably wouldn't have noticed it but it wasn't just their voices. Noelle's cheeks flushed slightly and Robby's eyes crinkled in the way they do when people look at something they love and it felt like you were intruding on something intimate and private.
Your heart twists at the realisation. For the past five years, ever since you arrived at the PMTC to begin your residency, you had been in love with Robby. It had started as a mere crush like it always did and it wasn't a unique story in the slightest, you simply fell in love with your boss and when you spend twelve hours a day with them, it was easy to do so. You had debated on whether to tell him or not, and initially you had been scared of rejection and then the prospect of having to suffer working under someone who outright rejected you for next five years or go through the hassle of finding somewhere else in the country to complete your residency.
Deep down you were looking for an excuse, a solid reason to not tell him that you loved him and you found it in the employee handbook. Relationships between senior members of staff were not permitted with junior ones. You were a first year resident and he was the chief of emergency medicine, it would never work and even if you attempted something and the hospital found out, it would be you getting the boot. You loved working as a doctor, you loved your colleagues and you loved Pittsburgh and you weren't willing to give any of it up just because you had a crush on your boss.
So you buried it deep and tried to forget about it. You dated around and even had a couple of short-term boyfriends over the years in an attempt to get over him and you thought it worked until right now. As you watched him flirt with Noelle, you realised you hadn't stopped loving him at all.
They turn back to your unimpressed face, your eyes flicking between the both of them, "Uh, you could just tell me what the hell’s going on here."
"This is Noelle." Robby motions towards the woman next to him, "She’s our, um…"
"Bed control manager." You cut in, "No, we met."
"Case manager." They both correct you before Noelle continues on, "And this guy won’t be staying."
"Oh, he needs surgery." You tell her, looking back over at the man just feet away.
"Which his insurance will pay for at Westbridge Memorial, not here." She tells you.
You look over at Robby in disbelief, "Wait, so we have to transfer?"
"If… if he’s stable." Noelle clarifies, prompting Robby for the answer she wants.
"I believe that he is." Robby admits after a moment, "Look on the bright side. We’re gonna free up a bed, discharge a patient."
You raise your brows in surprise at his words. You had never heard him say that before. Sure getting a bed free was always a problem but whenever Gloria harped about it to him, Robby always fought back but maybe this new girlfriend of his is making him softer.
It sparks irritation and anger in you. You didn't take it personally, you knew it was Noelle's job but you hated all of it. Patients are brought in with traumatic injuries only to get transferred out because their insurance doesn't cover you.
"Until the next patient brought in by EMT's also has insurance that doesn't cover us and we have a carousel of patients we can't treat." You snark back, unable to help yourself.
"He will get great care at Westbridge." Noelle fiddles with her tablet before she turns to Robby, "Don’t you agree, Robby?"
Robby nods along, "I’m sure that he will."
"What am I missing?" You ask, watching them have another moment, speaking before you think. You quickly added another question to save yourself, "Is there something else happening with Allen Billings that I don’t know about?
"Not medically." Robby shakes his head.
"This is just a simple insurance transfer." Noelle adds.
"Mm, yeah, okay." You scoff, turning to Robby, "In that case, you can tell him. I have other patients to treat."
Robby eyebrows raise to his hairline, "Excuse me?"
You know you're pushing your luck now. You may be a good doctor but you were still a resident and he was still the chief of the department and your boss.
"Well it's just a simple insurance transfer," You parrot their words back at them, "I'm sure he'll understand. Especially if you tell him to look at the brightside and see how it frees a bed for a new patient."
With that your spin around and disappear around the corner, leaving them to watch you leave in stunned silence.
"What’s that about?" Noelle asks, slightly shocked at your behaviour.
"Nothing." Robby dismisses her question as they begin to walk towards the charge station.
"Didn’t feel like nothing." Noelle doesn't let the topic drop, "She's got a…personality."
"She's young, passionate, not yet broken by the politics of healthcare." Robby spills, "She has a very heightened sense of empathy."
"Meaning?" Noelle prods.
"Meaning she’s good at picking up on stuff."
Noelle's voice drops in volume as she picks up on what Robby was saying, "You didn’t say anything, did you?"
"Nope." Robby shakes his head, "I subscribe to the Falstaff advice. Discretion is the better part of valor."
You were meant to be catching up on your reports, taking advantage of the brief spare time you had between patients when your attention was pulled away by the sight of Robby and Noelle together. Robby was just with Dana moments ago, getting updates when Noelle walked in and now he was kneeling by her side, under the guise of doing up his shoelace as he spoke to her.
A wave of jealousy washed over you at the sight of them. Watching them interact during the morning had sent you into a foul mood and your attempts to pull yourself out of it were flushed away whenever they flirted with each other.
Thankfully you were given an out when a new patient popped up on the board with your name attached to it. You brush past them as head to the patient, paying them no mind and not realising they're both watching you as you leave.
"I've got a question," Noelle begins, "Do you know if she's dating anyone?"
Robby's head whips around so fast, it leaves an ache in his neck, "Excuse me?"
"From what you were telling me earlier about her being passionate and feisty, I know someone who would be great for her," Noelle shrugs.
"Who?" Robby begins to frown and for a reason unknown to him, he didn't like the prospect of you going on a date with someone. Most people keep their loved ones away from the hospital in general and for good reason but over the years Robby has seen peoples partners picking them up from the hospital or even occasionally dropping off lunch for them, but he had never seen that with you. If it wasn't for the fact that the young doctors always spoke loudly whenever they gossiped about their love lives causing Robby to overhear, he would have never known about the people you date.
"Someone from upstairs."
"Someone from upstairs." Robby echoes.
"A lawyer."
"A lawyer." Robby echoes once more causing Noelle to huff at him.
"Is there an echo in here? Why are you repeating everything I say?"
"Sorry, sorry. So a lawyer?"
"His name is Jonathan. Nice guy."
That makes Robby bark out a laugh, "Well you know how she is. Maybe you should tell him what he would be getting into."
Noelle shakes her head, "I think he could handle her."
Robby frowns and swallows harshly at that, something deep inside of him flickering in discomfort. You had been a constant by his side ever since you arrived five years ago and you were also probably his favourite resident, his protege that he brought in on every major case because he knew and trusted in your skills. He never considered you more than a resident doctor whom he should mentor until you attended a conference together in New Jersey. During the trip, you bonded over shared interests and aligned beliefs and that was where Robby first fell for you. He sought advice from Dana and Jack when he returned only to be taken back at their objection to his suggestion of officially asking you out on a date. Jack reminded him of the rules while Dana cautioned him of the repercussions that would land solely on you; you would be the one kicked from the hospital and out of your program, your career would be the one ruined and not to mention the chance of rumors spreading that you slept your way to the top. So Robby decided to step back and not do anything that would interfere with your career, just waiting for the day when you would finish your residency. He had overheard you talking to Langdon, Shen and Ellis about how much you loved Pittsburgh, so Robby hoped that even if you left PMTC, you'd stay close enough so he could formally ask you out on a date.
"So, is she single?" Noelle repeats her first question.
"Uh, I don't know," Robby rubs his hand over his jaw, "You're better off asking one of the nurses or other residents, they'd know."
Noelle nods as Perlah calls for him, requesting his help on behalf of a med student. He quickly disappears leaving Noelle with Dana who didn't hide the fact she had clearly overheard their conversation.
You hadn't had even a moment's break since then, constantly swept off your feet with patients and helping the med students whenever they called for help. It was the afternoon now and the lack of food and even water was catching up on you.
You crumple into a chair at the nurses station, head tilted back and eyes closed as you try to regulate yourself. Your stomach was so empty that it was making you feel sick and your hands were shaking as well. You doubted you even had enough energy to drag yourself upstairs to the cafeteria.
You don't open your eyes but you can still hear the noise of the pitt around you. You're left undisturbed for a while, until someone nudges your foot with a soft, "Hey,"
You slowly open your eyes to find Robby standing over you, a concerned look on his face that you don't clock immediately.
"Sorry," You shift to stand, "I'll get back to work."
"No, you won't." Robby holds his hand out, stopping you in your tracks, "You haven't eaten all day. I got you something, go take lunch."
Now you see the bag in his hand, something that he quickly passes over to you.
"Go sit outside. Eat and get your energy back up and then come back to us." Robby orders, helping you up from the chair before he turns and disappears in the blink of an eye.
You catch the eye of Perlah who had been watching the whole thing and you know that at least six more nurses will know what happened by the time you get back.
The park opposite the hospital is empty at this time, the lunch crowd had returned to work leaving the park peaceful and quiet. Once you've settled on a bench, you dig into the bag to see what Robby bought you. He got you both a sandwich and a pasta salad, which would both cure your hunger and also provide you with enough energy to get through the rest of your shift and he also got you a fruit cup and a sugary drink, things to help you get your blood sugar levels up after they had dipped from not eating all day.
You eat in peace with nothing but the sounds of the birds chirping and the occasional person walking by. You keep an eye on the time, not wanting to leave your colleagues shorthanded for too long but you make sure to not rush yourself.
You had just finished dumping your trash in the bin when you were suddenly grabbed and pulled into a small pocket of trees, just off the path. The area was not large but the trees were big enough to obstruct the view of passerbys.
"What the fuck!" You yelp as your ankle twists at the sudden action.
"Give me your money!" A voice growls at you.
You blink in surprise, taken off guard by everything that happened over the last thirty seconds. The man in front of you has a large hood on, hiding most of his face but you could still the bottom half of it.
"Give me your purse and phone!" The man threatens again, arm reaching out as if to grab what he wanted straight from your pockets.
"I don't have my purse or phone on me!" You tell him, patting your empty pockets as proof. You were scared but you hoped you could get out of this situation without harm.
"You're a doctor! You're wearing those hospital clothes and doctors have money, so give me it!" The man suddenly pulls out a knife, brandishing it at you as his anger increases.
"I just came out here to eat," You reply calmly, trying your hardest not to aggravate him any more, "My phone and stuff are still in the hospital. I promise you I don't have anything on me."
The man finally realises you're telling the truth and his posture drops in frustration. You watch him grumble to himself before he knocks his hood off to run his hands through his hair in annoyance, giving you a full view on his face. He realises what he's done too late and you can see the moment he makes the decision that would change your life forever.
"I'm sorry. You can't tell them what happened. I can't go back to prison." He murmurs before he lunges at you, knocking flat on the ground. The wind is knocked out of you, not even giving you a moment to yell out and he is quick to slip his knife back out. His movements are quick, stabbing you multiple times in quick succession before he's jumping off you, leaving you there in a rapidly growing pool of blood, hidden within the trees.
"No victim, no crime." Is the last thing you hear from him before he disappears.
You lie there in numbness at first, staring up at the trees, resigned to your fate of dying there, hidden away for months until some unfortunate soul stumbles upon your skeletal remains. You can feel the ache of your injuries but it feels numb, far away almost and you realise that's the adrenaline still running through you. It will fade soon and then you'll have to die alone, in pain.
Robby flashes in your mind. You don't want to die, you want to live and finally tell Robby the truth. Even if he didn't reciprocate your feelings, you no longer want them to weigh on you anymore.
With a sudden boost of energy and motivation, you flip yourself over so you're on your front, letting out a pain groan as you did so. Your body burns and aches as you push yourself up on your hands and knees before slowly crawling out from the trees and back to the main park. It's still empty, in that annoying sweet spot between the adult lunch crowd and the kids being released from school for the day but still you powered through. Maybe you could reach the road. Maybe.
You don't reach the road. You don't get more than a couple of feet before your arms give up and you collapse on the ground. You can't go any further, you're bleeding out too much too fast and you had used the last of your energy to crawl.
As you pass out from the blood loss, you can hear the sounds of cars and ambulances just on the other side of the park, reminding you of how close you were.
"Hey!" Dana waves Robby over to where she was at the charge station, a frown on her face.
"What's wrong this time?' Robby asks when he reaches her.
Dana says your name as she waves around a tablet, "Have you seen her? No one else has and I've got a list of people she has to see."
"I sent her to lunch," Robby frowns as he checks his watch, it was unusual for you to disappear completely, "...Which was fourty-five minutes ago. Where the hell is she?"
They're interrupted by a frantic teen running through the ambulance bay, yelling for help and covered in blood. He is surrounded by doctors and nurses immediately with Robby pushing his way to the front as he snaps on gloves.
Langdon is trying to get the boy to calm down, checking his body for injuries as someone brings a bed over but the boy keeps batting Langdon's hands away, shaking his head as he tries to explain what was happening but unable to as everyone kept speaking over him.
"Hey!" Robby finally shouts causing everyone to fall silent before he lowers his voice to speak to the man, "What's happened?"
"There's a woman across the street in the park that's been attacked! She's covered in blood and unconscious," The boy explains, twisting around to leave the hospital and lead them to the woman in the park, "She's been stabbed. A lot. My friend is with her but there's so much blood."
Robby is halfway out the doors with him, calling out over his shoulder, "Frank—"
"Got it!" Langdon stays behind collecting items that they would need with Donnie joining him.
Baran, McKay and Mohan join Robby as they rush out of the hospital with Perlah and Jesse right behind them with a stretcher. Princess is calling surgery, telling them to prep an OR while Dana is calling the police, telling them to get down and lock the scene down now.
"I think she's one of you guys!" The teen yells as they run across the street, "She's wearing those scrubs things."
"Oh no," McKay catches on before Robby does.
Robby soon realises when they head deeper into the park and find another teen boy, but this one is leaning over a body, your body, trying their hardest to apply pressure. The boy looks up at them with frantic eyes, blood soaking his clothes and spread across his face from brushing his hands across his face in distress.
"I'm trying to stop the blood but there's so much," The teen sobs, "I checked her pulse but it's barely there."
Mohan sweeps in, gently tugging the boy away as the rest of them swarm in on you. Langdon and Donnie are by their side seconds later, not missing a beat and passing them the medical supplies needed.
Robby's heart dropped to his stomach at the sight of you laying there lifeless in a pool of your blood, assuming the worst. He didn't believe the teenager about your pulse until he felt for it himself and he hated the way he was relieved at the faint pulses beneath his finger, already believing you were long gone.
He moves automatically, trying not to think about the biggest fear he never knew he had, working with the others to stabilise you enough to transport you back to the hospital. Perlah and Mohan returned to the hospital, Perlah to update everyone on what was actually happening while Mohan treated the poor boys who discovered you.
Noelle arrives in the emergency department just as you're being transported up to surgery, taken back at the mania that surrounds you. She makes her way to Dana who has an upset expression on her face as she's hanging up the phone.
"Was that who I thought it was? What the hell happened?"
Dana sadly nods, "Some poor kids found her in the park. Stabbed on her lunch break. We don't know what the whole story is. I just got off the phone with her parents, they're going to try to book the next flight out here."
"Oh God…" Noelle gasps, "She's going to pull through though, right?"
Dana gives an uncertain shrug, blinking her tears away, "They're not sure, she lost a lot of blood. They stabilised her but we don't know how long she was like that for."
Noelle slowly nods, taking a moment to take it all in before remembering why she came downstairs in the first place, "Where's Robby?'
"He went up with her." Dana pauses for a minute before she gives Noelle a knowing look, "Listen, I know you and Robby have a thing going on but I have to tell you this. Robby has been in love with her for years and the only reason he didn't do anything was because he didn't want her to lose her job but what happened today changes everything. If she survives this then Robby is going to tell her the truth and he'll try to make it work. I know he should be the one to tell you this but I want to do this so you're not caught by surprise."
Noelle stands in shock at Dana's words. Her relationship with Robby was atypical, it was a traditional relationship but it was more than friends-with-benefits and so where they stood was never exactly clear but Dana's words confirm the truth of it. It was never going to become serious and Robby had been in love with someone else the whole time and it was always going to be you over her for Robby.
It's deep into the evening when Jack finds Robby on the roof, looking over the skyline with a deeply troubled expression.
"Any updates?" Jack asks as he joins him on the edge of the roof.
Robby shakes his head. You had spent hours in surgery before being taken to ICU where not even the chief of emergency medicine could visit you.
"They say it depends on the next fourty-eight hours. If her vitals don't improve then…" Robby can't bring himself to finish the sentence, the prospect of you dying making him sick to his stomach.
Jack doesn't try to comfort him with words, they're both doctors, they know the reality of the situation. All Jack could do was stay by his side, silently reminding him that no matter what, Jack would always be in his corner.
"If she survives this I'm going to tell her everything." Robby blurts out, "If I need to I quit this job just so she can finish her residency here."
"You'd think she'd want that? Seriously?" Jack frowns at him, "We both know she would never want you to throw what you have here away just for her."
"Just take it one step at a time brother," Jack continues as he pats Robby's shoulder, "Have an open conversation. Let her decide her future otherwise you will be ending the relationship before it even has a chance to start."
"When did you become so knowledgeable about this stuff huh?" Robby attempts to joke, poking fun at the fact that Jack has refused to see anyone since his wife passed away.
"I'll have you know that the kids find me very cool and hip and keep me updated on what dating is like these days," Jack smirks, "They're very knowledgeable, you should ask them for tips."
That makes Robby laugh, his shoulders dropping from the tense hold they were in for the first time in hours.
"C'mon," Jack grabs Robby's arm pulling him away from the edge, "Let's get a drink. I'm sure Shamsi or Garcia will tell us if anything changes."
Upon seeing an all too familiar frown morph on your face, Telemachus tried to brush off the growing ache forming in his chest. He grasped your wrists, trailing his touch down to rub small circles onto the back of your hands. “It won’t be as long as last time, I promise”. He brought them up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on each one.
Your heart twisted watching the gesture. Eyes welling with tears as you gazed at him, you voiced, “you just came back…”. You had been tending to your weaving when he came into your shared chamber to break the news. The distance never became easy. If anything, it had become harder to say goodbye, fearing one day may be the last time you see him.
“I know”. His voice was hardly above a whisper, subdued underneath the unseen weight each departure held. “I know I have”. He tipped your chin up when you averted your gaze, trying to prevent any droplets from breaking through the barrier. Concern washing over his features, Telemachus felt his own eyes glaze over. “Athena will see to it that I come back to you again”.
He held your cheek, placing your other hand over his heart for balance. “You know I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen, yes…?” You wordlessly nod without hesitation, seeking grounding in his words. Embracing his forearm, you clung to him.
“When do you have to leave?”
“Tomorrow night”. As soon as he spoke, you drew your blurred vision to his chest, a few stray tears escaping in response. He caught the ones he could, gently swiping them away with his thumb. “My love…”. Telemachus pulled you into his hold, pressing your head against him while stroking the nape of your neck. You melted into the hug, wrapping your arms around his lower back for closeness. “Please, don’t be upset. You won’t be left alone for long…”.
You two stayed in that position for a moment, softly breathing as you absentmindedly caressed each other. After a few minutes, your tears stopped. Pulling back to peer up at him again, you took that opportunity to look over his features, engraving them within your mind’s eye once more. Telemachus did the same, a faint smile ghosting his lips while he did. Keeping a grasp on your cheek, he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before placing a kiss on your lips. He placed several more pecks, beginning to walk you towards the bed.
Tugging on his garments, you urged him to remove his clothes. Once he did, his attention was drawn to your dress. It pooled around your ankles in one go, allowing you space to step out of the barrier. He followed as you crawled onto the bed, pulling him into your embrace. Reconnecting your lips, Telemachus settled in between your legs, gliding his length through your folds. You moaned, head spinning with need from his actions. Raking your nails across his broad shoulders, you locked your legs around his hips, bringing him flush against you.
He twitched at the feeling of your arousal coating the underside of his member. Breath hitching as he parted, he squeezed the soft flesh of your thighs, rubbing his hands up and down. Continuing the slow drag of his hips against you, his lips landed on your cheeks, affording both the same level of care and attention. Pausing once he reached your ear, he uttered, “there isn’t a day that goes by without you on my mind”. Mewling when his tip nudged your clit, your stomach stirred, hearing the longing in his voice.
You prompted him to look at you, soothingly tracing his jaw as he did. Lining himself with your entrance, Telemachus inched inside, gliding along your warmth until he was fully sheathed. Maintaining measured eye contact, no words were exchanged yet enough was said through your bodies. He rested his forehead among yours, making sure you felt every emotion rooted in his veins alone. Pulsing around his length, your heart clenched when he started moving. Vision wavering now, you released a broken moan. The stretch alone was enough to send a spiral of pleasure through your core.
Curling your hand in his hair while grasping his cheek, you sealed your lips together. Groaning into your mouth, he set a steady rhythm rocking in and out. You briefly detached, grazing your nose against his to murmur, “I’ll be right here waiting for you”. The feeling that erupted in his chest was bittersweet. Telemachus couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you again but your unyielding faith that he would always come back was woven tight around his heart. Your words only spurring him on, he repositioned his hands under your thighs, shifting them at an angle.
Increasing the pace of his hips now, you had trouble keeping your eyes open as a sharp pang of arousal spread in your stomach. The lewd sound rising in volume from his calculated thrusts drifted into your ears. Releasing a shaky moan while the beginning signs of your orgasm bloomed, your grip on his jaw fell. No matter how much time has passed, Telemachus never grew tired of studying your expressions. Learning exactly what leaves a lasting imprint on you was one of his vices. Through hooded eyes, he watched your lips quiver and your brows furrow, deciding now would be the perfect moment to send you to that state.
Leaning within earshot, he grunted, tightening his hold on your thighs. A string of groans followed as you dropped your hand, clawing down his abdomen. Eyes fluttering shut at the sound, you released a sharp moan. Head falling back into the pillows now, every deep, precise stroke he gave fueled the heat swirling in your stomach. Thighs trembling in his grasp now, your back arched while waves of pleasure trickled throughout your body. Mind drifting into a haze, you ran your nails through his curls, pulsing around his length.
Your own orgasm triggering his, Telemachus tensed, burying himself to the hilt before spurts of cum coated your walls. He encircled your body, finding your lips to give you another kiss. Reluctantly parting for air, he turned his attention to your cheeks, placing several lingering pecks on you. A warm smile spread across your face at the feeling. Pulling back to peer at you clearly, he voiced, “I love you”. Wrapping both arms around his shoulders again, you soothingly rubbed your fingers along his skin.
“I love you too”
Thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated!
Synopsis: Robby hates to see his wife feel bad about herself. (comfort & fluff) based on this request
Content: reader & robby are married, no use of y/n, pet names (sweetheart, beautiful, sweet girl, baby), soft Robby!!!, insecurity, brief mention of body image (body type not specified), robby is the best at comforting his lovely lady
WC: ~1.5k
A/N: I love soft robby & I need him to hold me immediately.
the pitt masterlist
Now Playing: Look after you - The Fray
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You could feel your chest tighten as you navigated your way through the bustling emergency department of the Pitt.
The accumulation of moisture in your eyes began to blur your vision as your throat tightened in compensation for not letting your tears fall just yet, trying to avoid the eyes of concerned coworkers throughout the long hallway.
You swung open the door that led to an empty stairwell, immediately taking a seat on one of the steps and letting your head fall into your hands, finally allowing your tears to pour freely and loosen the pressure in your throat.
Though your shift was merely halfway done, you felt as though you had been in the throes of the Pitt's typical chaos for far too long.
It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for you.
You knew that.
But you just couldn't stand to be surrounded by your coworkers anymore.
Not when it felt like every move you made took up too much space and every laugh you let out used too much air.
In the hallway of the ED, Robby seemed to notice your absence almost immediately.
"Hey Langdon, you seen my wife anywhere?" He asked Frank, who was rushing around, seemingly in the middle of something.
"No, sorry man, she came through here a little while ago though." He said, immediately splitting off to whatever important task was awaiting him.
Robby sighed and ran a hand through his hair before Mel spoke up from where she was sitting and completing charts, "I think I saw her go over there." She pointed a finger towards the end of the hallway with a soft smile.
Robby knew that your choice of isolation could only mean one thing, "Shit, okay. Thanks, King." He said with a sigh, rushing in your direction.
The door swung open in a clamor behind you, causing your head to immediately whip around to the sound, disregarding your own current state.
"Jesus, Robby. You scared me." You said, placing a hand on your chest in an attempt to control your startled heartbeat.
"Sorry, sweetheart. Just wanted to make sure you were in here." He sighed, finally allowing his body to loosen up as he took a seat next to you on the step.
It was only then that you remembered the tears staining your cheeks, so you turned your face away from your worried husband in embarrassment.
"Hey, no, don't do that." He said, placing a hand under your chin and turning your face towards his, "What's goin' on, beautiful?"
You felt your face heat up at his words, though you were unable to form your own due to your ever-growing unease.
"It's nothing." You said bashfully, letting your eyes wander anywhere but his own.
"It's definitely not nothing." He replied sternly.
You knew that you couldn't hide from Robby for long. You never could. He always found a way to soothe you even in your worst diffidence.
And so you told him everything.
You rambled on about how you felt like your scrubs didn't fit right and how every word you said felt misplaced. You told him about the way everyone's glance seemed to follow you around all day, and how your brain felt like a conglomeration of every negative word ever muttered in your general direction.
Your voice broke with sobs between nearly every word and all Robby did was listen with his eyebrows furrowed together, lightly nodding at every new discomfort you described.
Eventually, you took a long, shaky breath and finished with, "So today just really sucked."
To you, he looked sad about how upset you were, as any loving husband would be.
But to Robby, he felt the pang of his heart breaking into a million pieces as he listened to you speak so negatively about yourself.
He didn't understand how such a beautiful, smart woman could ever feel so unwelcome in a place that would not be half of what it was without her.
And worst of all, he didn't know how to put it into words to make you change your mind.
But in true Micheal Robinavitch fashion, he did his best.
Before he managed to say anything, he firmly wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you into him.
Your face found its place buried in his neck, while his arms wrapped tightly around you and for the first time all day, everything seemed to quiet.
Neither of you spoke for a long period of time.
He sat there with his arms caged protectively around you, as your salty tears slowly dried on your cheeks, but not before leaving a few damp spots on the sweater Robby wore over his scrubs.
As you sat in his arms, you allowed your mind to drift from your woes. You took deep breaths into Robby’s neck, smelling his cologne and feeling his hands spread across your back.
Once you gained your composure, you lightly pulled away from Robby to look at his face.
“I'm so sorry, my sweet girl.” He said slowly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.
There were very few people who had the privilege to witness Robby taking time to slow down. Between his job keeping him on his toes and his driven personality, he seemed to never take a breath.
However, whenever he was with you, he seemed to find time to let the rigidity go.
"It's okay. I just wish I could y'know... be invisible sometimes."
His lips pulled into a frown as he nodded in understanding.
Taking your hands in his own, he let out a sigh and looked down at his fingers wrapped around your own. "I just want you to know that I love you, okay?"
"I know."
"And I always will." He looked back into your eyes.
"I know."
He nodded and leaned in to press a firm kiss against your forehead.
“You never have to hide from me, sweetheart.”
Then another kiss to your cheek.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Then your other cheek.
“And I’m so lucky that you’re my gorgeous girl.”
And finally, your lips.
For the first time since you left the house that morning, you felt covered.
Not hidden, not secret.
But secure.
It didn't matter whether you were already drowning or not, because Robby would always be there to build a roof below the rain and hold you through the storm.
His mouth melded to yours, warm and fervent, as you breathed him in and allowed him to occupy all of the space in your lungs.
You didn't pull away until you felt him take a shaky breath against your lips. As you opened your eyes to see him, you noticed the slight shift in his demeanor.
"Are you okay?" You questioned in concern.
"I'm so fucking proud of you, baby." He stated without a second thought, his gruff voice gently breaking in admiration.
You let out a quiet "Oh?" at the explanation... or lack thereof.
Then he lent back into you.
And you let it all wash away onto his lips.
Though the storm was insistent, Robby was your home and you knew he always would be.
No matter how often you felt that your beams were unstable, he would always be there; sturdy, devoted, and yours.
When you pulled away again, you rested your forehead against his and he let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding.
You could hear the commotion coming from inside the ED, but you both chose to ignore it for one moment longer.
“I know you don’t feel like it, but you are so beautiful. And so worthy. Of everything.” He said, his forehead still pressed against your own.
“Thank you, baby.” You responded.
“I mean it, okay?”
“Okay.” You gave in.
It was then that a bang on the doorway broke the two of you apart.
“Hey uh, Dr. Robby now would be a great time to get in here.” Said a panicked Whitaker, peeking in through the cracked door in caution of interrupting.
Robby groaned and stroked a hand through his beard, “Yeah, yeah, alright.”
Once Whitaker closed the door, he leaned in to press another kiss to your lips.
“Don’t you ever feel like you need to hide from me. No matter what it is.” He said sternly.
“Okay.” You said and he gave a firm nod, before standing up and reaching his hand out to you.
Once he pulled you up, he went to open the door.
“Wait!” You said before he turned the handle.
He raised an eyebrow in confusion but it quickly faded as you wrapped your arms around him one more time, breathing him in.
He let his hand fall into your hair, cradling your head against his chest.
“Are you ready?” He said, referring to the rest of the shift that awaited you outside of the stairwell.
“I think so.” You said into his chest, and he placed a kiss on your head as he pulled away and opened the door.
summary: victoria javadi is a lot of things, and being mindful of what she says is not one of them. when her voice carries a little too far, and you hear exactly what she thinks of you and your coworkers, jack is left to pick up your shattered pieces and try to put you back together.
tags: jack abbot x reader, angst, sooo much angst, I'd say this is ooc, but if I heard someone calling me a time bomb or the angriest person she's ever met, I'd call her them for it too, hurt/lots of comfort, medical/medschool inaccuracies, reader struggles with depression and self worth, suicidal ideations (nothing ever comes of these), mentions of jack's ptsd, age gap (non specific), apologizing but sorry really is a bandaid over a gaping wound, 18+ MDNI
notes: after the success of my last angst-filled fic, I decided I wanted to write another. I will be making a smut-filled part two, so just heads up for that one! I am currently in the process of moving, so forgive me for my absence! my requests are open, and my tag list is sadly closed! please enjoy!
word count: 4.5k
You thought that you were one of the easier residents to work with.
Each harder case to come through the front doors went right over to your eager hands without any arguments, you taking the tablet with a nod and steeled nerves. Robby knew you could handle anything that got thrown at you, and his trust meant a lot, his nods and compliments healing something deep in your chest.
With you, patient satisfaction scores came up, much to the appeal of your seniors. And again, that little twanging flutter made you push to feel it more often. It made you want to be someone that everyone could count on to be there.
In the Pitt, friendships and comradery were two things that got everyone through shifts; whether they were easy going ones where the worst case through the doors happened to be a broken leg, or they ended with death and loss over and over in a seemingly never-ending cycle. Everyone needed someone, and you always wanted to be the person that others could come to when they needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on. A smile always seemed to be on your face, and even through the worst traumas, you rarely cried, needing to at least be one strong person in a room full of broken souls.
However, that meant that sometimes, people forgot that you were able to break too.
You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop after what seemed like the longest 4th of July shift you’ve ever experienced while working at PTMC. The hours were filled with an abandoned baby, two new med students, obnoxious assholes, your boyfriend coming in with a bullet wound to the back, a brand-new attending and her AI charting system, the cyber-attack taking away said AI charting system, and probably most draining, Robby acting like he wasn’t going to come back after his three-month sabbatical, putting everyone on edge and making it seem like they had to walk on egg shells. Even you, after many suggestions of trying to talk him into staying local from multiple different people, weren’t able to get a clear answer from him, and that made it all worse somehow.
Since dating Jack, you’d weirdly been able to form a closer friendship with the older chief attending that ran farther than a normal boss-coworker relationship. Trying to count the times he came over to Jack’s for dinner or a late-night Steeler’s game would be impossible. You got to see another friendlier and more open version of the man that had only ever been reserved for his closest confidant. So, to not be able to know if he’d come back safely, had your heart racing the entire day.
Add on everything else (still backtracking to Jack getting shot at—he made sure to tell you that there was indeed a difference), you were closer to a breaking point than you’d been in a long while.
“Here you go, hun. I think this is the last one before you can get outta here,” Dana sighed as she handed over a paper chart. “To think that we started out the day with robots taking over the chart, and we end it with writing each one individually.”
Your hand cramped at the thought of writing another chart, but you took it from her anyway. “Remind me to keep a hand brace in my locker at all times,” you groaned. “I think my fingers are withering away.”
“Shocking Abbot doesn’t have on in that go-bag of his.”
“He has an emergency trach kit but not a measly brace.” You rolled your shoulders, the muscles tight and thickened with nerves and tension. “I’m taking his card after this and booking us both massages.”
“Amen, sista,” Dana muttered, eyes transfixed on her hand-written nurses board. “At least he’s good for something.”
You snorted, the sound unfamiliar for the day. “Don’t tell him that, or he’ll want to come with us. I made a monster the last time I brought him with me for a facial, and now he insists to join me every single time.”
“Uh, Dr. (L/n)?” Dennis asked, his voice carrying over your shoulder in a nervous tone.
Your neck twisted, and you winced slightly at the pop it gave. “Yes, Whitaker? Still haven’t found your badge?”
His lips pursed. “No; still haven’t found it, but I actually had a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Not to throw her under the bus, but Trinity might have mentioned you had an extra energy drink?” he said as more of a question than a statement, and it made your lips curve at his nervous nature. “A-and I was maybe wondering if—”
“If you could have it?” you finished. “Sure. It’s in the fridge with my name on a sticky note.”
Dennis smiled largely, and his chest fell with a big exhale. “Thank you so much. I swear I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You waved a hand through the air. “Can’t have you falling asleep here during the last leg.”
When you turned back to Dana after Dennis left in the direction of the breakroom, she already had a knowing look on her face, eyebrows cocked and grey eyes trained on you over her glasses. Heat rushed to your cheeks.
“What?” you asked, doing your best not to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t going to drink it anyway.”
“Sure you weren’t. It’s not like I heard you tell Abbot earlier about how much you were looking forward to drinking it.”
You glanced over your shoulder. “He obviously needs it more than I do. Plus, he has other things like his bills to worry about. If a can of Monster gets him through the evening, then I’ll let him take mine.”
Because your eyes had gone back down to the chart midway, you missed the downcast of Dana’s expression. “You still have to worry about bills too, hun. Until you’re Jack’s age, they’re going to forever be a pain in your ass.”
You huffed. “One Monster isn’t going to make me go broke.” You paused. “Plus, Jack bought it, so his loss really.”
She tapped her pen on the counter twice. “Then you can take it up with him after you finish that chart. But don’t go too hard, Lord knows you’re one of the hardest working ones here. Abbot better get you the nicest Uber home.”
A warmth bloomed in your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks, always one to get a reaction out of the simplest of words. Dana could tell you that you did a good job tying your shoelaces, and her praise would mean more than anything else.
In response, you only shook your head before clicking a pen open to start writing in the chart. The words came easily enough, your fingers actually cooperating with you to make the lettering legible enough that someone could easily transfer your notes once the systems were fully back on. To your right, you heard a crisp crack and chuckled.
Dennis certainly wasn’t one to wait when a cold Monster dropped right into his hands.
Almost to the halfway point in the chart was when you heard both Dennis’s and Victoria’s voices carry over the loud ED. You tried your best to concentrate; once you were finished, you got to kiss Jack goodbye and then go back to your shared home where you knew your bed and dinner were waiting for you. You could almost imagine it: the post-work bath, the warmed up left overs, then drifting right off to sleep only to wake up twelve hours later in Jack’s arms, something that only happened when you both had the day off, and July 5th happened to be just that.
“Did you ever find your ID badge?” Victoria asked Dennis, and you couldn’t help but frown; the poor kid had been looking for it all day.
“Uh, no,” Dennis answered after taking a sip from the can. “So, you any closer to deciding what’s next for you?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m seriously considering law school.”
Your brow quirked. Law school? Well, she was young enough to switch everything if she wanted to.
Dennis choked on a swallow. “What? What are you talking about? You’re going to be a great doctor.”
She scoffed lowly. “I mean, no offense, but look what this place does to you.”
Your pen stopped against the page, and your stomach tightened. By now, you were listening with purpose, unable to quit even if you knew better than to eavesdrop in on their conversation. Yet, they were talking rather loudly in the middle of the hub, so you probably weren’t the only one who caught their words.
Victoria continued. “Langdon’s an addict.”
You blanched. What?
Dennis was quick to correct her. “Is a person with substance use disorder.”
“McKay was on house arrest,” she continued, not heading his words at all. “Dana’s a time bomb.”
A frown took over your mouth, and an ugly feeling roared its head in your center. If there was one person who wasn’t a time bomb, they’d be Dana, the charge nurse who had seemingly never-ending patience, a caregiver who rushed into danger moments after hearing Hula Hoop!, a woman who pushed herself up and worked through a mass casualty after a man abused her in the ambulance bay. Through it all, Dana had persevered, and Victoria had the audacity to call her a time bomb. Your fingers curled white-knuckled around the pen, and you had half a mind to turn around and speak up, but you stayed silent, wanting to hear what she had to say about your coworkers.
“Santos is one of the angriest people you are ever going to meet.”
“Woah. Sarcastic, yes. Cynical, definitely. I don’t know if she’s, you know—”
“Mel?” she interrupted before pausing like she couldn’t come up with something vicious for a the most innocent of your colleges. “Samira has no life. Abbot’s an adrenaline junkie who gets shot at for fun.”
Now, anger roared its head and bubbled under your skin. What does she fucking know about Jack’s need to keep going because he feels like if he stops, he’ll quit living. You’d been there to hold him through the bad days, through all of his deepest darkest fears and doubts that if he didn’t have a purpose, no one would want him. You swallowed thickly, and when you blinked, the chart suddenly became blurry through glossy eyes.
“Robby’s got, like PTSD or something way fucking worse.”
Your breath hitched high in your throat. For more years than Victoria had even been alive, Robby had seen the worst of the world. You knew he’d been abandoned at a young age, but everyone else knew he had to make the decision to take his mentor off life support in hopes to give a younger life a fighting chance, only for them both to end up six feet under. He carried the responsibility of every single employee on his shoulders even if they didn’t want him to. He was tired, he was scared, he was angry, and all she could say was that he is basically fucked mentally. You shifted your weight, ready to turn around and speak your mind, but like self-torture, your name was next on her list, and this time, the ER went silent to hear it all.
“And don’t get me started on Dr. (L/n). The poor girl has an obvious case of validation addiction and depression, plus, dating a senior attending? Talk about daddy issues.”
It was as if all the breath was stolen from your lungs, and inhaling became immensely difficult. You tried your best to take in deep inhales, but your chest refused to cooperate with your brain’s need for oxygen. A high-pitched ringing overtook your hearing, fogging up and overpowering anything that followed. Slowly, you looked up from where your eyes had stayed glued to the chart, and your stomach dropped even further when you met not only Dana’s eyes, but what felt like the whole departments’ including Jack’s, who had just managed to make it in before Victoria had even said your name.
He had been there for all of it. He'd heard her.
Your jaw dropped, and your shoulders hunched in jerky motions as you tried to say something—anything, but she had managed to rendered you speechless in three measly sentences and make you feel the most vulnerable you’d ever been. Everyone who was looking at you now knew something you’d tried to hide through consistent smiles and a small dosage of Lexapro to get you through the day. But now, with your soul bared wide open by someone who didn’t understand what loving an ER did to a person, nothing seemed to make it all feel better.
You shakily looked around the room, pen dropping from your hand as you began to back up from the counter. For a split second, you met Victoria’s dark eyes and guilt-ridden expression, but it was too late for her to take anything back. In a shuddering breath, you turned and hastily walked in the direction of the stairwell, failing to meet Jack’s eyes after brushing right past him and Robby, taking two steps at a time to get somewhere with air once you got to the stairs.
And you had only one place in mind with enough air to last a lifetime: the roof.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jack’s jaw clenched to the point his teeth hurt as the med student’s words rang through his head.
He could probably piece together that you weren’t the only one she talked loudly about, but in that moment, you were the only one that mattered. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag. He left Robby standing there with his arms crossed against his chest and walked over to where she and Whitaker were standing.
By the time he reached her, the Pitt had delved back into quiet motion, however, that didn't mean a few had stuck around to possibly hear what Jack was about to say or see what he was about to do.
Loudly placing his bag down in a thunk that echoed through the hub, the room still reeling with the too-loud ill-thought words thrown at you, one of their most trustworthy residents they’d ever had. Jack made sure to square his shoulders to be as intimidating as he hoped he could come across. His hazel eyes burned with an unfiltered rage as he looked down.
“I don’t know what led you to this little . . . gossip name-calling session at the end of your shift, but what you have just said is completely inappropriate and absolutely disrespectful to one of your superiors,” he stated lowly, voice close to a growl. “And frankly, I don’t care if you’re tired, or if this is a slip up of not thinking straight. You have just made a very strong accusation about my partner. And once her name came out of your mouth, all bets of me reprimanding you as an attending flew off the table.”
Javadi felt the blood drain from her face. “Dr. Abbot, I didn’t mean—”
“But you did,” he cut her off. “You’re only backtracking now because we all heard you—she heard you. Do you know exactly what you’ve done?”
When she failed to answer, Jack scoffed.
“Fine, I will tell you what you’ve done so that it can sit with you for the rest of your weekend. Dr. (L/n) works her ass off to be approachable. She never complains, never staggers under pressure, and is one of the best fucking people within these walls, and you have just belittled everything she does for this damn hospital. She gets praised because she’s great, not because she’s a little attention seeking med student,” he cracked, not holding back at all. “You should know a bit about that. You graduated and went to college at what? Sixteen?”
Jack knew he lowballed it just for her to quietly correct him with a meek thirteen. He clicked his tongue loudly against his cheek.
“What do they call you kids these days too? Nepo-babies? Your mom works upstairs, and you’re down here desperately trying to hide away from her and make a name for yourself. Well, let me tell you something, kid, this—” He gestured to her and then around the hub with a flick of his wrist. “—this is not the way to go about things. You don’t get to loudly judge others and expect there to not be reprimand and get away with it.”
He leaned against the counter and tilted his chin back. “You’re studying to be a doctor, for fucks sake. What if you’d been saying this shit about a patient, and their family overheard you? Your scores would tank, and then you might have to repeat a whole year because you couldn’t find the dignity to keep your thoughts to yourself. This is not the standard of care we’d give to patients and certainly not one we give to coworkers who have never given us, and especially you, grief for anything.”
Taking a deep breath, Jack tried to relax, but just remembering the devastation on your face kept the fire rolling.
“My relationship with Dr. (L/n) is and will always be no one’s business. If she wants to date an older guy, one who happens to be me, it doesn’t automatically mean someone has daddy issues,” he spat, the words curdling in his mouth. “It means that she was comfortable enough to go for someone who knows the right way to treat a woman, and I will not stand here and let you think for one more second that she is not capable of carrying for herself.”
Jack pushed off the counter and really looked into her eyes one more time, making sure everything really stuck. “Most of the superiors in here have been working in medicine longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve had to live with the repercussions of war far longer than you’ve been alive. Once you’ve gotten a true taste of what this world can do to a person, come find me, and we’ll have a real discussion about how adults find ways to cope with it all without killing ourselves every night.”
He turned around without a second thought, leaving behind a more than embarrassed med student and a hub full of coworkers who understood every word he had said deeper than they’d like to admit. But he couldn’t think of any of them now, not with you and the roof on his mind. He hated the way his stomach flipped and twisted as he rode the elevator upwards, leg not able to handle the stairs so early into putting his prosthesis back on after working the few hours after the SWAT raid he manage to do plus little sleep in time to kiss you goodbye after your shift.
Jack was never one for religion, but he prayed that he’d find you behind the railing instead of in front of it. Hell, he’d rather you be on the other side than not even on the roof anymore. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he willed the machine to go faster. He didn’t dare breathe even when it finally dinged open, body rushing forward through the familiar motion of the journey to the roof, one he’d taken way too many times to count.
When he pushed open the heavy door to reveal the roof being swallowed in the setting sun, the tension in his body bled out only slightly at the sight of you standing there, closer to the edge than he first hoped. His steps crunched into the gravel, and he guessed that you knew he was there even if you refused to turn around.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said carefully but not like talking to a spooked animal. Jack knew better than to treat you like that, or he’d be going against everything he just said downstairs. “Mind if I stand here with you?”
You sniffed loudly, and Jack watched the way your one hand rose to rub a hand at your face, indicating that you were crying. Your neck bent as you looked down at the road below and all the glowing ant-sized cars and people, mind running with the thought of how long it’d take to get down to the bottom.
“I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking,” Jack started again, taking a full step forward to be closer to you. “But I know you, and I can take big guess that you’re telling yourself that she’s right.”
The smallest nod of your head sent Jack’s heart down to his toes.
“Cause she is,” you warbled, voice thick with emotions too big to keep inside. “She is right. I-I thought I did a better job at hiding, but she read me like a damn book.”
“No,” he responded. “No, she didn’t. She’s far from right, and I hate that you think she is, because how she described you is nothing like how I or anyone else sees you, baby. You’re strong; you don’t have a validation addiction. Fucking everyone loves a compliment, and in our line of work those are few and far between. So, when you get one, it’s special.”
You sobbed a bit harder at his attempt to make you seem normal . . . at least what normal meant in your mind.
“And who gives a shit if you do like them more than others; just means you’re more in-tuned with what you know you like. I, for one, am grateful for that because instead of telling me to fuck off, old man—” He spoke in a higher pitch that wasn’t anywhere near your voice to speak.
You gave him a small giggle as a reward, and Jack smiled.
“You let me take you to dinner; you let me, a tired, grumpy old man who’s still wears his wedding ring because he’s scared of forgetting and being forgotten, love you.”
That finally got you to turn around, and the glare you tried to send his way was a bit more pitiful than you were probably trying for, but his heart fluttered as your personality slowly peaked through the sadness.
“You’re not that old . . . or grumpy,” you muttered before holding your hand out.
Jack took it without hesitation, fingers curling around yours, arm holding up your weight while you stepped over the railing. He wasted no time in tugging your hand once your two feet were planted to wrap you in a hug. He felt you sigh heavily against him, body dropping into his chest as everything drained out of you. Jack pressed a small kiss to your temple.
“Baby, I’m fifty. If that’s not old, I’m scared of what old feels like in twenty years.”
You laughed softly before going quiet. “I don’t know why I came up here. I shouldn’t have run away like that.”
Jack huffed. “You needed to get out and get some air; that’s not running away. I’m actually proud that you came up here.”
"I'll make sure not to take your spot." Your cheek shifted until the top of your head tucked beneath his chin. “I want to go home, but I don’t want to face any of them.”
“Can always sneak you down the outside stairs.”
“But then I won’t get to say goodbye to Robby.” You inhaled sharply. “God, I hope he didn’t hear what she said about him,” you whimpered, suddenly overwhelmed with the weight of Victoria’s words.
"Mike's a big boy. If he couldn't take a few harsh words, he would have quit a long time ago." Jack squeezed you a bit tighter. “But, I talked to him, and he’s going to stay in the area for a bit longer. Still needs that vacation, but he owes us at least one more movie night. We’ll walk down together and get you home.”
You pulled back enough to look him in the face. “Your shift?”
“I don’t care about my shift right now. Plus, with the fireworks, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate as well as I could. John’ll cover if I bribe him with free Dunkin' for a month.”
"Maybe I'll add in to make it two," you muttered, sighing at the end. "Let's go back down the normal way."
Jack's brows pinched tightly together. "Sweetheart, we don't have to—"
"It'll be better for me to rip the Band-Aid off than worry about this for the rest of the weekend." Your eyes cast downward to your feet. "It's not like she can say anything worse."
"If she even tries—"
"Which she probably won't," you gently said in attempts to placate him, hand rubbing gently rubbing at his chest. "I just want to go home . . . please."
His heart melted just at bit, the please resonating in his soul, quenching the fire to replace it with the need to provide for you. So, instead of fighting, he nodded.
"We'll get you home, sweetheart."
Without waiting, you pulled on his hand, leading him back toward the door. Unlike the first elevator ride up, Jack was less anxious, however, he disliked the way you seemed to be moving with nerves, hand shaking, body swaying. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and he never hesitated to step in if you needed.
He heard the shaky breath you sucked in right as the elevator doors opened. His hand kept a tight hold on yours while he led you back through to the lockers, keeping a watchful eye out for anyone. Thankfully though, the hallway was empty, and it took you no time to put your code in, grab your stuff, and slide your hand back into his.
You were almost home free, the side door in sight that led to the employee parking, when a shout of your name behind had you freezing, eyes widened as the voice computed in your brain, the one that would now be etched forever with venom dripping from her lips.
"You don't have to turn around," Jack muttered, but you had already started twisting.
"Yes, Javadi?" you asked softly, not being able to ignore her even if you tried.
Her hands wrung together as she looked at you with big eyes. She looked like she was about to say something before she halted.
"I just . . ." she trailed, obviously not ready to say what she wanted. "I want to apologize for what I said in there. I have no excuse, and I wanted to say sorry before you left. So, I'm sorry."
Your tongue ran across your lips, but your mouth was left dry. Your mind ran with so many things to respond with, but nothing would form enough for you to actually speak them.
"It's fine," you settled on the familiar excuse.
Jack tensed at your side. "It's not fine—" He stopped when your hand squeezed his a bit tighter, silently telling him to drop it.
You pursed your lips. "Have a nice rest of your weekend."
Jack finally took that moment to turn you back around and lead you out the door, leaving Victoria in the empty hallway. The sight of Jack's truck felt like heaven opening up with an angel chorus.
One small trip, and then you'd be home, and Jack had a whole evening to prove that you were more than demeaning gossip. And he'd make sure by the end of the night, you'd be nothing but mindless enough to agree with everything he told you.
are we too late? are we too far? // jack abbot pt. 2
At nineteen, you told Jack Abbot that you’d marry him someday. He laughed it off and disappeared from your life for eleven years. Now, you’re months away from marrying a safe, stable man. Until you lock eyes with Jack across a bar, and your perfectly curated life completely shatters.
genre: dad's ex-best friend!jack x reader, age gap, forbidden romance, mutual pining, smut nsfw mdni
word count: 12k+ (holy shit i'm sorry lmao)
(a/n: ahhh thank yall so much for waiting. i've been working so hard on this one. and honestly i feel like it's my weakest, but i'm proud of this little story. i really hope you enjoy it. also totally forgot last time i was going to explain the title lol. it's a line from the song Death & Romance by Magdalena Bay. A banger and I thought about Jack whilst listening to it, so naturally I wrote an almost 15k fic. so it goes. anywhoooo thank yall again. i hope you like it. plz let me know. )
part 1
Jack decided the universe was run by an absolute sadist.
When he’d left years ago, you had been just a girl he couldn’t save. No matter how much he had wanted to. Beautiful, sure, but dangerous. You had looked at him like he held the keys to the kingdom, completely oblivious to the fact that he was barely holding his own life together.
I’m going to marry you.
He hadn't corrected you back then. Not explicitly. He’d just gently steered you away from the edge of that particular cliff.
Driving home that night, he had tucked your confession away in the darkest drawer of his mind as an impossible fiction.
But the person standing across from him now was entirely different.
And, frustratingly, exactly the same.
Adolescence had turned into something elegant, but the defensive way you crossed your arms over your chest and the stubborn tilt of your chin was identical to when you were nineteen.
The familiarity hit him in the chest. Nostalgia making a wave over him. He’d cry right now if he wasn’t so emotionally constipated.
His eyes tracked your hand as you reached for your glass and that's when the light caught it.
Everything inside him ground to a halt.
Slowly, he pointed the drink and the hand that held it toward your hand. "What's that?"
The color drained from your face so fast it made his stomach drop. You pulled your hand back, tucking it close to your body. "Oh. I'm getting married."
Well, fuck.
Jack made sure to keep his features normal. Even though some part of himself (stupid and utterly selfish as it is) feels like something has just been taken away from him.
He just let out a breath, an only slightly tortured smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh yeah? Thought that slot was reserved for me."
You tore your gaze away, looking at anything but his face as heat crept up your neck.
He didn't look away. He couldn't. He just stared, tracing the line of your face, waiting out the silence until you finally forced yourself to look back. "Yeah, well." you muttered, your voice tight. "That's the kind of shit you say when you're nineteen and stupid."
"Stupid?" Jack countered, leaning an inch closer. "You wound me."
"Oh, don't act like you actually believed me back then."
He tilted his head, locking his eyes onto yours. "Well..you are here at this bar with me right now. After years of never seeing each other. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the universe is incapable of keeping us apart."
Instead of answering, you flagged down the bartender, your knuckles rapping against the sticky wood of the counter as you ordered another drink, completely shutting him out.
Jack watched you take a sip.
He needed to stop. He needed to be the adult in the room, to play the role of the supportive, well meaning ghost from your past.
"So," he said smoothly, "who's the lucky guy?"
The name David slipped past your lips, followed by a laundry list of details. His job, how you met, the stable life you’d built. Jack nodded in all the right places, but truth be told, he wasn't processing a single syllable.
Fuck that guy.
Fuck David and his immaculate timing. Fuck David for being the one who got to see you grow into this version of yourself, and fuck David for having the absolute privilege of taking care of you.
But as he watched the animated way your expression softened when you spoke, a bitter ache settled deep in Jack’s stomach.
By the time the bartender did last call, the room had thinned out to a handful of stragglers.
You stood up, sliding your purse over your shoulder and Jack was up a second later, tossing a stack of crumpled bills onto the counter without looking at them. "It's late. I’m walking you home."
You blinked up at him, shifting your weight. "Jack, I'm fine. I live right around the block. It’s a four minute walk."
He didn't say anything back. He just snagged his jacket, throwing it over one shoulder with a lazy shake of his head. "Don't fight me on this, sweetheart."
The walk was quiet at first, the pavement damp from an earlier rain, but Jack had never been excellent at staying quiet around you. He kept his pace slow, matching yours perfectly, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Your shoulders brushed with every third step.
Gradually, the conversation slipped back into its old rhythm, as if the lost years never existed. He looked down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a fleeting moment, he felt completely unmoored.
God, you were sharp. You were quick, funny, delivering lines with this effortless charm that made him want to pull you into the nearest shadowed doorway and never let you go.
Before he could entirely lose his mind, you stopped in front of a brick building with a heavy iron awning. "This is me." you said, turning to face him on the steps.
Jack braced his weight on one foot, looking up at you. The easy bravado finally dropped from his shoulders, replaced by something more exposed. "Can I have your number?" He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. Jesus, now who was the one acting like a nervous teenager? "I, uh..I texted your old one a few times. Over the years. But I think you had it changed."
Your expression softened, a flicker of something complicated crossing your eyes. "Yeah, I changed it once I got to college. So my dad couldn't reach me."
The mention of your father made Jack’s jaw tighten, a protective anger flaring in his chest. He just nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket.
...
Against your better judgment, you took it. Your fingers brushed his with a brief shock of heat, as you typed in your new digits and handed it back.
"There." you whispered. "Goodbye, Jack."
You turned, key already in hand, reaching for the glass door of your building. You took one step into the warm lobby, but you turned back, looking through the open doorway at him.
He hadn't moved an inch.
He was still standing exactly where you left him.
"I missed seeing you, Jack." you said, the confession slipping out before you could think better of it.
And before he could answer, before you could see exactly what those words did to him, you turned and walked inside, letting the door click shut between you.
…
"There was nothing wrong with any of them." you said, stepping onto the sidewalk as the boutique door clicked shut. You stared blankly at a crack in the pavement. "They were beautiful dresses, Meg. They just didn’t feel right."
Meg sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both started down the block. "You’re just overwhelmed. Wedding dress shopping is less about the fabric and more about the reality of the fact that you're actually doing this. It's a lot to process." She checked her watch, her face twisting into a grimace. "Crap. Speaking of reality, I have to run. If I don't meet the florist in fifteen minutes, she's going to take several liberties that I definitely will not approve of.”
"Go, go." you urged, waving her off with a weak smile. "I'll be fine."
"Are you going straight home? Do you want me to call you later?"
"No, don't worry about it." you said, gesturing toward the diner across the street. "I think I'm just going to go sit in a corner, get a slice of pie, and read my book for a bit. Decompress."
"Good. Unplug your brain." Meg said, giving your arm a quick squeeze before jogging toward the subway.
The diner was louder than usual, packed with the early dinner rush escaping the incoming rain. The bell above the door chimed as you walked inside, and a quick scan confirmed your worst nightmare. Every single private booth was taken. The long counter was packed shoulder to shoulder.
The only available spot in the entire place was a tiny two person table near the back window, and it was currently occupied by a very large man with a leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. His head was turned toward the window, watching the starting drops of rain streak against the glass.
Curls.
Familiar curls, is all you saw first. And you should be embarrassed how much your body reacts to them. Even after all these years, he’s got your heart beating into your throat. The only thing that has changed is that he grew out of the red and exchanged it for grey.
To your disastrous conclusion, it only made him more handsome. More something. Magnetic? Maybe, but you’d always been drawn to Jack.
You should turn around. You should walk back out into the rain, go to your apartment, and eat whatever stale crackers were left in your pantry. Seeing him once at a bar was a fluke. Seeing him twice felt dangerous.
But your feet didn't move toward the door. Instead, driven by that same pull, you navigated the tight maze of tables until you were standing right at the edge of his space.
"Hey." you said softly.
Jack’s head turned immediately. The distant, checked out expression on his face instantly vanished, his eyes expanding as they locked onto yours. He took you in all at once. Your windblown hair, the slight line of stress between your eyebrows, the book clutched tightly against your chest.
A smirk slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained entirely intense. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing casually with his chin toward the empty seat across from him.
You swallowed the ridiculous spike of nerves in your throat, sliding into the chair.
Jack caught the eye of a passing waitress and raised two fingers. He looked back at you, eyes tracking the way you clutched your book like a shield. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice low.
You had spent the last twenty minutes dreaming about a thick slice of cherry pie, but suddenly, the thought of him buying it for you made your stomach do things you didn’t like. It felt too intimate. It felt wrong, like you were allowing him to fill a need he no longer had the right to.
"Oh, I'm just reading." you lied smoothly, offering a dismissive wave. "No food."
He didn't say a word, but he leveled a look at you. His eyebrows pulling down just a fraction in that knowing way he used to when he caught you in a bluff. An ache of longing bloomed in your chest. You had missed the way he had looked at you.
You missed when someone knew you so completely that you didn’t even have to say a word.
"Really?" Jack murmured, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So was cherry pie just a phase, or is that still happening?"
A smile broke across your face before you could stop it, your shoulders dropping their defensive posture. Jack caught the change instantly. "We'll take a slice of the cherry. Two forks. And a black coffee."
When it arrived, you didn't fight him on it. Instead, a comfortable silence settled over the table. The only sound was the clinking of forks against the ceramic plate as you shared the slice, both of you staring out at the rain turning the streetlights blurry.
It was nice.
It was terrifyingly easy.
"So," Jack said, breaking the quiet as he pushed the last bite of crust toward your side of the plate. "What did you do today?"
The lingering warmth from the pie evaporated, replaced by white satin and tulle. You let out a defeated sigh, leaning your chin into your hand. "Wedding dress shopping." you admitted, your voice miserable. "With Meg. It went horribly."
You expected a retort. Or for him to make a joke about you looking like a cloud or to tease you about being difficult. But when you didn't hear a reply, you looked up.
Jack wasn't smiling. He was watching you, his eyes focused on the sadness radiating from you. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." he said softly.
Your eyes screwed shut instantly, a shock running straight down your spine at the cadence of his voice. You forced them open, aggressively pointing your pie covered fork directly at his chest. "Don't call me that."
That smirk slowly worked its way back onto his face as he watched your cheeks flood with color. "Why?" he challenged, leaning an inch closer. "You like it too much?"
You tore your gaze away from him, turning your head toward the window and grumbling something under your breath just to avoid the smug, insufferable certainty in his eyes.
Then your phone buzzed against the table. “Oh, I have to take this. I'm sorry."
…
Inside, Jack was working double overtime just to keep his features flat. His jaw clenched so hard his molars ached.
God, he needed to see his therapist.
This was stupid. It was childish. It was entirely unhinged for him to feel this surge of possessiveness over a woman who wasn't even his. He had no claim over you. None at all. He was the one who had walked away eleven years ago.
But logic didn't do a damn thing to stop the way his chest constricted when you brought the phone to your ear.
Then came the blow, delivered in the sweetest tone. "Okay. Love you too."
Jack bristled. The words hit him with white hot jealousy.
You hung up, sliding the phone back into your pocket with an apologetic sigh. "Gotta go. David needs some help with something at the apartment."
You stood up, immediately reaching for your purse and unzipping it to hunt for cash. "Let me just grab some money for the pie."
Jack reached across the small distance, his hand came down over yours, his fingers completely covering your knuckles and pinning your hand to the fabric of your purse, stopping you instantly.
He would think about it later. Hours from now, lying awake in his bed, he would analyze the exact feel of your skin, the way his palm seemed to memorize the curve of your knuckles, and the buzzing that went straight up his forearm.
But right now, he just needed to keep you from drawing another boundary between you.
"Don't even think about it." Jack said, leaving no room for debate. He didn't let go of your hand right away, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your wrist. "You don't pay for anything when you're with me."
You blinked down at his hand, then up at his face. You couldn't help the little smile that broke across your lips. "Oh, I see. Got that doctor money now and suddenly you're a big deal, huh?"
Jack laughed, his fingers reluctantly sliding off yours as he leaned back into his chair. "Are you kidding? I've always been a big deal."
You snorted, and to Jack, it was easily the best thing he had ever heard in his life. It was a sound he wanted to bottle up and keep. "Bye, Jack." you said softly, your smile lingering.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, standing by his seat. And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached out. Your hand closed briefly over his shoulder, a firm squeeze that pressed through the fabric of his shirt.
Then you turned and walked away.
He sat completely frozen, slowly bringing his left hand up to press over the exact spot on his shoulder where your fingers had just been, trying to trap the lingering warmth against his skin.
…
It had been a week since you sat across from Jack in that diner, and your brain had spent the last several days thinking of absolutely nothing else.
Even now, with the late evening sun filtering through the trees of the park near your apartment, you were miles away. You were walking hand in hand with David. The gravel of the path was crunching beneath your sneakers, and his voice was steady beside you.
You weren't listening to a single syllable.
Instead, your mind was drifting back to a particular night a lifetime ago. You remembered the feeling when Jack had pulled his truck up to your house, the shouting of your dad’s latest explosive fit still echoing through the thin walls behind you.
Jack had taken one look at your face, grabbed your wrist, and thrown you into his passenger seat.
He’d driven straight to the nearest Olive Garden and the two of you had proceeded to eat an ungodly amount of breadsticks.
Looking back, you had probably been falling in love with Jack Abbot since the very first moment he’d ever shown up at your house, but watching him sit across from you under those tacky restaurant lights, making terrible faces just to make you forget the dark world you lived in, that was the exact moment your heart had stubbornly decided it wanted him.
But you had David now. Safe, stable, predictable David. Whose hand was currently wrapped around yours. He stopped walking, tilting his head down to look at you. "Hey. Did you hear me?"
You blinked, the memory dissipating as you forced yourself back into the present. "Hmm? No, sorry. I got completely lost in thought. What did you say?"
David didn't get annoyed. He just let out a patient laugh and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I was asking about our first dance song. I was thinking about it on the drive over. What do you think about Kiss Me?"
You couldn’t stop it then. Another memory slotting its way into your mind. You sitting shotgun flying down winding back roads with the windows cracked wide open. The radio blasting that exact song, the wind whipping your hair across your face while you and Jack screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs, completely off key.
"Maybe." you forced out, the word catching uncomfortably in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression from cracking.
"Ah, that's okay." David said smoothly, entirely oblivious. "Don't stress. I'll make a running list of options tonight and we can go through them later..oh, shit!"
David’s foot caught on a deep lip of concrete where the park path intersected with a dirt trail. His ankle rolled inward with a crack. He pitched forward, his grip ripping away from your hand as he went down hard on his side in the grass.
"David!" You dropped to your knees beside him instantly. "Are you okay?"
He was pale, his jaw clenched tight as he clutched at his left leg, a groan escaping his teeth. "My ankle." he gasped out, his forehead breaking into a sweat. "I think I just broke the damn thing."
…
You hadn't thought anything of the location when the driver pulled up to the emergency room. It was simply the closest trauma center. Your only focus had been helping David limp through triage until they finally rolled him back into an exam room.
David was lying on the gurney, his face tight with pain as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the doctor on staff to see him. You stood by the edge of the bed, your hand holding his.
"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with here." The fabric of the curtain was pulled back and your eyes flew upward. Standing in the entryway, a chart clutched in his hand and a stethoscope slung casually over his shoulders, was Jack.
Of course.
Jack’s eyes were locked onto the chart as he stepped into the room, his pen clicking once, and then he stopped. He raised his head and his gaze swept over the gurney, over David, and landed right on you.
"Sorry." David panted from the gurney, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal rail. He forced a strained smile. "Didn't mean to crowd your ER today, Doc. I think I completely destroyed my ankle on a rogue piece of park pavement."
"Let's take a look." Jack said. His voice was lower than usual. You could feel it rattle all the way down to your toes. He deliberately kept his eyes on David as he rolled a stool over, snapping on a pair of gloves.
As he knelt by the foot of the bed, his shoulder brushed right against your arm. It was a fleeting contact, but it sent a jolt straight up your spine. "So,” Jack said, his large fingers gently probing the swollen, purple bruising on David’s ankle. "How exactly did it happen? Lose your footing?"
"Yeah." David groaned, flinching slightly as Jack manipulated the joint. "I was totally distracted. We were just walking, talking about our wedding, and I didn't see the drop off."
Jack’s hands stayed perfectly still on David’s leg, but slowly, his head tilted up. His eyes locked dead onto yours, carrying a challenging spark that trapped your breath in your throat.
"Right." Jack said softly, his mouth curving into an almost smirk that was entirely meant for you. "Distractions will get you. Sometimes you think you're on solid ground, and then the universe completely shifts right out from under you. Isn't that right?"
You gripped the strap of your purse so hard your fingers turned numb. "I...yeah. I guess so."
David let out a painful laugh, completely oblivious to the suffocating layers of subtext heavy in the room. "Man, you can say that again. One minute you're picking out a first dance song, the next you're in a gown."
"A first dance song?" Jack repeated. He stood up, ripping off the gloves, his gaze still pinned to your face. He stepped closer, forcing you to slightly tilt your chin up to maintain eye contact. "What was the contender?"
"Oh, I was thinking Kiss Me." David called out from the pillow, letting his head fall back with a tired sigh. "You know that old nineties track? I think it's romantic. y/n was a little unsure, though."
A wicked gleam flashed in Jack’s eyes. A look of insufferable amusement mapping itself across his handsome face. He knew exactly what that song meant to you. "Unsure? That’s surprising. Not a big fan of long drives and loud music?"
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper, glaring at him in a stare. "It’s a bit cliché." you managed to squeeze out, your voice tight.
Jack’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back to David, his professional demeanor slotting back into place like it was nothing. "Well, David, the good news is I don't think it's a fracture, but the bad news is we definitely need X-rays to check for a hairline break or ligament tears. I'm going to order them and have the tech come grab you."
"Awesome. Thank you, seriously." David said. He looked up at Jack like the man had just personally parted the sea. "Man, honey aren't we lucky? This guy is fantastic. I gotta say, Doc, your bedside manner is incredible. Super attentive."
Jack laughed and stepped back toward the door and gave a polite nod. "Don't mention it." Just before he left, he cut his eyes back to you, leveling you with one last look. "I always make sure to take extra special care of things that are important."
…
You kept running into Jack.
Not on purpose, but for a few weeks after that night at the diner, the universe just seemed entirely incapable of keeping you separate.
You were roaming through your favorite bookstore, losing yourself in the new releases, when you turned a corner into the biography aisle.
He was leaning against the wood paneling, casually flipping through a massive hardcover on the French Revolution. Typical, honestly. It made you want to roll your eyes, but before you could look away, he raised his head.
Did you proceed to sit at the tiny coffee shop inside the bookstore and talk for two straight hours? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.
Then there was the afternoon you got caught in a downpour. You stood on the sidewalk, cursing under your breath as you shoved at your umbrella, which yeah was completely broken.
A familiar truck pulled up to the curb, the passenger window sliding down smoothly. Jack leaned across the console, eyeing the way the rain was already plastering your hair to your forehead.
“Get in.” he called out over the thunder.
When you started to refuse, shaking your head and gesturing toward the short walk home, Jack didn’t argue. He just killed the engine, threw his door open, and stepped straight out into the rain.
He just reached out, his hand wrapping gently around your elbow, and guided you toward his passenger side. He practically hovered over you, using his own body to protect you from the worst of the sheets of water while he got absolutely, completely soaked.
Did you sit up until three that night thinking about the way his hair looked all messy and plastered to his forehead? Did you think about the way his shirt had been completely soaked through, clinging to his shoulders? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.
All of this was pure coincidence. A series of flukes. Not on purpose at all.
Until it wasn't.
…
David was away at a work conference in Boston. You were pulling books off your overflowing bookshelves, doing some late night reorganizing, when the banging on the front door started.
It was pounding that rattled the wood in its frame and sent panic right through you.
"I know you're in there, baby girl! Getting married without telling your old man!!"
The words through the door were slurred, thick with alcohol and malice. You froze on the spot, a book slipping from your numb fingers. How had he found you?
You frantically dialed David’s number, your hands shaking so much you almost dropped the phone. When he finally answered, you poured out the words in a breathless rush, begging him to come home, begging him to fix it.
But David was three hundred miles away, and he simply didn't realize the severity of the situation. He didn’t know the history, not all of it, so he didn’t know the monster on the other side of that door.
"Call the police." David said through the line, his voice calm and practical. "I can't leave right now."
He meant well. He really did. He just didn't know.
You hung up, the slurred shouting outside your door growing louder, followed by another heavy kick against the door.
Without thinking, you dialed Jack and he answered on the very first ring.
"My dad's here." you whispered. You didn't even say hello. Your voice fractured on the last word, and you were sure Jack could hear the muffled yelling through the background.
It took Jack no time to speak. "Stay right there. I'm coming."
David had retreated when you most needed him, hiding behind work responsibilities and distance. But Jack Abbot?
He would walk right into the fire.
…
Jack broke every speed limit getting there. He took the stairs two at a time, his feet pounding against the concrete, and when he rounded the corner into the hallway, he saw him.
Your father was swaying on his feet, one fist raised against your door, his knuckles already split and bleeding from the force of his own pounding. The smell of cheap whiskey hit Jack before he even got close.
"Hey!" Jack's voice cracked down the hallway. "Get away from that door."
Your father turned, bleary eyes struggling to focus. He blinked hard, swaying backward on unsteady feet as he took in the man closing the distance between them. "Who the hell are you?" he slurred, his words mashing together at the edges.
Jack stopped a few feet away, close enough to block him from the door, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists at his sides. There had been a time this man had known his face well. A time Jack had sat at his kitchen table, had shaken his hand, had been introduced as his friend from AA.
None of it registered. Not a flicker of recognition. Just glassy, unfocused eyes trying to place a stranger.
"Doesn't matter who I am." Jack said evenly, though his pulse was pounding in his ears. "You need to leave. Now."
Your father squinted at him a moment longer, some drunken calculation happening behind his eyes, weighing whether this stranger was worth the fight. Whatever he decided, it wasn't in Jack's favor to test. He muttered something incoherent under his breath, waved a dismissive hand through the air, and turned, stumbling back down the hallway toward the stairwell and the door banged shut behind him.
Jack stood there another few seconds, listening until the sound of uneven footsteps faded completely. Only then did he let his shoulders drop, some of the adrenaline bleeding out of him. He turned and knocked twice, soft. "It's me."
The door opened and Jack’s heart twisted. You were pale, your hand trembling on the frame, eyes glassy with barely held tears.
Jack stepped inside without a word.
You shut the door behind him, the deadbolt sliding home and the second you turned around, whatever was holding you together gave out completely. You crossed the small distance and folded into him, your face pressing into his chest, your fists curling into the fabric of his shirt. A sob broke loose, shaking through your whole body.
Jack's arms came around you immediately, one hand splayed wide across your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you together at the seams. "I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay."
You just shook against him, gripping tighter. "He's gone." Jack said quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "He's not coming back. I promise you that."
"I was so scared." you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest.
"I know." His hand moved in steady circles against your back. "I know, baby. But you're safe. You hear me? You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."
…
You didn't know how you'd ended up like this. Flat on your back on the couch, feet in Jack's lap, his hand wrapped loose around your ankle, thumb tracing slow circles against the bone there. His other hand rested just below your knee, warm, doing absolutely nothing except being there.
Somewhere in the deep, buried recesses of your mind, nineteen year old you was losing it.
Screaming, actually.
He hadn't said much. Just steered you gently toward the couch, dropped down at the end of it, and flipped on your favorite show without asking if that's what you wanted. You let the noise of it wash over you, let your heart rate go back down out of your throat, and for a while, neither of you said anything at all.
"I don't know how he found me." Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. "We're 3 hours from where he lives."
Jack turned his head to look at you, his hand stilling against your ankle.
"I honestly thought he was dead." You sat up then, pulling your feet out of his lap, curling your knees against your chest instead, wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
"A neighbor called a few years ago. Said he'd been evicted from the house. The city shut it down because he let it get too run down." You sighed, staring at the carpet. "And so I just thought to myself, that's it. I have to let him go now. For real. And it was over for me then. Even if he's still alive somewhere."
Jack was quiet for a moment, just watching you, something soft and aching behind his eyes. "You did what you had to do to survive him." he said finally. "That's not something to feel guilty about. You were trying to keep your head above water with somebody who should've been protecting you instead of drowning you." He shifted closer, his knee brushed yours. "Letting go of him wasn't you giving up. It was you finally choosing yourself. That takes more strength than most people ever have to find."
You didn't say anything, just picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.
"You're doing so well." he continued, quieter now. "Look at you. You built a whole life he doesn't get to touch. And tonight, when it got hard, you didn't fall apart. You're still standing." His mouth curved, just barely. "You're gonna be okay. I mean that."
You didn't fully believe it. Not yet. But something about the way he said it, like it was fact and not comfort, made it easier to breathe.
Before you could stop yourself, you sat up and threw your arms around him.
Jack didn't hesitate. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in tight against his chest. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and breathed in, deep, the way you used to when you were younger.
You'd thought you hid it well back then. Some guilty part of you had always known he'd caught on anyway.
When you pulled back, you just stared at him.
For one long moment, the apartment, the show still playing, your father somewhere out there in the dark, none of it existed. There was just his face close to yours.
You cleared your throat and looked away first, scooting back to the opposite end of the couch, eyes fixed on the TV.
…
You didn't remember falling asleep.
You did vaguely register the sound of the television clicking off. You felt strong arms slide beneath you, lifting you and cradling you against a solid chest as he carried you down the hall. He laid you down in your bed and pulled the blanket up over your shoulders. You reached out before he could straighten, catching his hand. "Please don't go." Your voice was thick with sleep, barely above a whisper. "Don't leave me."
Jack went still, but then his fingers curled around yours, and he crouched down beside the bed so you didn't have to strain to see him. "I'm here. I'll always be here."
…
Jack was up before you.
He'd wanted nothing more than to climb into that bed, pull you against his chest, and hold you until the sun came up. But he wasn't that guy. Not with you asleep and vulnerable and still shaking from the night before. So he'd taken the couch instead, folding his tall frame onto cushions clearly built for someone half his size, and told himself it was fine.
Your coffee machine looked like it belonged on the bridge of a spaceship. Jack stood in front of it at six in the morning, squinting at a control panel with more buttons than his car dashboard, trying to figure out which one didn't require a PhD to operate.
That's when he heard the key turn in the lock. David stepped through the door, travel bag still slung over one shoulder, and rounded the corner into the kitchen before he saw Jack standing there. He let out a yelp, jerking backward, one hand flying to his chest. "Fuck!"
He squinted, still catching his breath, confusion slowly replacing the alarm on his face. "Dr. Abbot? What are you doing here?"
Jack had a few answers loaded and ready.
Oh I don’t know, taking care of your fiancee.
Doing your job for you.
Petty, satisfying, and exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't say out loud to the man about to marry you.
"David?" Your voice came from the hallway. You crossed the room fast, wrapping your arms around him, and Jack watched David's shoulders sag with relief as he held you. "Thank god you're here." you said into his shoulder.
Jack kept his face carefully blank, ignoring the way that sentence sliced through him.
"I know, I'm sorry. I left as soon as I could." David pulled back, and you both turned to look at Jack, still standing there with an untouched mug in his hand.
"Oh! Right, David. This is Jack." you said. "I didn't get a chance to tell you when we were at the hospital, but we've known each other a long time. He was friends with my dad briefly. He got him to leave last night."
And held her while she cried and shook until she fell asleep, Jack thought.
David's whole face opened up. "Oh, wow. Small world!" He crossed the kitchen, hand extended. "Thank you, man. Seriously."
Jack took the handshake, grip firm, and let it go. "Don't mention it."
You excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone in the living room. Jack figured that was his cue. He set the mug down and grabbed his jacket off the arm of the couch.
But before he headed for the door, he stopped, and let some of the easy charm drop out of his voice. "Hey. David." He waited until he had the guy's full attention. "Last night, her father was pounding on that door drunk enough to put his fist through it."
David's expression faltered.
"I get that you didn't know the whole situation." Jack tried his best to keep his tone civil. To not let the way his blood was boiling come through. "But you need to understand what you're marrying into. That man is dangerous, and he's not going to stop just because he struck out once. If he shows up again, you don't wait it out on the phone. You call me first, because I know exactly what he looks like and what he's capable of. Then you call the police. And then you get home as fast as humanly possible. She should never be alone behind that door with him on the other side of it again."
David swallowed, nodding slowly, all the earlier warmth gone out of his face, replaced by something more sober. "Of course." he said. "Yeah. You're right. I..I didn't realize how bad it was."
"Now you do." Jack said simply.
He gave the guy one last look and let himself out the door.
…
You'd decided to try veils this time, some last ditch effort to actually picture yourself walking down the aisle. You stood in front of the three way mirror, tulle pinned into your hair, and felt absolutely nothing shift into place.
You weren't sure what possessed you to do it, but you pulled out your phone. The lighting in here was stupidly flattering, if nothing else. You angled the camera, snapped a picture, and before you could think too hard about who you were about to send it to, your thumb had already done it.
Too much?
The one person on the entire planet you probably shouldn't be sending bridal photos to.
"This isn't the one either." you called out to Meg, already reaching for the zipper.
You thought you heard her sigh from the other side of the curtain.
Twenty minutes later you were back in your jeans, walking to the coffee shop around the corner to debrief, like you always did. You ordered, sat down across from her, and Meg leveled you with a look before you'd even taken a sip. "You've tried on twenty dresses this month." she said. "In the grand scheme of things that's not that many. But you'd think by now you'd have some idea of what you actually want."
You shrugged, staring into your cup.
"What's going on?"
You looked up at her, and the excuse died in your throat. You couldn't lie to her. Not about this.
So you told her. All of it.
Meg's mouth had fallen fully open. "Okay, wait." she said, holding up a hand. "Jack. The Jack? From when you were a teenager? The one you used to talk about like he hung the moon?"
"That's the one."
"And he's been what, just reappearing in your life this whole time you've been dress shopping?"
"It's not like that." you said, too fast.
Meg just stared at you, unblinking, waiting.
"It's not." you said again, weaker this time.
"So you're not going to leave David?"
"What? No." The word came out of you immediately and it was unconvincing even to your own ears. You heard it yourself, the way it hung there in the air between you.
Meg didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She just reached across the table and squeezed your hand. "I'm not going to tell you what to do." she said finally. "But I've known you a long time, and I've never once seen you struggle like this. You need to actually sit with why nothing about this is feeling right.”
She gathered her bag, dropped a kiss on the top of your head, and left you sitting there. It was only once you were alone that you remembered your phone.
You'd almost forgotten you'd sent that picture at all.
Jack: You can't just send a man a photo like that with zero warning
Jack: I had to set my phone down and collect myself.
Jack: You look stunning, sweetheart. Take a picture in every single dress you try on if it looks anywhere close to that good.
You sat there staring at the screen, feeling something warm and inconvenient bloom in your chest, right where it absolutely had no business blooming at all.
…
Jack was still staring at the picture, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen, when John's voice came from directly behind him. "Ooh, who is that?"
Jack locked the phone so fast he nearly dropped it, shoving it deep into his scrub pocket. "Someone I can't have. That's who."
John just stood there, genuinely stunned into silence. Jack Abbot didn't talk about his personal life. Ever. The man was a vault. "I have so many follow up questions."
"And I'm not answering any of them." Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he passed and left him standing there, already halfway down the hall before John could get another word out.
He took the stairwell up instead of the elevator, needing the burn, needing something physical to focus on besides the picture still branded behind his eyes. The door to the roof access swung open onto cold air and the first thin streaks of orange bleeding up over the skyline, the city still mostly asleep below him.
He braced his forearms against the railing and just breathed.
You cannot have her.
He'd known that fact for years. Had built an entire life around avoiding the truth of it, had buried it under residency and fellowships and every double shift he could volunteer for, until the burying had just become who he was.
He was so fucked.
Because the truth was that he'd never stopped. Not for one day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, you'd always been the one. The girl who told him she was going to marry him when she was young and terrified and had no business making promises like that, and he'd been arrogant enough, or maybe just honest enough with himself, to believe her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. You had a life. A good one, from what he could see. David was steady. David showed up, mostly, and when he didn't, well, that one was on David to figure out, not Jack.
Jack was the disruption. He was the thing crashing back into your orbit and tearing it apart at the seams, one diner pie and one rescued night at a time. He didn't have the right to do that to you. Not when you'd fought so hard to build something that didn't look anything like the wreckage you came from.
He thought about the way you'd grabbed his hand last night and asked him not to leave, and he hadn't wanted to.
God, he hadn't wanted to at all.
You were supposed to be mine.
Maybe you were. Maybe in some other version of this, some world where he hadn't left, where your father hadn't been the kind of man he was, where the timing had lined up right, maybe there was a version where it was his ring on your hand and his name you said into a phone with that same soft affection.
But this wasn't that world. In this one, you were engaged.
In this one, he had a job to walk you back to your life and hand you off in one piece, not to unravel it because he couldn't get over you.
He loved you too much to be the reason you didn't get your happy ending. Even if it wasn't with him.
Stop seeing her.
The thought was simple. Easy to think and impossible, apparently, to actually do. Not when you'd called him first last night, not when your name lighting up his phone did something to his pulse he couldn't explain away as friendship.
He had to be the one to put the distance back. You wouldn't. Not with the way this thing between you kept pulling you both back together like gravity, like the two of you were simply incapable of staying apart no matter how hard either of you tried.
So it had to be him.
He just wasn't sure if he actually had it in him to do it.
…
David had been quiet all through dinner, pushing his food around his plate more than actually eating it.
It wasn't until the dishes were cleared and you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, the TV playing something neither of you were watching, that he finally spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
You looked over at him. "Of course."
He was quiet for a second, turning something over in his head, and when he finally looked at you, there was none of his usual easy calm in his face. Just something tired. "When's the last time you were actually excited about the wedding?"
You sat up. "What?" you managed.
"I'm not trying to start a fight." he said gently. "I just..I've been watching you for months now. Every time we talk about the venue, or the flowers, or the song, you get this look on your face." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "And I told myself it was stress. Wedding planning is stressful, everyone says that. But it's been going on so long now that I don't think that's it anymore."
You opened your mouth to argue, some defense already forming. But nothing came out. Because he wasn't wrong, and some exhausted part of you didn't want to keep lying about it anymore.
"David."
He shifted to face you fully. "I need you to be honest with me. Do you actually want this? Do you want to marry me? Or have you just been going along with it because I'm safe, and easy, and I never gave you a reason to say no?"
The tears came before you could stop them, blurring the outline of him sitting there so patiently, waiting for an answer you didn't know how to give without breaking something neither of you could put back together.
"I don't know." The words scraped out of you. "David, I don't know. I love you. I do. You've been so good to me. You've never once made me feel unsafe, or scared, or like I had to brace myself for anything, and after everything with my dad, that meant more than I think I ever told you." You wiped at your face with the heel of your hand. "But I don't know if that's the same thing as being in love with you. And I think some part of me has known that for a long time and just didn't want to look at it too closely, because looking at it meant I had to admit I was about to marry you for the wrong reasons."
David's face didn't crumple the way you thought it might. He just nodded slowly, like some quiet piece of him had already made peace with hearing this before you'd even said it.
"I think I've known too." he admitted. "I kept telling myself it was just cold feet. That everybody gets like this before a wedding." He let out a breath that shook slightly on the way out. "But cold feet doesn't usually last eight months, does it?"
You shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.
"Is there someone else?" he asked.
You thought about Jack's hands wrapped around your ankle on this exact couch. "I don't know what he is." you said honestly. "But there's someone from a long time ago who came back into my life a few months ago, and ever since he did, I haven't been able to feel the same about anything. Including this."
David nodded again, slower this time, and reached out to take your hand. "I'm not going to pretend that doesn't hurt." he said. "But I'd rather know now than stand up in front of everyone we love and marry someone who's not sure I'm the one she wants standing there." He squeezed your hand once. "You deserve to be with somebody you don't have to talk yourself into loving. And so do I."
You cried harder then, not because it was cruel, but because it wasn't. Because David, steady and safe and undeserving of any of the mess of the last few months, had just done the bravest, kindest thing anyone had done for you in a long time.
"Go figure out what you actually want." he said softly. "I hope it's good, whatever it is."
…
The evening sun was dipping below the tree line, painting the park in golds. You walked along the path, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket.
It was beautiful out and for the first time in what felt like forever, life had been good.
It was a strange kind of good, but it was yours. You had a new apartment now, entirely of your own making, filled with half unpacked cardboard boxes. Meg had been over earlier that afternoon, helping you put everything in its place, handing you coffee, and keeping the silence from getting to be too much.
She had a stack of dinner plates balanced in her hands and looked at you with that no nonsense gaze of hers. "Are you going to tell Jack you aren't engaged anymore?" she had asked
You had only shaken your head, looking down at the bubble wrap in your hands.
How could you? He’d been radio silent for weeks now. Almost a month had passed since you sent him that photo of you in the wedding dress.
You had figured that he was deliberately putting space between the two of you. It only made sense. Why would he ever see you as anything more? He hadn't back then, when you were nineteen and stupid, so why now?
You exited the park, taking the familiar path back toward your apartment, still turning the thoughts over in your mind.
He had probably noticed you getting too attached to him. Jack, with his observant eyes, had likely seen the way you leaned into his touch, the way you clutched his shirt when your father showed up, and decided to remove that trouble from your life before you got hurt.
But the damage was already done.
Except, as you crossed the threshold of the park and stepped onto the concrete sidewalk, you realized it wasn’t really damage at all. It was more like clarity. A newfound, stubborn sense of self.
Even if Jack wasn't going to be yours, you still had this new life. It was entirely yours. You had chosen yourself, just like he said you could.
You really shouldn't have been listening to music while walking along the busy street. The volume was up just high enough to drown out rush hour traffic. Because of it, you didn't hear the screech of tires peeling at the crosswalk.
You had the right of way. The pedestrian walk sign was white, glowing steadily, but someone wasn't paying attention.
You didn't really know what happened until the world tilted. There was a sickening impact of metal against bone, and then you were slammed down onto the pavement, hard.
Fuck, it hurt.
The breath was knocked completely out of your lungs, the cold asphalt pressing against your cheek as the music in your earbuds suddenly cut out. Your head felt dizzy, but you didn't think you’d hit it. But within seconds, shouting voices were closing in, and shadow after shadow fell over you as people rushed to your side.
"Don't move! Stay still, honey, don't try to get up!"
"Someone call 911!"
You tried to blink the blurriness from your eyes. Your right side felt like one throbbing bruise, but there was a wet warmth trickling down your shoulder. Dazed, you reached up with your left hand to touch it, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your collar.
When you pulled your hand back, your palm was bright, slick red.
The ambulance felt both like a split second and an entire lifetime. Paramedics were kneeling in the dirt beside you.
"I'm fine." you croaked, your voice sounding small and raspy even to your own ears. You tried to brace yourself on an elbow, pushing against the hands holding you down. "I can just..I can take myself to the ER. It's just my shoulder."
"Lie back." one of the medics said, his voice firm as he stabilized your neck. "We have to immobilize you. It's protocol."
You let out a defeated breath, the fight draining out of you as you nodded and let them carefully shift your body onto the rigid plastic of the stretcher.
The moment they lifted you, the shock finally caught up. Your vision began to gray out at the corners, the faces of the paramedics blurring into soft shapes. The pain in your shoulder and ribs began to fade into a dull numbness as your body finally decided to pass out, retreating into the dark.
As the darkness pulled you under, your mind clung to only one desperate thought.
I hope I'm going to see Jack.
…
Jack was standing at the nurses' station and John was going on about something dumb when he heard the incoming call being answered by Lena. When she hung up, she turned to the room. "Pedestrian was hit on the sidewalk by a car. Female. In and out of consciousness but vitals good. One minute out."
God, he had just clocked in and things were already ramping up.
"Here we go. I feel like it's going to be a spicy night." John said.
"Don't say that." Jack frowned. "You know every night is spicy when I'm here."
John just gave him a look of disgust as he sipped his coffee.
Jack snapped some gloves on right as the patient was being wheeled through the double doors. But he barely got the second glove on when his heart felt like it stopped.
You on the gurney, bleeding from your neck from a scrape, dripping down your shoulder. You, blinking slowly at John’s light that he was already flashing in your eyes.
Fucking hell, it was you.
It was all Jack could do not to grab you in his arms and yell for everyone else to get the fuck out of the room.
"Jack? Hello? You with me on this one?" John’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears.
Jack shook his head, physically forcing his brain to lock back into place. Gathering himself, he walked into the trauma bay alongside the gurney as the ambulance crew relayed their information. He didn't even realize he was doing it, but his hand found yours. He held onto it, tight, his thumb automatically brushing over the soft skin of your knuckles.
And while he was doing all this, John’s eyes darted from the monitor, to Jack’s white knuckled grip, and then back to Jack's face. The puzzle pieces were rapidly clicking together in his mind. "Uhh, is this the woman from the picture on your phone?" John asked quietly.
"Yes."
That was all Jack could say. Fuck whatever they thought about him and you. Fuck the hospital gossip, fuck the onlookers. He was staying with you.
You were slowly rousing, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. The paramedics had said you hadn't passed out but the one time, but you were hurting, so you weren't saying much. Your fingers twitched weakly against his palm, and when your eyes finally found his, the quiet words that slipped past your lips almost broke Jack to pieces. "I hoped it was you."
Jack’s throat closed up. He grabbed your hand, lifting it to press it flat against his chest, right over his racing heart, needing you to feel him. "I'm here, sweetheart. I'll always be here."
John was watching you, his expression softening, well and fine with the moment, but he was already stepping toward the curtain, yelling for Parker to come in.
Jack's head snapped up, his eyes turning dark. "What?"
John shrugged. "You clearly know her, you can't work on her. Sorry, boss. Rules."
And fuck that.
Fuck that. Every protective instinct inside Jack screamed at him to push them all away and tend to your wounds himself. But the rational side of his brain knew John was right. If he stayed as your physician, his judgment would be clouded by the terror of losing you.
Jack swallowed the bitter pill, his grip on your hand never wavering. "Fine, but I'm staying."
John just held his hands up in surrender. "Not going to argue with you there."
…
When you woke, it was in a quiet room in the hospital. A warm light was coming from the lamp on the desk beside you.
Jack was sitting laid back on the chair near the wall. His eyes were closed, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. Was he sleeping sitting up?
You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh at the sight.
His eyes opened, the sleep clearing from them quickly. The moment he saw you awake, the tension in his shoulders melted, and his eyes softened.
"Hi honey." he said.
Even in the bruised state you were in, that greeting caused your heart to feel like it was going berserk. Thank goodness you weren't actually hooked up to any heart monitors anymore, or else he would know exactly what it did to you when he called you that.
"Do you know what happened?" he asked, pushing himself up from the chair to come stand right by you.
"Yes, all of it unfortunately." you grimaced, trying to sit up.
Jack eased you back down against the pillows. "Keep laying down. They gave you pain meds, so that's why you've been out for a few hours."
"What time is it?" you asked, squinting toward the dark window.
"4 a.m." Jack said softly.
Your eyes widened. "Oh my god. I didn't mean to pull you from work. Please, go back on shift. I will be fine."
Jack just shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "No way. I'm not leaving you. Shift or no shift, there is nowhere else in the world I'd rather be right now."
This time when you sat up, he didn't try to stop you. You reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging him down slightly so that he was close to you, your eyes locking onto his. "Thank you, Jack."
And he just smiled at you, covering your hand with his own for a brief second before gently squeezing. "I'm going to see about getting you discharged. Then we're going to my house. That sound okay?"
You didn't think you would have any words if you tried to speak, so you just nodded.
…
Jack tucked you into his bed and closed the door to let you sleep. You slept for a while, which he knew you would because of the pain meds. While the house was quiet, he’d called in a favor with Robby to help get coverage for his next two shifts.
He just wanted to be with you. He never wanted to leave your side, never again.
When you finally woke up, he was standing in his kitchen, making some tea. Your hair was a little mussed from sleep, but even then, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. You'd always been.
"Can I have some?" you said, pointing toward the steaming kettle.
He pointed toward the two mugs already sitting on the counter. "Was already making you one too."
You smiled and walked toward him. Still sleep brained, you had to be, because that was the only reason you would have come right up to him and folded yourself into his chest.
Either way, Jack didn't care about the reason. He let his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, and he couldn't help the contented hum that came from his chest.
"My hero." you whispered against his shirt.
He laughed a little. "Hardly."
You leaned back, tilting your head up to look at him. And god, he wanted to kiss you. He’d wanted to kiss you for a while, but everything felt so intensely domestic right now, the way you were just holding each other in his kitchen. This felt like some sort of future that the two of you could actually have.
It wasn't until later, when the two of you were sitting at his kitchen table and you brought your mug up to your lips, tilting it back, when Jack noticed it.
The lack of a ring on your finger.
The rush of adrenaline made him almost choke on his own sip of tea. He set his mug down and reached out, completely unable to stop himself. He gently rubbed his thumb over the exact area where the ring used to be.
You set your tea down, your gaze dropping to the table. "David and I are no longer getting married." you said softly.
When Jack didn't say anything, too stunned, too frozen by the words, you started rambling, the nervous heat creeping up your neck. "Well, actually, we're no longer anything. We broke up."
…
The confession felt terrifying and freeing all at once. You swallowed hard, staring down at your bare knuckles because looking at his face right now felt like staring directly into the sun. "I broke it off with him."
Jack didn't blink. He sat perfectly still across from you, his eyes focused on your face, tracking the slight tremble of your lower lip. "Why?"
You met his gaze then. And all you could do was smile. "Because of you, Jack." you said softly. "It's always been you. The second you crashed back into my life, everything else just completely unraveled. I couldn't stand up there and marry a good man when my entire heart was somewhere else."
Taking a shaky breath, you kept going. "When you left, I tried to bury it, I really did, but seeing you again, having you in my life again, it just made me realize that I don't want a life that doesn’t have you in it. I want.."
Before you could even finish, Jack leaned in.
His large hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb catching the edge of your cheek to tilt your head up.
The kiss was a breaking of a dam that neither of you could have stopped if you tried.
Jack’s fingers tangled into your hair to hold you steady as he drank you in, making up for every single day he had forced himself to stay away. You melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt.
When you broke apart, he kept his forehead pressed against yours. "God, you have no idea," Jack breathed. He let out a small laugh, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before looking back at you. "I felt like such an asshole watching you with him. Sitting in that ER, listening to him talk about your wedding. I wanted to rip the walls down. I wanted to tell him to get his hands off what was mine."
He paused, a bitter smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. "I know I was a menace these past few weeks. I know I was pushing every single boundary you tried to set, but god, why wouldn't I be?" He leaned down, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time but no less desperate. "I love you so much. I've never stopped. Not for a single day."
…
True to his word, Jack took the whole weekend off to take care of you. He completely ignored your protests that you were totally fine and could go back to your own place to heal.
"Jack, I'm fine!" you said as he was walking out the door on Monday night to head back to the hospital for his shift.
He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. "I know. But stay here. Please?"
Looking up at him, you couldn't say no. You leaned in, and he caught your lips, kissing you again and leaving you breathless and wanting more.
To be honest, you had grown a little restless over the past two days. Even after everything that had been confessed, Jack still slept on the couch while he stubbornly insisted you take his bed. You were well enough after that first kiss to let thoughts start swirling in your head, keeping you wide awake in the dark.
You wondered if he was wide awake too those nights. You just kept getting woken up by visions of him, thoughts of him between your thighs, your hands tangled tightly in his curls. You wondered if he was eventually going to take that step with you, or if you’d have to be the one to make that leap first.
You didn't have to keep wondering for long.
When he finally got home in the morning you were already up. You were sitting in his living room, curled up in his comfy chair with a book in your lap.
You softly said hi, but the greeting completely died in your throat as he dropped his bag by the door without a word. His eyes were dark and fixed on you as he walked straight toward your chair.
Instead of pulling you up, he sank directly to the floor.
You parted your legs and allowed him to slot himself right in between them, he fit perfectly. "What are you reading?" he asked, his voice low.
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Nothing yet. I just started it."
"Ah." Jack murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth before locking back onto your eyes. "Can I interrupt?"
You closed the book and set it aside blindly. He slid his hands slowly up your thighs. The warmth of his palms seared through your clothes, and you couldn't help the way you sank down a little in the seat, tilting your hips to make it even easier for his hands to roam.
He reached up, his movements unhurried as his fingers hooked at the waistband of your shorts. He paused, holding your gaze. "This okay?" he asked.
You nodded so fervently it got him to laugh, his thumbs brushing against your skin.
He pulled your shorts down and tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then, he leaned down, and his mouth was on you. He started low, his lips pressing warm kisses up your thighs. He took his time, kissing a slow trail up your left side before shifting over to the right, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin and leaving a wake of shivers behind.
He moved inward, placing small hot kisses right over your underwear. His breath was hot through the thin fabric, sending a wave of anticipation straight down your spine.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his chest heaving. "You're so beautiful." he breathed, his voice rough and undone. "Is this real?"
A breathless laugh escaped you. Instead of answering, you reached up, burying your hands deep into his hair and pulling him down to your mouth. When you finally pulled back for air, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it aside.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you’d be a bit more nervous for a moment like this, but you wanted him so bad the anxiety didn't even have time to grow.
Jack reached up, his hand cupping your breast, his thumb brushing slowly over your nipple as you leaned back into the chair again, letting out a soft sigh. His fingers trailed a path down your stomach, moving lower until they found the edge of your underwear, tracing a line right over the seam of you, before pulling them off.
He just sat there on the floor between your legs, drinking you in, his eyes mapping every single inch of your body. You felt an ache pool in your lower stomach, your hips involuntarily wanting to squirm under his undivided attention.
Having Jack Abbot look at you completely naked in the middle of his living room was somehow even more erotic than whatever was about to come next.
…
Jack’s hands reached up to frame the insides of your thighs, spreading you open for him. He leaned in close, his hot breath brushing over your sensitive skin before he pressed his tongue flat against your center.
His mouth worked over you with greedy focus. He took his time, sweeping his tongue up the length of you, sucking softly, his stubble scraping lightly against your thighs.
He gripped your hips to keep you still whenever you tried to squirm, humming low against your skin when you arched into him. You whimpered his name into the quiet living room as you came against his face.
When he finally pulled back, he stood up and pulled you up out of the chair. Without a word, you followed him down the hallway into his bedroom.
The moment the door swung shut behind you, Jack turned, but you didn't give him a chance to lead. You pushed him backward onto the edge of his mattress, your hands pressing against his chest until he sat back. You stepped between his legs and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him.
Jack groaned as you settled against his hips. He grabbed your waist, pulling you down into a desperate kiss. His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer, his mouth open and hot against yours.
The taste of you was on his lips as you rocked your hips against him, feeling his cock pressing through his scrubs. You stood up then, and he shifted so that you could pull them down and off. Then he scooted back and you resumed your straddled position on him.
When he guided himself to your entrance, you paused for a second, looking down at him. You wanted to commit this to memory.
You sank down onto him in one slow push.
Jack threw his head back against the pillows. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
It was overwhelming and hot. Eleven years of ache and longing. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his as you began to move.
"You feel so good." Jack said, rolling his hips up to meet your thrusts, taking you deeper. His hands slid up your spine, tangling in your hair to pull you down into another kiss.
…
You fell asleep with your head on his chest only to be woken a few hours later by his mouth pressing kisses down the slope of your neck.
By afternoon, you ended up in his shower, the steam filling the small bathroom as the hot water cascaded over both of you. Jack pressed you gently against the tile, his hands slick with soap as he washed you before pulling you back against him once more.
Every touch felt like finding solid ground after years of drifting.
…
One Year Later
Jack kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in the passenger seat and he genuinely could not have told you where he was driving to. It didn't matter.
The window was down on your side and your hair was whipping across your face and you didn't even bother fixing it, just let it happen, eyes closed, singing along to whatever was playing on the radio. The sun caught the side of your face through the windshield and Jack thought, not for the first time, that he had no idea how he'd survived all these years without seeing this exact sight.
God, he loved you. It still hit him sometimes, stealing the breath right out of him completely.
You must have felt him looking, because you turned and the smile you gave him was so easy and happy that his hands nearly slipped on the wheel.
You leaned across the console then, one hand braced on his thigh and pressed your lips to his cheek. Your other hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hair there the way you always did. You just couldn’t help it.
The small, cool press of metal against his skin from your finger thrilled him. He'd slid it onto your finger three weeks ago in his kitchen, badly rehearsed. You'd said yes before he'd even gotten the whole sentence out.
He hadn't been surprised, not really. After all, you'd always known. You'd told him so yourself, once, a long time ago, before he'd been ready to hear it.
He was the one playing catch up.
Your fingers were still tangled at the back of his neck, that ring cool against his skin, and outside the window the fields blurred in the last of the light and Jack thought that he could drive like this forever and never once feel like he was in a hurry to get anywhere else.
are we too late? are we too far? // jack abbot pt. 1
At nineteen, you told Jack Abbot that you’d marry him someday. He laughed it off and disappeared from your life for eleven years. Now, you’re months away from marrying a safe, stable man. Until you lock eyes with Jack across a bar, and your perfectly curated life completely shatters.
genre: dad's ex-best friend!jack x reader, age gap, forbidden romance, mutual pining, eventual smut nsfw mdni
word count: 2700+
(a/n: i've had this one in the drafts for far too long. oooooohhhweeee i love this concept. has me giggling and kicking my feet whilst writing it. there will be a second and final part don't you worry.)
Then
"You're glaring." Jack said. He didn’t look up from the bed of his truck, his massive, infuriatingly broad shoulders working as he hauled a heavy plastic bin toward the tailgate. "It feels very vengeful gremlin. Stop it."
"I am not glaring." you lied, crossing your arms over your chest to keep the chill from the wind out and from the sinking feeling opening up in your stomach. "I am observing. There’s a difference."
"Right. And the term for burning a hole through the back of my flannel with your eyes is what, exactly?" He finally turned around, wiping grease off his palms with a tattered red rag.
He looked entirely out of place in the gravel driveway of your father’s crumbling, overgrown house. But then, Jack had always looked out of place here. He was the only functional adult who had ever walked through that front door.
And now, he was walking away for good.
"I’m documenting the exact moment my favorite person decides to abandon me to the wolves." you murmured, your throat suddenly tight.
Jack’s teasing expression faltered. He dropped the rag onto the tailgate and took two slow steps toward you, effectively obliterating your personal space. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back just to keep eye contact, a fact that you resented on a daily basis.
"I’m not abandoning you." he said, his voice dropping. "We talked about this, kid. Your dad...I can’t do it anymore. If I stay around, if I keep letting him drag me into his disasters, I'm going to end up throwing him through a wall. And that helps exactly no one."
Especially not me, you thought. You knew what your dad was. A master class in parental negligence, a man who viewed his daughter as an inconvenience until he needed a loan or a designated driver.
Jack had spent the last year playing shield. Fixing the plumbing your dad ignored, buying groceries when the fridge was empty, stepping between your father’s alcohol fueled rages and your quiet bedroom.
"I know." you whispered, hating how small you sounded. Hating that you were nineteen and yet entirely unequipped to handle the reality of him leaving. "I get it. He's a parasite. You should leave."
"But?" Jack prompted softly, tilting his head.
"But it sucks."
A corner of his mouth tugged upward, a faint, bittersweet smile. He reached out, his large hand coming down on top of your head, affectionately rustling your hair the way he always did when he thought you were being dramatic. "You’re going to college in the spring. You’re getting out of here. You just have to hold down the fort for a few more months, okay? If you need anything, you call me. I’m cutting ties with him, not you."
It was a safe promise.
And suddenly the suffocating reality of how much you loved him, how much you had loved him since he first showed up to drag your dad out of a bar, boiled over.
"I’m going to marry you someday." you said.
Jack froze. His hand stayed resting on your head before he slowly lowered it, his dark eyes blinking in confusion. "What?"
"You heard me." You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets so he wouldn't see them shaking. "I'm going to marry you someday. Plan accordingly."
The confusion on his face morphed into a booming laugh that rattled right through your ribs. He shook his head. "Jesus, kid." he chuckled, leaning his hip against the truck tailgate. "You really are losing it. I think the stress is finally liquefying your brain."
"I am entirely lucid." you insisted, your heart hammering against your sternum.
"Sure you are. Look, I know I'm a catch." he teased, his eyes glittering with amusement as he pointed a finger at you. "But I'm twelve years older than you, I have a bad knee, and my current retirement plan is hoping the lottery works out. You're nineteen. Go find some college kid who thinks a romantic evening is sharing a box of cheap pizza, and leave the old men out of it."
"You're not old."
"I'm ancient by your standards. Now get inside before you freeze." He waved a dismissive hand, turning back to his truck to close the tailgate.
You turned and walked toward the porch, the gravel crunching beneath you. You didn't look back.
As you reached for the doorknob of the house you hated, the lighthearted mask you’d worn slid completely away. Your chest felt tight, a wild, terrifying spark of certainty settling deep into your bones.
He thought you were joking. He thought it was a silly, dramatic crush from a teenage girl who had a bad dad and a soft spot for the guy who saved her.
But as you pulled the door open and stepped into the dim hallway, you knew with absolute clarity that you had never been more serious about anything in your entire life.
It was unfortunate then that you wouldn’t see Jack Abbot for another eleven years.
…
Now
"I think we should go with the eggshell white for the table linens." Meg said, waving a heavy, binder in front of your face. "Standard white is too aggressive. It screams hospital cafeteria, and we want understated elegance. Thoughts?"
You blinked, pulling yourself out of the haze that had taken over your brain three months ago when wedding planning officially began. "Is there a difference between eggshell and ivory?"
Meg looked at you with the pity of a maid of honor who was single handedly dragging a reluctant bride across the finish line. "One has warm undertones, one has cool undertones. Do you want your guests to feel cozy or intellectually stimulated while they eat their prime rib?"
"I want them to be fed and silent." you muttered, resting your chin in your hand.
You were sitting in your apartment, the coffee table entirely buried under fabric swatches, floral arrangement lookbooks, and a seating chart that confused the hell out of you.
From the bedroom, the sound of typing drifted through the cracked door. David. Your fiancé. A man who possessed a master’s degree in data analytics, an impeccably organized sock drawer, and a temperament so blindingly stable it felt like a weighted blanket for your chaotic soul. David didn't yell. David didn't forget to pay the electric bill. David didn't bring volatile drama into your life.
He was safe. He was exactly what a girl who grew up with a father like yours was supposed to want.
"You're doing that thing again." Meg observed, tapping her pen against the binder.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you look at your engagement ring like it’s a tiny handcuff instead of a three carat symbol of eternal devotion."
You instinctively dropped your hand into your lap, the platinum band suddenly feeling incredibly heavy on your finger. "I am not. I love the ring. I love David. I am just tired. Decision fatigue is a real medical phenomenon, Meg."
"Right. Well, the good news is David already approved the catering invoice." she said, flipping a page. "He made a spreadsheet comparing the price per head of four different vendors against their Yelp reviews. He’s very efficient."
"He is." you agreed, forcing a smile. "He's incredibly efficient."
When David asked you to marry him six months ago after a perfectly pleasant dinner, it had made total, logical sense. Your twenties had been a blur of trying to stabilize your life, working a steady job, and actively untangling the emotional wreckage your father had left behind.
David was peace. He was the quiet harbor.
So why, as you looked at the eggshell fabric swatch in your hand, did you feel like you were suffocating?
"I need a drink." you announced suddenly, pushing yourself up from the couch. The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in.
Meg raised an eyebrow. "It's a Thursday night."
"Exactly. The perfect night for a gin and tonic. Want to come?"
She looked longingly at the mountain of swatches, then at her watch. "I can't, babe. I promised my mom I’d call her by eight. But go. Escape. Command David to join you for a celebratory beverage."
You glanced back toward the bedroom door. The typing hadn't stopped.
"No." you said quietly, grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair. "David’s working. I'll just slip down to the bar on the corner for an hour. A little solo decompression."
…
You pushed the heavy wooden door to the bar open, the overhead bell chime was immediately swallowed by the hum of a Thursday night crowd. The air inside was warm with the low murmur of conversations and clinking of pint glasses.
You threaded your way through the standing crowd toward the far end of the bar, finding a rare, empty leather stool near the service well. You sat down, sliding your purse onto the counter, your fingers instinctively finding the band on your ring finger. You began to rotate it. A nervous habit.
The bartender wiped down the wood in front of you. "What can I get you?"
"Gin and tonic, please. Lime if you have it."
He nodded and vanished. You let out a long breath, closing your eyes for a fraction of a second to let the frantic pacing of wedding checklists drain out of your head.
"I’m telling you, if the CT scan shows a retroperitoneal hematoma, you don't wait for the labs." a voice echoed from across the room, slicing through the noise of the bar. "You call trauma surgery immediately. If his pressure drops in the middle of the night, a spreadsheet of his blood counts isn't going to save him."
Your entire nervous system seemed to short circuited.
The sound of the bartender dropping ice into your glass faded. Your breath hitched, freezing right in the middle of your chest. You didn't move. You couldn't. Because your brain, despite eleven years of therapeutic distance and deliberate forgetting, recognized that voice with instantaneous accuracy.
Slowly, you turned your head.
You looked past the crowded center of the bar, your eyes tracking the sound toward a large, dimly lit booth in the far back corner. There was a group of four or five people sitting there but your brain entirely bypassed them.
It locked directly onto Jack Abbot.
Eleven years had done things to him. Unfair, frustrating things.
He was sitting with his back partially against the wood paneling, one massive arm stretched out across the top of the booth’s leather cushion. The boyish edge to his jawline was entirely gone, replaced by a rugged permanence that only came with time and the unimaginable stress of running an emergency room.
His hair was mostly silver now, but he still had those curls that you used to love so much.
You just stared. You took him in like a person dying of thirst who had unexpectedly stumbled into an ocean. You watched the way his fingers loosely gripped a lowball glass of amber liquid, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as a resident across the table nodded rapidly, absorbing everything he said.
Then, one of the residents cracked a self deprecating joke and Jack threw his head back and laughed. It was that uninhibited sound you used to listen for through the floorboards of your childhood bedroom. The sound that meant the storm had passed and you were safe for the night.
But as the laugh faded, Jack’s head came back down. His gaze drifted casually across the crowded bar, tracking the room with a lazy, relaxed familiarity.
Until his eyes hit your face. And stopped.
The change in him was instantaneous. The easy, relaxed posture vanished. Jack was frozen, his entire frame locking up as his eyes widened, just a fraction, in shock.
His glass stayed suspended halfway to his mouth. The lazy amusement in his face was entirely wiped clean, replaced by a stunned, piercing gaze that was pressing against your chest from across the room.
He stared at you as if he were looking at a ghost. As if he couldn't quite determine if the alcohol or the dim lighting was playing a cruel trick on him.
Panic taking over, you abruptly tore your eyes away. You spun your stool back around to face the bar, your hands trembling so hard you had to clasp them together in your lap.
"Here you go. Gin and tonic." the bartender said, sliding the glass in front of you.
"Thank you." you breathed, your voice sounding thin and reedy even to your own ears.
You grabbed the glass, your knuckles white, and brought it to your lips. You took a long sip, the sharp bite of the gin doing absolutely nothing to calm the wildfire currently roaring through your veins. You kept your eyes glued to the rows of liquor bottles on the wall, staring intensely at a bottle of cheap vodka as if it held the secrets to the universe.
Just leave, your internal monologue screamed. Pay for the drink, stand up, and walk out the door.
But you didn't move. You sat there, sipping nervously, your ears hyper tuned to the noise behind you, waiting for the inevitable.
You didn’t hear his footsteps over the chatter of the bar, but you felt him. The pressure shifted, the light dimming as a towering shadow fell over your left shoulder. The scent of rain and something deeply, inherently Jack invaded your senses.
He stopped right beside your stool, not saying a word at first. He just stood there waiting until you finally found the courage to look up.
When you did, he was looking down at you, his jaw tight, his eyes searching your face.
"I’d know the back of that head anywhere." Jack murmured. "Even if you did finally change your hair."
…
Your vocal cords felt like they’d been sutured together. You just stared up at him, your fingers around your gin and tonic, desperately hoping the dim bar lighting didn't betray the frantic pulse at the base of your throat.
"Jack." you finally managed.
A grin broke across his face. Without asking, he slid into the empty leather stool next to yours, his shoulder brushing against your arm. The casual dominance of his presence immediately erased the rest of the crowded room. He flagged down the bartender. "Bourbon. Neat. And whatever she’s having, put it on my tab."
"I can pay for my own drink, actually," you shot back, the old defensive reflex kicking in before your brain could stop it. You anchored your heels onto the brass rung of the stool, trying to match his height as best you could. "I have a big girl job now. I’m a fully functioning member of the tax paying public."
Jack tilted his head, his face doing that infuriating amusement you remembered all too well. "A big girl job? Is that right? I know you're an adult. I just heard you order a cocktail that tastes like pine needles and regret. Nineteen year old you would have demanded something neon green and loaded with sugar."
"It’s a sophisticated palate." you sniffed, taking a defiant sip. "And I overheard your little performance back there. 'You call trauma surgery immediately.' Honestly, do you ever stop playing god, or do you just like terrifying your underlings in public so they know you're the smartest guy in the room?" You couldn’t help being a brat. The feelings of him leaving you bubbling up, making you pissed off all over again.
"They’re interns." Jack corrected smoothly, leaning an elbow on the bar, shifting his torso so he was completely facing you. The scent of him was overwhelming. "And they need to be terrified. If they lose their heads because a patient's blood pressure drops, they don't belong in my ER. It's called guidance, kid."
"It's called being bossy.”
Jack let out a chuckle, a sound that rattled right through your ribs, agonizingly familiar. He shook his head, his eyes darkening as he leaned a fraction of an inch closer. "God, I missed your mouth." he murmured.
The words hung in the air between you. The banter evaporated, leaving a silence. Jack’s gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before lifting back to your eyes, searching them.
✴︎ Micheal "Robby" Robinavitch x Frank Langdon's ex! reader
✴︎ CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Fluff, Slight Angst, Frank Langdon is a massive cheater, legal drinking, mentions of drug addiction, gentle Robby, oral f recieving, praise kink, use of Y/n and L/n, lowk cringe, based off a doja cat song, fem reader, this is unfortunately proof read so if there’s a mistake im just stupid
✴︎ WC: 3.5k
✴︎ Summary: Langdon is so messed up he can barely take care of himself, let alone his partner. When Langdon finds it in him to take care of someone else, he goes to another girl. When Robby finds out, how far will he go to show you that Langdon ain't shit?
"Yo Huckleberry, want to see L/n give Langdon a hurricane shot?" Santos asks before dragging Whitaker to the crowd without waiting for a response. The day shift was having a party after a particularly understaffed and stressful period. The two young residents weave through the crowd until they see you were perched on Dana's kitchen counter with Langdon standing between your thighs.
You pour a small amount of water into a red solo cup and a shot of tequila before handing the small shot glass to Langdon. The both of you toast before Frank downs the lukewarm beige liquid. It stings his throat for half a second before he gets hit with the splash of the water and the even harsher hit of your palm. He gasps while the small crowd cheers when he pulls you in for a rough kiss. While your lips get smothered by Langdon's, you feel his wet hair tickle your forehead. Standing in the corner watching the spectacle with a small smirk and a slight shake in his head was your attending, Robby. Dana laughs and scolds you and Langdon for getting water on the floor.
Since Dana's party, your relationship with Langdon had been slowly slipping. You still slept in the same bed, you still made sure to have dinner together every Friday night, even if it was just takeout on the couch, and you still came home to each other at the end of your shifts. But there were some strains on your relationship.
Expenses were your main problem. The cost of everything was rising and even two doctors who lived together struggled with money sometimes. To make things worse, your rent had just been raised. To combat this, you started picking up extra shifts and working doubles. Because of this, You and Frank had been seeing much less of each other, and you could tell it was having an effect on him.
The extra hours and the drift with Langdon were having a toll on you as well. Noticing this, Abbot says to you, "Y/n... go home. You look exhausted. Go spend some time with Langdon. I'm sure he'd love the surprise." You were about to protest, but the ache in your back and behind your eyes stops you. "You know what, I haven't had time to spend with Frank in a while." With a short smile and wave to the rest of the night staff, you pack up your bag and head for your apartment.
When you walk into your shared apartment and set your bag down in the entryway, everything is weirdly quiet. Expecting to find Frank on the couch, or in the kitchen, you are instead met with emptiness and silence. You manage to get your sore heels to climb up the stairs towards your bedroom. Once you reach the doorway, you hear panting and soft moaning. You crack open the door to see Langdon lying next to another woman, in your bed.
"That's it, sweet girl... doing so good for me." Frank whispers to the woman who has a blissful smile on her face. The scene fills you with a swirling sense of sickness. In an attempt to turn around and forget you ever saw this, your shoes make a loud creak against the wooden floor. The couple in your bed turn towards the sound and Langdon's eyes go wide.
"Y/n... fuck... I didn't think you'd be home until the morning," Frank sputters out like it would make the situation any better. The disgust that you felt quickly turned to rage. You shake your head and start throwing your clothes into a bag as the woman scrambles to put on her clothes. "I can't believe this... you're sick, Frank," you spit at him as you pack a small overnight bag. "I'm picking up my stuff tomorrow and leaving," you tell him before practically running out the door.
"Hey what's up Y/n? Oh shit you're crying..." Santos murmurs and pulls you in snug against her for an awkward hug. You wipe your eyes and mutter, "I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go." She shakes her head and welcomes you inside her and Whitaker's apartment. "Huckleberry and I were just going to stuff out faces with ramen and ice cream while we watch the 1996 Romeo + Juliet." She gently guides you to sit next to Dennis on the couch while you say between sniffles, "Sounds perfect..."
Avoiding Langdon had been annoyingly hard during your next shift. When you were madly in love, it seemed like you could never snag a moment together, and now it felt like you couldn't escape him. Every time you turn a corner, there he was with a patient or an intern. Every time you wanted to rest your legs at the nurse's station, there he was catching up on his charting.
Near the end of your shift, you tried to find a room to burrow in and decompress, even if it was only for a minute and a half. You almost tore open a curtain as you slide it and see Langdon sitting suspiciously close to one of your fellow residents, Mel, as she does sutures on a patient's leg.
"Sorry, Dr. King, I didn't realize this room wasn't empty..." You manage to sputter out with only one crack near the end before pulling back the curtain. Your throat feels that familiar tightness as you stumble to clock out and escape to the staircase. Finally, in the privacy of the staircase you let the tears run freely down your face.
As the harsh sobs simmer down to soft sniffles you hear the door to the ER slam. You're met with the sight of a distressed looking Robby as he sighs and runs a hand over his face, lingering on his scruff. His eyes soften as he notices you and your tear-stained cheeks. He takes a seat next to you on the steps and asks, "Rough day?" You let out a dry chuckle before responding, "Rough life."
Robby lets out his own exasperated chuckle before tilting his head back and saying, "Perks of the job." You only shake your head and run a hand through your disheveled hair, "I wish my problems were about my job." His eyebrows furrow and he turns his gaze to you worriedly, "Was it something with Langdon? Because he's already on thin ice and if he did something to you-"
"No, it's nothing with Frank," You cut him off, but Robby can tell that you're not being truthful. "Come on, you've been avoiding him like the plague all day. I can tell when something's wrong." He says and places a comforting hand on your shoulder.
"I... um..." you let out a sigh and continue, "I caught him in bed with another girl yesterday. He was so sweet and gentle, and he's never like that with me. Just a few minutes ago I saw him with his thigh pressed against Mel's." You ramble softly as fresh tears fall down your cheekbones and pool on your jawline. You croak out, "I know we haven't been super close lately since I've been picking up night shifts to help cover rent. But I didn't think he'd do anything like that..."
Robby's firm hand on your shoulder pulls you in closer until your face slots in the crook of his neck. He rubs soft circles on your back as you let your tears get caught by his scrub top. One of his hands migrates to the back of your head and strokes your hair as he whispers, "Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry... I'm so so sorry. You don't deserve that..." He lets his cheek rest softly on the top of your head.
"So... uh... I have to go pick up my stuff from our apartment tonight too." You add to the stockpile of things to be upset about in that moment. "You want me to come with you?" He asks protectively and you consider it for a moment. Your boss who you're already starting to cross professional boundaries with is offering to help you leave your kind-of-ex-boyfriend's apartment who he is also the boss of. Yeah, bad idea. "Yeah, that would be nice," you reply since you feel so comforted in his presence.
Robby's truck rolls to a stop outside your apartment and Langdon is already sitting on the steps outside. You try your best not to make eye contact with him as you approach the entrance. "Come on, baby, I'm sorry. It was a one-time thing; you mean everything to me, you know that." Langdon's hand clasps onto your shoulder and stops you from walking past him. His gaze trails from your annoyed expression to the truck parked outside. "Whose truck is that?" He asks and his grip on your shoulder tightens when you ignore him.
"Why do you care?" you fire back; he was the one who cheated after all. He shakes his head and raises his voice, "Whose fucking truck is that?" You brush his hand off you but he's already storming towards the truck. Langdon's expression distorts from anger to shock as he takes in Robby's face. Robby only sighs before turning off the truck and stepping outside. He leans against the door and crosses his arms before asking, "Is there a problem here? Just let her get her stuff." Too stunned to utter a word, Langdon lets them pass.
The apartment looks trashed compared to when you last saw it. empty beer cans and pill bottles litter the floor and counter tops. Clothes and photos are carefully placed into boxes which Robby helps lift into the bed of his truck. Langdon slumps on the couch while the last three years of his life float out the door.
While Robby's bringing another box out to his car, Langdon works out the courage to spit out, "So, you decided to fuck our boss now?" You can't help but roll your eyes and reply, "I'm not like you, Langdon. I wouldn't do something like that while I'm still technically with you. I mean... just look at all this," you softly kick on of the empty cans on the floor, "You're a mess... and since you decided to take that out on me, we're done. Get help... clean up the cans and pill bottles."
"You can just drop me off at Santos' place," you say as Robby starts the truck. He shakes his head and smiles that smug smile before saying, "No come on, I got a guest room way more comfortable than Santos' couch."
Robby's house was similar to how you pictured it, spacious, slightly modern, and hardly lived in. The boxes from your apartment sit in the corner of the living room and you pick out the essentials for the night. "Chinese takeout alright with you?" He asks as you plop down next to him on the couch. You nod and practically melt into the couch after the exhaustion from work and the stress of facing Langdon.
You get in a few good bites of some crab rangoons and noodles before you feel Robby's rough hand gently squeeze your thigh. "You deserve so much better than Langdon..." he murmurs as his thumb rubs soothing circles on your inner thigh. He seems to blush lightly from his own boldness but still looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing in the world. Your hand timidly rests on top of his and you lean in to ask under your breath, "better... like you?"
He takes a strained breath before nodding and whispering against your ear, "better like me. I could take such good care of you." His hands trail to your waist as you two fall against the couch. The food sits forgotten on the coffee table while his lips press feverishly against yours.
“How could he give this up?” He murmurs against your lips as one of his hands migrates to tangle in your hair. You pull him in by the nape of his neck and wondered what it would be like if you had noticed your doting attendant before your asshole senior resident. “Don’t think about him right now. It’s just us here, sweetheart,” he whispers against your jaw. The nickname alone is enough to make you melt into his couch.
“Here… let me treat you right…” he says before lifting you by the waist like you weigh nothing and setting you on his plush carpet. The soft material tickles the back of your thighs as Robby peppers kisses along your jawline and neck, paying attention to which spots made you let out gentle gasps and committing them to memory.
“May I?” He asks absurdly polite while his fingers rest on the hem of your shirt. You nod and let him discard the garment while his kisses over any exposed skin. You notice him trailing downward and he gives you a questioning look when he reaches your waistband. You nod a little too enthusiastically, eager from him to undress you. He smirks at your reaction while he drags your pants down your legs and tosses them somewhere in the room.
“My pretty girl…” he mumbles against your thigh, the vibrations sending sparks of arousal between your legs. Robby spreads your legs and runs his finger over the wet patch on your panties. “Does my sweet girl want something?” he teases and leans down to place kisses to your thighs. “Fuck… Robby. You’re not allowed to talk like that,” you gasp out and bite your lower lip. Your reaction only fuels his ego and spurs him on.
Realizing his intentions when he pulls your panties to the side and leans down to put a kiss on your mound, you stammer out, “You don’t have to do this. I know it’s probably not fun for you.” He only shakes his head and kisses higher on your thighs. “Did he not like to eat you out? Unbelievable…” he says, slightly muffled by your soft skin, “I would love nothing more than to taste you… to make you feel good.”
“Could you then, please?” You ask, feeling like you already melted into a puddle on his carpet. “Of course I will sweetheart. Just relax for me…” he says before placing a quick kiss to your clit. He laps softly at the little nub and flicks it with the tip of his tongue.
His nails leave little crescent shapes on the back of your thighs as they get hoisted onto his shoulders. He draws your clit between his lips and sucks gently. Pulling off quickly, he murmurs, “that’s it… good girl… so perfect, just for me. Let yourself feel good, you deserve it.”
His tongue teases your entrance before sliding in. Warmth builds on your thighs as his beard rubs against them. Your back arches off the carpet as his tongue hits every spot inside your aching cunt. “Robby… oh my god…” you whimper and your hand tangles in his hair.
You feel yourself approaching the edge as his lips seal around your clit and suck as his tongue rubs over a spot that makes you see stars. “Oh fuck Robby… I’m gonna…” you cry out as you over the edge. White hot pleasure fills your body as Robby works you through it. He doesn’t let up until you push away his head from between your thighs.
He sits up to kiss you and let you taste yourself. “That was so hot,” he mutters against your lips and asks, “you think you can give me another one?” His middle finger circles your entrance before gently sinking in. “Gotta get you nice and stretched out for me.”
His index finger slides in alongside his middle and curls into you. Robby whispers praise in your ear and scissors his fingers to loosen your tight cunt. You gasp into the crook of his neck while he tells you how good you’re doing and how proud of you he is. “That’s my girl… just feels so good doesn’t it. You can’t help that you love being told that you’re a good girl.”
You go over the edge for the second time that night when his thumbs rubs gentle circles on your clit and his fingers rub just right against your g-spot. “Let go for me… you can do it. Good job… so proud of you sweetheart.”
He whispers sweet words into your ear as you become a blissed out mess on the floor. You sit up softly and bite your lip, wondering how he was so good at pleasing you and how he picked up on your thing for praise. He smirks while he licks his fingers and slides his hands under your thighs to pick you up.
“I wanna treat you right. I want to love on you properly… in my bed,” he carries you to his bedroom and tosses you in your bed. “You already did treat me right. Twice,” you reply with a sly smile as he leans down to kiss down your neck.
Robby hastily unbuttons his pants and pulls down his boxers just enough to pull out his leaking cock. He gives it a gentle stroke before scrambling to grab a condom out of his dusty dresser drawer. He rolls it on and your eyes trail down to how much the rubber had to stretch to fit him and it fills you with a new rush of arousal.
“Fuck, you’re huge…” you marvel softly as he rubs his red hot tip against your clit. “Yeah? Think I’ll be able to fit?” he teases and lines up with your entrance. He slowly nudges his way inside and stretches your gummy walls.
After you’ve adjusted to his size, you give him a small nod to start moving. He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head before saying, “words, sweetheart.” His tone and demeanor makes your walls flutter around him. “Please move, Robby…” you whimper out and he starts to thrust deeper into your heat.
“There we go… that wasn’t so hard was it? Such a polite girl…” he whispers against the side of your cheek. You arch up into his words and meet his mouth with your own. Your nails leave small crescents on his shoulders as he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. “Fuck you’re so tight and warm… just for me…” he grunts as he peppers kisses to your flushed face.
“Robby… I’m close again…” you murmur, on the precipice of another orgasm. He chuckle and nods, “yeah? You gonna cum for me again? Wanna give me another one? Go ahead sweetheart… take what you need.” He rolls your clit between his thick fingers to work you through your earth-shattering climax. Robby follows soon after, spilling his seed inside you with a sharp cry of your name.
In the afterglow of your climax, Robby holds you tight against his chest. “I’m never letting you leave this bed…” he murmurs into your hair, and you giggle softly. “Will you at least bring me the takeout from the living room? I’m worked up quite the appetite…”
“I’m sure you did pretty girl…” he teases and realizes you mentioned the cold and probably stale takeout on the coffee table, “Fuck, the takeout.” He groans and just hugs you closer to his warm chest.
Robby had woken you up in the morning with his head between your thighs. You hum softly at the gentle kisses he leaves to your thighs. His lips inch towards your bare cunt and you slide a hand into his hair as he sucks your clit into his mouth. You let out a sigh of relief just as your phone rang on the bedside table. You roll your eyes and see that it's Langdon.
You are about to hangup when Robby takes your phone out of hands. He slides a finger into you and covers your mouth with one firm hand. "Y/n! Oh my gosh! I've been calling you over and over!" Langdon's voice echoes in the room. "Sorry man, she's in the shower right now," his finger crooks inside you to rub at your favorite spongey spot. You can hear Langdon fuming over the phone as Robby says cooly, "I can take a message if it's a respectful apology."
"She slept at your place! You fucking asshole! You better not have tried anything with her," Langdon shouts from the phone. Your eyes roll back as Robby slides in a second finger. He chuckles, "If I did would it be any of your business? You cheated on her, treated her like shit, and now you want her back? She deserves so much better than your sorry ass. I suggest that you leave her the fuck alone."
Robby's protective and stern words towards your ex-boyfriend while knuckle deep in your heat, push you over the edge. You try to muffle moan as best you can against his palm as he slows his movements. Robby raises an eyebrow and smirks softly at your unexpected reaction to his words.
"What the fuck was that?" Langdon asks over the phone, hearing the muffled moan and the wet noises from your cunt. Robby just chuckles and says, "later Langdon," before hanging up. The two of you can't help but giggle softly as you swat at Robby's arm and mutter, "you're such a pervert." He raises his eyebrows and fires back, "says the girl who just came from me scolding her ex-boyfriend."
a/n: this is my second fic eva and my first time writing smut (that’s mildly postable) so comments are SOO appreciated. My ao3 user is Laidybugz feel free to follow me on there as well!
You, Katrina Sparks, are a paramedic. Your cool demeanor, accurate assessments and unorthodox treatments catch Robby's attention first then Jack's. It doesn't hurt that you're stunning. But they can't be distracted by you when they have been not so patiently waiting for their third soulmate. The name that's been scrawled across Robby's ribs and Jack's thigh forever. But damn are you tempting.
This fic depicts a three-way soulmate bond between two males and one female. If this will bother you do not read.
I do not even pretend this is close to medically accurate.
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: Jack Abbot was a creature of habit. Structure and routine were infused within the very makings of him, written in bloodwork and DNA if anyone looked close enough. But that was before he met you and Phoebe. Before he fell hopelessly and irrevocably in love with the chaotic girls in apartment seventeen.
WARNINGS: lots to get through; mentions of Tom x Kirsty and abusive and narcissistic tendencies, Phoebe feeling confused and lost in her head and heart, Jack being promoted to Uncle Jack, heavy discussion of readers late fiance and Jack's late wife, talks about parent abandonment, disgusting fluff, minor child injury, inaccurate medical terminology (lol), the pitt teasing Jack, swearing, flirting, kissing, mentions of smut, this is truly quite angsty so may I recommend having some tissues for the final part, just in case.
A/N: I would just like to take a moment to thank every single one of my lovely readers for giving this story a chance and sticking with it to the very end. I am so incredibly sad that this series is now complete and I cannot thank you all enough for the love and support you've given me and this story!! There is a lot to unpack in this final chapter, a very big deep conversation that may make you feel some type of way so just be prepared! I also highly recommend listening to Wait by M83 on repeat when you get to the balcony scene!
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 13.4k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
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Maybe Jack is a little out of his element, but he tries not to let it show.
Tries to ignore the blatant ogling of moms on the playground and the whispered names of yours and his that pass through gossiping lips.
Jack reminds himself that this was his idea, that you didn’t exactly force school pick up upon him. Still, this feels entirely more daunting than a shift at PTMC, which he really needs to be getting ready for soon.
It isn’t the first time he’s offered to pick Pheebs up from her school, but it is the first time he’s done it alone.
Over the past two months, his presence at the school doors has become much more consistent. In the mornings—if he hasn’t just got back from a night shift—Jack will join you for drop-off before taking you out for breakfast and coffee. And in the afternoons, no matter if Jack has work in a few hours or not, he’s made a habit of joining you on pick-up, too.
The addition of his presence in both the playground and Phoebe’s life has been profoundly noticed by everyone. So much so, that his name has been added to Pheebs’ authorized pick-up list and he’s been invited to speak with her class about what it’s like to be a doctor next Tuesday.
The doors to Phoebe’s class open before Jack can be subjected to any unwarranted approaches, and it barely takes a moment for him to spot Pheebs in the line of kids. It takes her even less time to spot him, to tug on Ms. Melia’s hand and point to where he stands.
He offers a small wave and Ms. Melia doesn’t wait to send Pheebs off to him.
She races over faster than he’s ever seen her move, riddled with unkept excitement and rambling at the speed of light about her day. She mentions about twelve times that she’s sad Florence was sick and couldn't come in before he even gets her to the car.
It’s only when Pheebs is strapped into her seat and Jack’s phone is connecting to the CarPlay that she seems to realize that she’s missing a parent, and her recap of the day's events comes to a halt.
“Where’s Mommy?” Jack’s gaze meets hers through the rearview mirror.
It was entirely unexpected when Kirsty had arrived at your apartment just an hour before Pheebs was due to be picked up from school. You and Jack were in the middle of some very exciting bedroom activities when the persistent ringing of your doorbell cut through the moment, and you found Kirsty sobbing at your front door.
How she found your address, neither of you are quite sure. But you ushered her inside with a steaming mug of tea and listened when she sobbed and poured her heart out about Tom and the irrevocable damage he’s done to her mental and emotional health.
Ten minutes before pick-up time, she was still crying on the couch and Jack did not have the heart to interrupt her. He also did not have the stomach to sit and listen to all the cruel things Tom has said and done to the young woman. It hit too close to home, made him wonder if they’re the same things he said and did to you.
So Jack had kissed your temple and told you he’d pick Pheebs up when you went into the kitchen to refill her tea. You didn’t argue with the offer. Just kissed him fiercely and promised to pick up where you left off when he’s back from work in the morning.
He turns in his seat to get a look at her in the back. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed and ominous stains on the front of her shirt that you always somehow manage to get out.
“Mommy was needed for something super important, so I thought I’d pick you up. That okay?”
She nods with a grin. “Can we get ice cream?”
Jack’s smile mirrors hers, something cheeky and mischievous. “Can we get ice cream? We can get burgers and then bring ice cream home for Mom after.”
Her excited squeal is music to his ears when he turns forward in his seat and brings up your contact in his text messages.
Jack: Acquired the goods, taking her for early dinner. How’s Kirsty?
You: not good, tom tends to have that affect on women… she said he up and left last week for dubai after promising he would take her with him. shock.
You: i’ll call you when she's gone
Jack: Don’t rush, I can always take Diva back to mine to grab Sally and we’ll bring you back ice cream and burgers
You: you’re getting the sloppiest head tomorrow morning
Jack: Yeah? I’m holding you to that
You: ;)
Jack: ❤️ u gorgeous girl
You: ❤️ u baby
Jack locks his phone with a grin and stuffs it into the cup holder, pulling out of the parking lot and following the route from his mind to the best burger joint in the city.
He sings along with Phoebe to whatever songs she allows him to listen to. Keeps his mouth shut when she screams Hey Siri, skip! to the CarPlay when she gets sick of something that comes on.
He does well at keeping his focus on the road and not the final texts you shared. The only time that sentiment has been communicated between the two of you, but it’s still become almost an every day occurrence as of recently.
Much like Jack’s presence at your apartment. It’s rare he’s ever at his own place for more than two nights in a row. And somewhere four weeks ago, Sally had made the move, too. A shared sort of custody, if it can be considered as that.
She’s at your apartment more than she’s at Jack’s. Taken it upon herself to snuggle at the foot of Phoebe’s bed every night. It’s a fight Jack’s glad he gave up on, when you were persistent about having the cat so she wasn’t alone when he worked.
The reasoning of Sally pissing everywhere was weak, and still something you like to rub in his face, seeing as she’s only piddled twice in the last four weeks.
She’s also become your writing companion, often purring away beside your laptop when Jack’s sleeping and Pheebs is at school while you wrap up the final installment of your trilogy. Something that Jack is incredibly proud of you for.
Your literal blood, sweat and tears have gone into this final book. Sleepless nights and mental breakdowns where you’ve reconsidered every choice you’ve ever made for your career. It doesn’t help that you’ve been so on edge since Tom walked out at Phoebe’s field day, like you’re just waiting for him to try and pop back into Diva’s life.
Jack hasn’t exactly been much better.
He’s tried his hardest to support you in the ways that he can. Staying consistent with the both of you, taking Pheebs out to the park or for food, helping her rearrange her bedroom just so you have some peace to write when inspiration does strike.
He’s cooked and cleaned, taken Phoebe to bed almost every night for the past six weeks. He’s practically moved into your apartment without fully taking that step. Half of his clothes have made their way into your empty drawers and a spare key to your place has wound its way around his keychain.
And over the past month, his usual strict routine has been completely thrown out the window. Night shifts have remained the same, but Jack now only goes to the gym whenever he can squeeze an hour in. His shifts with SWAT have slowly been dwindling, but it’s not something he’s mad about.
For almost three months now, Jack’s been purposely picking up less shifts with the team. Partly because his time has been better placed with you and Pheebs, but mostly because he no longer feels like there’s a void that needs to be filled with adrenaline and near-misses.
Neither of you have really sat back and considered how and when these changes started to occur. How that key ended up on Jack’s chain, why it feels so natural to eat every meal as a family, how dates are no longer squeezed into your schedules but slot seamlessly into everyday life.
How you can sleep just fine when Jack’s working a night shift, but can’t sleep at all if he’s staying at his own apartment. How even Phoebe can tell the difference between it, too.
Jack’s grown used to spending his night shift sharing texts and random ninety second FaceTime calls with you. He’ll tell you the craziest patient of the night and you’ll share a snippet of a scene you’ve written (which is usually smut and him promising to try it out with you in the morning).
Everything between you has intensified and blossomed into the most domestic, honest and real thing he’s ever experienced. Nothing feels rushed or forced, nothing feels out of place or uneasy. And it’s the first time in Jack’s life that he hasn’t felt like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.
The only non-issue that has been on his mind is Tom.
Though, he is something that David has been very vocal about on the odd occasion he and Jack have seen one another one-on-one, and it’s been reassuring to see just how frustrated it makes your father. It hasn’t been nice to see the stress it’s caused you, though.
Neither of you realized how much things needed to change. From removing Tom from Pheebs’ pick up list to removing him as her emergency contact (where Jack offered to be put as the replacement because “baby, if they see a doctor on there, she’ll take priority of anything ever happens,”), and all the paperwork in between, it’s been a lot.
“Jack, I need to pee.” Phoebe’s strained voice from the backseat brings him back to the present and Jack casts a glance at her through the rearview mirror.
“We’re almost there, slugger. Can you hold it for five minutes?”
She’s shaking her head quickly, face pink and lips curled in, knees bouncing in her child seat as she stuffs her hands between her legs. “I really gotta go!”
Jack feels the internal panic begin to sneak up on him. He’s dealt with tearful falls and tumbles, scraped knees and an almost broken leg when it’s been just the two of them. But Phoebe potentially peeing her pants is not something he’s prepared for.
He has no spare clothes for her, she’s too big for a potty to be kept in the back of the car…it only really leaves one other option as he pulls up a dirt trail, out of the way of the road.
Jack turns to her, keeps the engine on and finds himself mirroring her expression.
“Honey, if you can’t hold it…you’re gonna have to pee in a bush.”
Her eyes widen, lips part. The shaking of her head becomes quicker. “I’m not peeing in a bush, there’s spiders in there!”
Jack blinks at Phoebe, rolling his lips between his teeth as he sighs. “I promise the spiders won’t go anywhere near you.”
She shakes her head again, lifting her chin. “I can hold it, I’ll hold it.”
“Are you sure?”
Her head continues to bob. “Come on!”
He doesn’t argue at her desperate shout of a plea. And he just hopes she doesn’t tell you that he sped a little too fast to get her to the burger joint before she saturated the carseat.
Phoebe has unbuckled herself before Jack even kills the engine, and the moment he rounds the car and opens her door, she’s jumping out of the vehicle and running with quick, desperate steps to the diner’s entrance.
Jack barely manages to lock the car and catch up with her in time, holding open the women’s restroom and sighing in relief when he finds it empty. Phoebe shoves him against the basin as she rushes into a cubicle—kicking the door closed, but not locking it—and a dramatic sigh of relief sounds from her when she finally relieves herself.
Jack struggles to hide his amusement, takes a moment to check his phone for any more texts from you. There are none, but he still admires the lockscreen photo of the three of you at your parents barbeque last weekend.
The door to the restroom swings open, soft footsteps halting as Jack looks up from his screen to come face-to-face with a cautious woman and child. His fingers immediately point to the stool that Phoebe’s occupying.
“My daughter…I didn’t wanna take her into the mens.”
My daughter? Jack’s heart lurches when he catches what he’s said, when he realizes that Phoebe is only six feet away with half a door separating them.
“Okay, I’m done, Dad!” She calls out as Jack pockets his phone and swallows down his heart.
The woman watches with a gentle smile, one much more relaxed as she ushers her own child into a stool and Jack has to take a moment to try and regulate his breathing.
Phoebe just fucking called him Dad.
“Good job, kid. Do you need help with your pants?” His voice is more wrecked than he anticipated when he lowly calls back to her, when he blinks back tears that brim in his eyes and struggles to breathe through the tightening of his throat.
“I’m four, not stupid!” Oh, right. Of course. Because she didn’t get the hump three days ago when she couldn't button up her jeans and Jack had to spend fifteen minutes showing her again how to do the zipper and button.
Her snarky remark gets a huff of laughter from the cubicle beside Phoebe’s but Jack can’t seem to reign himself in. His head is spiralling in worry for how you’ll react when he tells you what’s happened, his heart is bursting at the fact that Pheebs has likely only said that because he called her his daughter first.
“Watch that attitude of yours, young lady.” His tone holds no authority or threat. The words come out too breathlessly, like he’s struggling to fill his lungs deep enough.
But he’s the picture of composure when Phoebe flushes the toilet and swings open the door to reach for the sink. It’s second nature for Jack to lift her beneath her armpits so she can reach; lathering her hands and fingers in soap and muttering a song under her breath.
He lets Phoebe take the lead and guide him out of the restroom and toward a table by the front of the diner. Allows her to be the one to order for them both when the waitress comes over, only chiming in to add another burger onto the order that he can bring home for you.
Phoebe watches Jack through it all, notices how he begins to grow quiet and puts his attention into the cartoon sheet they’re coloring together. It makes her tummy tilt, makes worry begin to bubble in a feeling that usually causes her to seek him and you out for comfort.
“Jack?” Her voice is small, much smaller than he’s ever heard and his head snaps up to look at her. She chews on her inner cheek, head tilted as she averts her gaze to the pink crayon she holds. “Are you upset at me?”
Jack’s brows pinch together tightly, his chest aching as it tightens. “No, Diva. Why would I be upset with you?” His tone is gentle, soft. But his heart is cracking that she could ever think he’d ever feel anything but happiness and exhaustion when he’s with her.
“Because I called you Dad,” she whispers, still not daring to look at him.
Jack’s movements still, gently dropping the crayon and reaching out to poke at her hand to grab her attention. He swallows down the lump in his throat, silently scolds himself for getting too caught in his head over it that he’s caused this timid, quiet version of Phoebe to arise.
“Kid, you could never upset me. Especially not by calling me that. It just…suprised me.”
She frowns. “You called me your daughter first.”
Jack swallows. Is that what this is? Has she just been waiting to feel like it’s okay to call him Dad? Like she’s been holding out for some form of permission? How long has this new title been brewing? How long has she been stopping it from slipping?
Jack feels like he might pass out.
“I—yeah, I guess—I guess I did.”
A silence sits between them. Not awkward, but…heavy. They’re both aware of the weight of it, of the titles they’ve called one another. Uncharted territory for both parties, neither knowing what’s quite acceptable without you being present.
He can tell she wants to say more but he doesn’t push. If there’s one thing about parenting that Jack has learnt from you, it’s to create a safe space where Diva feels comfortable enough to come to you when she’s ready.
She doesn't say anything else while waiting for the burgers, doesn’t say anything when she begins to eat. It’s only after Jack asks her to say cheese at the camera so he can send a photo of her to you, and when she steals the phone to take a photo of him, that she finally finds her voice on the topic again.
“Would I be…allowed…to call you that, sometimes?”
Her voice is so quiet and meek, Jack almost has to ask her to repeat it. It takes a few moments for the request to fully register, to understand if he’s heard her correctly.
Because Phoebe is an incredibly intelligent kid. She’s far too aware of her surroundings and people’s intentions. It’s not been lost on you and Jack how in the past two months, she’s only asked about Tom twice. Both times were if she would be seeing him again.
You didn’t lie to Phoebe, you never do. You told her simply that no, she wouldn’t be seeing him again. Pheebs never asked for an explanation so you never gave one. She took the answer and left it at that, like the child was content with that being all.
But Jack knows that Phoebe knows the significance of calling someone Dad. To begin with, she no longer wanted to refer to Tom as that. And now, she’s asking for permission to give Jack that label instead, trying to soften the blow by proposing it to be just occasionally.
“Pheebs,” he calls her name softly. “I am honored that you want to call me that. You can call me whatever you want to call me…but I think it’s something you should talk to Mommy about first.”
“Yeah, okay.” She sighs, stuffing a mouthful of fries into her mouth and chomping down like having to speak to you about it is an inconvenience to her.
At least she still has an appetite, Jack’s completely lost his. He can feel his mind spiralling into every direction, trying to figure out where he’s overstepped recently for her to want to call him Dad, but he falls short.
Because it’s all been so natural and felt so right. You’ve had no issue with Jack taking Pheebs to bed almost every night at her request. You’ve had no problem with holding hands or cuddling each other in her presence. You’ve included him in every family event like it’s a given that he should be there.
That he is a part of you and Pheebs.
Jack’s phone vibrates from beside him on the table, the scream lighting up with smiling faces and your contact with a text preview.
You: god i love those beautiful faces!!
You: kirsty has left so hurry up and come home, someone else has come to see us
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During the short drive home, Jack and Phoebe played a guessing game of who might be waiting at the apartment for them. Of course, not the best idea to play with a four-year-old. She’s somehow convinced herself that both Harry Styles and Peter Parker are waiting for her in her bedroom.
But when they do manage to make it inside the apartment, Phoebe tripping over her feet to get to her room and Jack struggling to hold all the leftover boxes and Phoebe’s bookbag, they stop short with wide eyes.
Karis sits on the couch beside Ricky, glowing and grinning and looking absolutely exhausted. But Jack cannot take his eyes away from you.
Slightly bent over with your hands tucking beneath small arms, cooing with watering eyes as you lift their little baby boy out of the carseat and into your arms. The newborn scrunch and the sight of you holding a baby short-circuits Jack’s brain and he thinks he’s having the most overwhelming day of his life.
“Baby Jude!” Phoebe gushes in excitement, slowly easing closer like he’s a frightened little mouse.
Karis scoops her up and peppers kisses across her cheeks and head as Jack gently closes the door behind him and places the styrofoam boxes on the coffee table when he inches closer.
It takes effort to drag his gaze off you and meet the eyes of your friends. He leans down to offer a warm hug to Karis, a kiss to her cheek and a shake of Ricky’s hand as he congratulates them.
You and Jack have FaceTimed them at least once a week for the past two months since Jude was born, when complications had arisen and they were stuck in the hospital for six weeks after his birth. But now they’re here, in your apartment and you’re snuggling that baby like you don’t plan on giving him back.
Jack’s heart fucking aches.
“He still has that newborn baby smell.” You whisper tearfully, inhaling the smell that reminds you of when Diva was just a little bubba and didn’t answer back to everything you said.
She beams up at you, shoulders raised and hands clasped together by her mouth. She looks like an excited old granny and you can’t deny giving her cuddles with her baby cousin. Karis settles Pheebs on the couch between her and Ricky, watches as you coo at Jude before leaning down to gently place him in her lap.
Jack’s by your side when you pull away to stand straight, and your vision is immediately distorted. Phoebe is so gentle with him, eyes wide and sparkling at the little life in her hands as she strokes the slope of his nose.
It’s a heartbreaking glimpse of what she could be like with her own sibling, with yours and Jack’s baby. A sobering thought that you catch yourself on, but you don’t for a single second tell yourself it’s wrong to imagine.
“She’s so gentle with him.” His low voice is comforting in your ear, a hand on your lower back and a kiss to your temple as a late greeting.
You hum, sink slightly into his side as you both watch her giggle when Jude begins to stretch and fuss. It’s ridiculous to feel so emotional over something as little as her holding a baby. But you find yourself sniffling and blinking back tears, anyway.
Jack’s just better at hiding it when he feels his eyes begin to sting. Not just at the sight of Pheebs, but at the memory of you holding Jude that’s now ingrained to the very wrinkles of his brain. Is that what you looked like when Phoebe was a baby? Only more fresh-eyed and inexperienced?
He’s not sure what it is other than something primal and overwhelming, has him conjuring up what you’d look like with a swollen belly again.
“Mommy, I need to pee.” Phoebe whispers, cautious not to wake the sleeping baby in her lap.
Ricky gently takes him from her and she waits until her lap is clear and Jude is secure in his father’s hold until she hops down from the couch and makes her way to the bathroom.
“You gonna have a hold, Uncle Jack?”
He blinks at Karis’ words, a little stunned at the honorable title he’s unsure he’s worthy of. But he nods, untangles his arm from around you and Ricky stands to reach across the distance and hands his baby boy over.
Jack has held many babies throughout his profession, but none have ever felt quite so meaningful as this. Uncle Jack. His nephew squirms slightly in his hold, eyes still shut and lips puckering, a tiny tongue peeking out before his mouth stretches into a yawn.
You watch the way Jack’s eyes sparkle down at Jude, the natural way he coddles him to his chest. Your ovaries are exploding at the sight, your heart aching profusely at the ridiculous play-pretend notion that this is your child, Jack’s child.
“He has so much hair,” Jack breathes a chuckle, risking a featherlight hand over the baby’s head to smooth the thick hair down. He dares a glance up at Karis and Ricky for barely a second before he’s captivated by Jude again. “He’s beautiful.”
Karis beams, in both pride and happiness for you and Phoebe.
“Thank you, for answering all my stupid questions when it came to his health. And for the gift baskets.”
Jack waves a hand to dismiss the gratitude that is not needed. He knew how anxious she had been while in the hospital and when she got home. While you only FaceTimed once or twice a week, Karis and Ricky would text Jack at least once a day, just needing reassurance that Jude was still recovering well from his surgery, checking what was normal and what wasn’t.
“Nothing is stupid when it comes to your child’s health.”
He spends a few more moments with Jude in his arms before finally relenting and handing him back over to his parents at the same time that Phoebe waddles back into the living room, a wicca basket in hand that Sally lounges in.
“She’s getting too fat!”
Jack cocks a brow, both arms bending to rest his hands on his hips. “That’s ‘cause you carry her everywhere.”
Phoebe pokes her tongue out at him as she passes, her excitement for Jude worn off as she opens Sally’s toy box instead. Your gaze meets Jack, something crossing his eyes as watches Pheebs get settled on the rug.
When he finally averts his gaze to meet yours, you cock your head slightly toward the kitchen in silent invitation, muttering out to Karis and Ricky that you’ll make some tea as Jack grabs the takeout boxes and follows you.
The moment the kettle flicks on and Ricky turns on the sports channel, you turn to Jack and wrap your arms around his waist. “Was Diva okay when she came out of school?”
He hums, leans down to steal a kiss. “Yeah, how was Kirsty?”
You sigh, leaning forward to crash your head against his chest. Your heart still feels heavy for the girl, the conversation having brought up all the trauma Tom had also put you through. You pull away to look at him and Jack only now sees how much it has drained you.
“She’ll be okay.”
He watches you in the same way you’re watching him; with slightly furrowed brows and concern prickling at your eyes.
“Jack, are you sure you’re okay?”
All he can do is make a humming sound, something that is not entirely convincing but you won’t push him. Not here, not now.
“I’ve gotta get ready for work soon. Debrief tomorrow night?”
Your frown grows deeper. “Tomorrow night? You got somewhere to be in the morning?”
A grin curls on his mouth at your playfully teasing tone and he leans down to press a ghost of a kiss to your pouting lips. “I gotta meet up with my SWAT guys.”
You kiss him again, just a gentle movement of lips. “You finally picking up a shift? Been a while since I’ve seen you in uniform.”
“No,” he whispers raspily against your mouth. “I’m leaving.”
He feels your body still before you pull away and he doesn’t have time to stop himself from smoothing out the elevens between your brows with the pad of his thumb. “Stop frowning.”
“Why are you leaving?”
Jack pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, considers the weight of the reason behind his decision to be a bit too much to divulge when you’ve got company. But he doesn’t want to leave you entirely in the dark. He knows your mind, your soul—knows you’ll worry yourself sick with overthinking the worst possible scenarios.
His hands leave your waist to cup your jaw, to force your gaze to not just look into his eyes but deeper. “I don’t need it anymore. Coming home safe to you and Pheebs is more important to me.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
By the time Karis and Ricky left with Jude, Jack was having to leave for work. With a smattering of kisses to Phoebe’s cheeks and your lips, he sauntered out the door just before six, always wanting to start a bit earlier to get a feel for what the night would look like.
You got Pheebs into the bath the moment he left, let her splash around the tub and draw with water crayons on the porcelain. Surprisingly, she let you wash her hair tonight without putting up much of a fuss, and didn't argue when you told her it was time to get out.
She dressed herself with minimal help, letting you brush the knots from her hair with lips pressed into a firm line. You’re not stupid when it comes to your daughter. You know there’s something on her mind, whether it be a concern or a request.
She’s always far too compliant when she’s thinking.
Usually, you don’t push. You allow her to come to you when she’s filtered through a muddy mind and knows what she wants to say. But it’s harder to do that tonight when it’s clear there’s something on Jack’s mind, too.
“Alright,” you sigh as she settles into her stool at the kitchen island. You lean on your forearms, head dipping slightly between your shoulders to meet her gaze. “What’s going on in that crazy little head of yours, hm?”
Phoebe shrugs. “Nothing.”
You roll your lips between your teeth. “Did something happen today? At school? With…with Jack?”
She shakes her head, still not wanting to meet your line of sight. It's a struggle not to ask for more, but you don’t want to push her away. You have to remind yourself that you trust Jack. That if something had happened, if Pheebs had told him something concerning, he’d have told you.
“Alright, well let's have dessert and finish our movie before bed then, sound good?”
She hums, half committed. “I’ll get Sally a treat.”
You turn to the fridge when the words tumble out of her, followed by a screech and an awkward sounding thud. You whirl around at the sound of Phoebe’s sob, round the island to find her laying on the ground and clutching her foot.
“Hey, shh, it’s okay. Where did you hurt, your foot?”
You’re kneeling down to her, trying desperately to keep your cool and not let her shrill cries pierce through your heart. Phoebe doesn’t let you get too close; face bright red and cheeks soaked with tears, pulling away every time you try to reach for her foot.
“Baby, you need to let me have a look.”
She pulls away again when you inch closer, her knuckles white around her lower calf, eyes squeezed shut.
“I can’t, Mama, it hurts!” She hiccups through the cries, catching Sally’s attention who curls into her side in a form of comfort.
You feel sick, heart in your throat as you desperately try to calm her down without touching her. You’ve never heard Phoebe cry so loudly, and you’re unsure if it’s the shock of the fall or if she’s really hurt herself. She doesn’t let you take a look, doesn’t let you put ice on it or keep it elevated above a pillow.
“I want Jack.” She speaks on a shaky inhale of breath, her pyjama shirt soaked from tears. Her desperate request makes your fingertips ache.
“Alright, okay. I’ll take you to Jack. Come on, up you get.”
It’s only then that Phoebe allows you to touch her. Not her leg or her ankle, but she lets you hold her arm to help her stand. The moment she tries to put pressure on her right leg, her knee gives way and she bursts into another fit of tearful whimpers.
Worry and panic begins to course through you, thoughts that she’s broken her fucking ankle being the only thing you can really think about. It’s enough to have you gently hoisting her into your arms as gently as possible and grabbing your keys off the hook on your way out of the apartment.
You can only really offer gentle coos of reassurance to her as your flip flops snap against your feet with every step. You didn’t even think to grab your phone or purse, just Pheebs and the keys as you get her down to the car and buckle her in.
She cries the entire ten minute drive to PTMC, declining any music or chit-chat to try and keep her mind off things. Her sobs have calmed to whimpers by the time you somehow manage to find a parking space at the ED, feet bare from not allowing you to put shoes on her, so you carry her from the car to the main entrance.
The last time you were here was at 3 a.m., over nine months ago. It was much quieter then. Tonight, the waiting room is packed with no spaces to sit and a long line at the check-in desk. Phoebe wraps her arms tighter around your neck as you hold her to your front, and get to the back of the line.
You rock her gently, swaying slightly from side to side as you take in the amount of people waiting to be seen. She hides into the crook of your neck, the noise and bright lights and people squished in too-close proximity a bit too much for her to handle.
The sight of the chaos makes your skin crawl. You’ve always been acutely aware of the tension and pressure of Jack’s job, but seeing the waiting room—or Chairs, as he calls it—so packed and desperate, it makes you want to dote on him for the rest of your life and never let him lift a finger at home.
The line crawls forward at a snail's pace, many people kicking up a fuss when it’s their turn to check in, complaining about wait times or demanding that their issue is more important than the rest. By the time you get to the check-in counter, your neck is soaked from Phoebe’s snot and tears.
“What’s your name and problem, hon?” It’s the same face and voice that greets you as the last time you were in here for your little pelvic issue.
You smile tightly at Lupe, shifting your hold on Diva to shuffle her to your other hip. She grips you tighter, like she’s worried you’re about to put her down.
“Phoebe Y/L/N. I’m her mother. She fell off the island stool and landed on her ankle, she can’t put any pressure on it, won’t let me look—I don’t know if it’s just a sprain or maybe a fracture.”
She hums at your words, typing at her computer and sliding a form through the gap at the bottom of the clear screen. Lupe catches Phoebe’s eye as she shifts in your hold, a sympathetic pout forming on the older woman's mouth.
“Take a seat, hon. Someone will be with you shortly.”
You don’t mention that there are no seats left to take, it’s not her problem. So you thank her with a smile, take the paperwork and carry Pheebs through the throes of people. You mentally prepare yourself for such a long night, to put those pilates classes you’ve been taking to good use with there being no seats available.
But within three and a half minutes of standing against the wall and gently rocking Diva from side to side, there are fast footsteps approaching until Jack is standing before you with wide eyes assessing the back of Phoebe’s body.
“Is she okay? What happened?”
Jack feels sick to his stomach with worry at the sight of her clinging to you. He didn’t even read over her notes or ask Lupe what happened when he was paged about your arrival. Seeing her now, he wishes he had some notion of an idea to be at least a little more prepared.
He’s never seen Pheebs so tearful and whiney. Not when she has her usual tumbles and not when she awakes crying for you both in the middle of the night after a nightmare.
The moment she hears his voice, she’s uncurling herself from around you to leap into Jack’s arms. He catches her with ease, lets her wrap herself around him and cries softly into his neck. You appreciate the reprieve and shake your arms out at your sides.
“She fell off the stool, landed on her ankle. Says she can’t walk on it—what…how did you know we were here?”
Jack rubs a comforting hand up and down the expanse of Phoebe’s back, craning his neck the best he can to try and get a look at her bare feet that dangle from his waist. He sighs when he turns back to you, reaching a hand around your waist to press his lips to your forehead.
“I’m on her emergency contact list, remember? Lupe paged me the moment you checked her in.”
You barely have any time to process the fact before Jack is guiding you through the doors of triage with a hand on the small of your back and an arm carrying Phoebe against his chest. You follow him through to a small cornered off section, just a few down from where you were, where Jack tenderly lays Pheebs on the bed.
You take the place at her side, let her reach for you and grip your hand as Jack slips his fingers into a pair of blue gloves. He sits on the small swivel stool, walks his feet across the ground to drag himself closer to the edge of the bed.
“Dr. Abbot, would you like me to take this one?”
Your head turns at the sound of a soft voice, a petite nurse standing at the curtain with fresh gloves already slipped onto her fingers. He whirls to look at her, like he’s catching himself on a line he’s crossing.
Because as an attending, he has no reason at all to be treating a sprained ankle in triage. He should be on the main floor, tending to whatever chaos gets sent to him or comes barreling through the ambulance bay.
So, he nods, moving away on the small stool to make room for the nurse to take his place instead.
“Alright, Diva. You gonna let Nurse Dean take a look?”
She shakes her head, pleasing eyes glued on Jack as she scoops her legs into her arms with her knees pinned to her chest. Nurse Dean looks at Jack with pursed lips and soft eyes, a silent way of saying she understands and won’t push.
He smiles apologetically, resuming his previous position when Dean slips back through the curtain to tend to patience that will let her care for them. Despite the guilt, you can’t help but huff out an air of laughter over Phoebe’s stubborn preferences.
If it’s not Jack, she isn’t interested.
Phoebe doesn’t argue with the gentle tone of Jack's voice when he coaxes her to show him her foot. She offers her ankle to him willingly with one hand still squeezing your fingers. Her tears have dried, her face now blotchy from the hyperventilating.
You watch Jack closely, the concentrated set in his brow, the firm line of his lips when he examines Phoebe’s ankle with more tender care than you think he gives his other patients. It’s also not lost on you that any nurse or triage doctor could be doing this instead of him. That he could have encouraged Pheebs to have Nurse Dean take a look.
“You said she couldn’t walk?” He asks, lips barely moving and the words almost strung together when he very carefully twists and moves her ankle.
You hum, sitting on the side of the bed next to Pheebs, one arm around her shoulders as she curls into your side. You press a kiss to the top of her head, your anxiety significantly easing now you’re with Jack and she’s under his care.
If you’re being completely, selfishly honest, you’re more than pleased that Jack’s taken it upon himself. Not that the rest of the doctors here aren’t competent, but getting to watch Jack in his element and feel so listened to and genuinely cared for…yeah, he’s definitely your preference.
“Yeah, she couldn’t put pressure on it after it happened. Wouldn’t let me look or put it on ice…she just kept crying that she wanted you.”
He pats her calf with a grin, snapping off the gloves and tugging the leg of her pyjamas pants back down. There’s a swell of pure pride and relief in his chest when he realizes there’s nothing seriously wrong and that all she wanted for comfort was him.
“The good news is it’s not broken. The bad news is that you’re gonna have to rest it and I’m going to have to prescribe you one rub of chocolate ice cream.”
Phoebe sniffles, and it’s not the reaction that Jack was hoping for.
“So, I don’t need a new leg like you?” Her voice is meek, unsure, and slightly disappointed.
It causes a frown to pull between your brows, between Jack’s. You dare a glance over at him but your attention is stolen by two figures standing by the open curtain, instead. It’s the slurping through a straw that then catches Jack’s attention and his head whirls to the two culprits.
John Shen stands with his lips wrapped around a plastic Dunkin straw, Ellis Parker stood close beside him with arms crossed over her chest. Shen’s brows are raised teasingly, Parker’s eyes gleaming in taunting mischief.
“Well, who is this Diva?” Dr. Parker croons playfully as she steps into the partition, eyes flickering between the three of you as Dr. Shen follows close behind him.
“I hurt my ankle,” Phoebe sighs.
Jack heaves in a heavy breath, catching your eye from across the bed as his two coworkers approach the foot of it.
“Baby, this is John Shen and Ellis Parker, guys this is—”
“Oh, we know who you are.” Parker grins something a bit too feline for Jack’s liking and you can’t help but laugh.
“I knew who you guys were the moment I saw the Dunkin cup.” Shen nods in what appears to be approval at your words, but as quickly as they give you their attention, it’s quickly given to Pheebs instead.
She’s always been a social butterfly, so it’s not much of a surprise when she begins to introduce herself to them—beaming at the attention and prospect of two new friends. A laugh bubbles out of you when Parker hands her one of the ER stuffies; a little brown bear that’s likely from the dollar store.
Your gaze flits to Jack to gauge his reaction and he tilts his head slightly to the curtain, a silent invitation to step away and talk. You step out silently with Jack and he pulls part of the curtain across to shield you both from prying ears.
“You okay?” His quiet voice asks into the small space between you and it feels like you can finally take a breath.
“Yeah,” you sigh, “I’m sorry. She couldn’t walk on it, it must've just been a bit of shock…she just wanted you.”
Jack shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize. You did the right thing to bring her in, even if just to be safe.”
You hum, leaning against a pillar. “You know, you could’ve insisted that Nurse Dean took a look at her.”
He frowns at that, almost like he’s insulted. “No chance. I asked you to put me down as an emergency contact for a reason. Do you know how worried I was when Lupe paged me that you brought her in? You two could’ve been waiting out in Chairs for hours.”
You know he’s right. That despite Pheebs being young, her problem doesn’t exactly warrant her to be seen over the more critical and emergent cases. But Jack’s shoulders are still tense, and you’re unsure if it’s due to whatever's been bothering him or the fact that he’s coming down from his worry.
You regard him for a few moments, waiting to see if he’ll snap himself out of it. But his eyes slowly dart around triage instead of looking at you. You’ve got a sneaky suspicion that this behavior of his has nothing to do with the chaos of work.
“Jack, did something happen today?” Your question is quiet, voice careful.
It’s enough to have him finally looking at you again, and you can see the war in his eyes as he fights if it’s something he really wants to bring up right here and right now.
His lips are moving before he can think better of it. “She called me Dad.”
You blink, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly. Your neck cranes slightly closer to him, head tilting like you might pick up another whisper of what he’s just said. Your chest suddenly feels very tight.
“What?” You breathe.
He starts to ramble, hands moving animatedly as he explains, “I called her my daughter first. There was this restroom incident, with this—this mom and daughter and it just came out of me, and Pheebs—she—”
“She called you Dad?” Your voice is quiet, cracking slightly as you cut him off.
His shoulders drop, eyes a quiet kind of frantic as they flick between yours, searching for any hint of anger or upset. He finds none. Only a glassy look that passes your iris’ like you're overwhelmed and struggling to process what this means.
“Yeah,” Jack whispers. “Are you…are you okay with that?”
A disbelieving sound escapes you on a breath. “Are you okay with that?”
His head nods in a very small movement, tongue darting out to tug his bottom lip between his teeth. This is not the conversation he wants to be having at the start of his shift in the middle of triage, where his coworkers and subordinates are passing by with curious glances.
Still, he doesn't leave you in the dark.
“Yeah, I am. But I—I told Diva it’s something she should talk to you about first.”
You feel like you could cry and throw up. Anxiety bubbles beneath your skin, unease and concern when you consider what Phoebe’s little mind must look like right now. The mess of her father walking out, the confusion of having Jack so close and her assuming he’s now to be the figure she’s missing.
It’s too much to sit and unpack on the spot. Jack’s made it so clear to you how deeply he cares for Phoebe, that even if things don’t work between the two of you, he’d still fight to be in her life in whatever capacity you’d allow.
But to hear him admit that he referred to Pheebs as his daughter—despite the rushed reasoning he gave—and for her to call him Dad in return…you can feel yourself spiraling down that rabbit hole again. The one that Tom weaved and spun where you’re forced to put your walls up and shut down.
Because if Tom can leave, what’s stopping Jack from one day doing the same?
It’s ridiculous, you know it is. Because the difference between Tom and Jack is that Jack loves Phoebe. He holds her best interest at heart at all times, considers her in every decision he makes and has never once let her down.
It is something you need to speak with Phoebe about first. Something you’re not prepared to brazenly sign off on. You’re not ready for her to call him that.
You swallow as you look at Jack, the patience and understanding in his eyes despite you not saying a word. From the peripheral of your vision, a tall figure approaches; walks past you both before slowly backing up with arms crossing over a broad chest.
You peek a glance when Jack sighs, scratching at his jaw.
“Honey, this is Robby. Robby, this is—”
“The woman that Jack does not stop talking about,” Robby interrupts him, untangling his arms to clasp your hand in a friendly shake. His skin is softer than Jack’s, less firm and calloused.
A laugh slips from your lips when he releases your hand. “It’s nice to meet you and put a face to the name.”
Robby grins, eyes shining as he looks between you and Jack in something you can only describe to be pure happiness for his friend. “I’d say the same but I feel like I’ve known you for years at this point.”
Your laughter grows at the playful tease to Jack, who is too busy staring holes into Robby’s face. It feels like you’ve got a slight whiplash, your mind and emotions all over the place while trying to hold a polite conversation.
“You brought Phoebe in?” Robby asks, voice low as if he likes to keep his conversations private and away from prying ears.
Something you appreciate, if you’re honest.
“Yeah, Jack checked her over. Sprained ankle.” Robby hums at your explanation, arms still across his chest as he cranes his neck to peer past the curtain. “Mind if I say hello?”
“Go for it.”
He offers a warm smile before dipping behind the curtain, the soft rumble of his voice heard through the fabric as he introduces himself to Phoebe. You turn to Jack with a small smirk, still very much overwhelmed but amused enough to break through it for at least a few moments.
“So you talk about me at work, huh?”
“Shut it.” Jack’s eyes roll fondly as he reaches out for your hip in a playful pinch.
But it doesn’t matter how hard you try to push the new information to the back of your head, to wait until later—because you just can’t.
You reach for him, fingers toying with the hem of his scrubs at the same time as him reaching a hand up to brush strands of hair from your face. He can sense the shift in your mood, the concern you’re trying to bury.
“Hey, I know you’re okay with her calling you that, but I—”
“No, it’s okay,” Jack interrupts with a coo and a shake of his head. “I understand. It’s a huge thing, and she’s probably confused now that Tom’s not around.”
Your grip on his scrubs tightens, a deep furrow forming between your brows and Jack hates the look of guilt and unease that’s plastered all over your face.
“I just—I don’t want anything like that rushed, or expected of her.”
“Baby, you do not need to explain. I told you before that I’m happy to be in her life in whatever capacity you’re comfortable with.”
He hates this, hates every fucking moment of you doubting him, of you worrying about Phoebe. It’s all warranted, of course it is. Phoebe’s biological father walks out on her, and then she calls her mom’s boyfriend Dad only two months later.
When Jack looks at it that way, it breaks his heart a little. He’s left wondering if his presence recently has been more confusing than helpful to the kid. He doesn’t bother to remind you that nothing is ever expected from Phoebe, that Jack will take whatever the both of you are kind enough to offer.
Because he knows you know that. That he would never expect or force anything.
You nod with a shaky breath, loosening your hold on his now slightly creased scrubs and doing your best to smooth them out with your fingers. An act that’s futile but still appreciated by Jack nonetheless.
“We can talk about this properly tomorrow, yeah?”
Another nod follows from you as Jack leans down to press his lips to the crown of your head. With a palm on the small of your back, he guides you back behind the curtain to Phoebe, and it’s only then that you realize how full the little partition has grown.
Diva remains lounging on the bed, ankle wrapped in a bandage with squiggles of different colored ink decorating it, as if it’s broken. Shen sits on the swivel chair at her side, talking in a ridiculously high-pitched voice as he pretends the dollar store teddy is drinking his precious coffee. Parker and Robby stand off to the side listening intently to Phoebe’s dramatic recollection of her fall.
And Mateo grins at the scene before him.
Wait.
“Mateo?” He turns at the sound of his name falling from your lips breathlessly, the easy grin dropping into something sober and slightly grave.
Jack does not like the shift in the air, the way you whispered his name like a lost lover, how Diaz now looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost. And then he’s whispering your name back like it’s a sacred prayer, inching closer to get a better look at you.
“What—what are you doing here?”
You want to ask him the same thing, but his scrubs and ID badge say enough. He’s a fucking nurse. The last time you’d seen him was almost ten years ago, when he was as babyfaced as you and unsure what the world had in store for him.
You blink, pointing at Diva. “Pheebs—I, I’m her mom.”
His eyes widen further, doe-like and familiar in the way he was when you were both kids. God, he looks so much like his brother now that he’s older. A stubble and long hair, tan skin and welcoming features. The more you look at him, the more you feel your heart twisting in your chest.
His gaze flicks behind you as he repeats your own words, landing on Jack who is doing nothing to hide his frown and distaste for the exchange.
There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he watches Mateo look at you again, something like longing and heartache in his eyes. Jack can’t handle the idea of Diaz being an ex of yours. Just when he thought this day couldn’t make his head spin anymore.
“Wait, you’re the pelvic chick?”
You frown at the odd nickname, and it takes a moment or two for your drowning mind to catch up with what he’s called you and why you’re being referred to as it. You whirl around to Jack with raised brows.
“I’ve got a nickname around here?”
His hand squeezes your hip reassuringly. “You can thank Dr McKay for that one.”
A flurry of snickers and giggles slip from Shen and Parker, a smirk curling at the corners of Robby’s mouth, too. Jack thinks he’s absolutely had enough of today. If he wasn’t overwhelmed enough already, he’s now drowning in unwarranted jealousy and budding a blooming distaste toward Mateo.
“Alright,” Jack calls, clapping his hands. “Don’t you all have patients to see? I think Phoebe would like to go home to bed now.”
“I’m happy to stay!” She pipes up.
Jack points a stern but playful finger in her direction. “It is way past your bedtime, kid. And you are a beautiful distraction to my doctors. Mom’s gonna take you home now.”
Phoebe pouts animatedly about it but knows better than to argue. She instead says goodbye to her three newfound friends and takes a sheet of stickers from Mateo’s hands when he goes to leave.
He does stop short just in front of you when he reaches the curtain. “I can’t believe you’re a mom now. She’s a cool kid. And you look great.”
You smile tearfully, a watery chuckle slipping past your mouth as your head tilts. “Yeah, you too.”
Mateo chews on the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never reached out after—”
“Don’t,” you interrupt with a shake of your head. “I didn’t reach out either. It’s not on you. Your parents were just—”
“Yeah, I know.” The sadness in his voice hurts more than you’d like to admit. After nine years, you thought you’d moved on from what happened. But seeing Mateo now, after all this time…you can’t help but wonder if it’s breaking him as much as it is you.
“We uh, we should grab a coffee sometime.”
The frown of your mouth curls up into a trembling smile and you can feel your eyes stinging with salty tears. “Yeah,” your voice cracks when you speak. “I’d really like that, Teo.”
Jack watches the interaction with a tightness in his throat and chest. Barely registers what Phoebe is saying to him as she plasters stickers all over his scrubs and arms. He can’t tear his eyes away from you, can’t stop his mind from starting the cycle of self-sabotage.
Despite it all, despite the concern and worry and doubt and insecurity, when you approach with tearful eyes and pursed lips, he still reaches out to comfort you.
“Look, Mommy! I can move it again.” Phoebe calls to you despite there being barely any distance, lifts her leg to move her ankle in the air.
You plaster on your most encouraging smile, toying with the keys in your hands. Jack notices the nervous fiddling, the anxiety that’s sitting heavy on your shoulders and the way you’re starting to drown in your own head.
He brushes Phoebe’s hair from her face and keeps his tone soft and quiet. “You can go home with Mommy now, and I’ll see you after school tomorrow, okay?”
“M’kay.” You watch as Phoebe nods, when she dips her chin in silent request of a kiss that Jack happily pressed to her head.
He helps her stand on the bed where she then opens her arms wide to be carried by you. Bare feet and one bandanged ankle swing by your thighs when you hold her and return to Jack with tired eyes.
Despite the foreign feelings brewing in the pit of Jack’s stomach, he still moves closer to press his mouth against yours, to squeeze your waist and kiss you one more time.
“Text me when you get home.”
You agree to the request with a hum, when a Nurse Dean pops her head into the curtain and offers to escort you out. Jack follows you out of the partition and the moment you begin to walk away, Phoebe waves at him as she looks over your shoulder.
“Love ya, Jack!”
He beams at the way she shouts across the space, like she’s desperate for her message to reach his ears.
“Love ya, Diva!” He calls back just as you both reach the door. When you cast one last glance back at him, Jack offers a dip of his chin and a wink, basking in the way that his stomach leaps when you grin back at him until you’re both out of sight.
He feels Robby’s presence shift behind him, a looming frame filled with questions and silent observations. He watches with Jack as you disappear back into Chairs to go home.
“You told her yet?” Robby asks, the words drifting from his mouth and into Jack’s ear.
His gaze is still focussed on the door. “Told her what?”
“That you’re in love with her.”
Robby’s observation echoes in Jack’s mind. Worms its way into every memory and thought he cherishes of you, of Phoebe. There’s no longer that all-consuming sensation of guilt when he thinks about it now, there hasn’t been for a little while.
At first, it was something Jack didn’t want to acknowledge. Wasn't ready to acknowledge. But somewhere along the past nine months, he’s stopped holding onto his need and love for structure and routine. He’s found himself basking in the chaos of love, the spontaneity and freedom of it if you look in the right places.
He’s found his home to be nothing but a shell of one. A blank canvas that was posed as a fresh start six years ago. One that he never broke in with memories and laughter, where he never scuffed up the floors or chipped the paint off the walls.
Somewhere along the past nine months, the weight of his wife no longer haunts him like a bad dream. She rests in his heart, deep and protected in her place of permanent residence. But the space she occupies no longer spans across the entirety of him.
She’s made room for you, for Phoebe. Allowed her space to be taken by a love that breathes, not one that haunts. It happened slowly, organically. Like this is the way it was always supposed to be.
Jack swallows around the realization.
“No, not yet.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You barely slept all night.
Whether it was tossing and turning because of the events of yesterday, or Phoebe waking you up every hour because she swears her foot is about to fall out, you barely got any sleep.
FaceTiming Jack at three in the morning instead when Pheebs sobbed because she was adamant she needed to go back to see him at the hospital. Sitting on her bedroom floor and reading stories until she fell asleep, only to wake up again forty-five minutes later.
The pair of you were like zombies when you left for the school run this morning. Hair not up to its usual standards and outfits more than a little skewiff. By the time you got back to the apartment, you were swooped up into Zoom meetings with your editors and publishers, the deadline pushing closer for the final installment.
Jack didn’t get back until noon, after finishing his shift and meeting with his SWAT buddies to let them know he was officially stepping away. The two of you have been like passing ships all day. When he got home, you were leaving to do a grocery run. When you got back, he was fast asleep. When Jack woke up, you were already picking Phoebe up from school.
It wasn't until you returned home that he finally scooped you into his arms and peppered your face with kisses. Phoebe’s laughter at the attack had echoed through the apartment and bounced off the walls when Jack lunged for her and blew an onslaught of raspberries onto her stomach.
The three of you cooked dinner together, ate and spoke about your days. Phoebe did most of the talking, like usual. And Jack cleaned the kitchen when you bathed her an hour later. You don’t get a chance to speak throughout it, attention occupied by Diva until she’s requesting that Jack puts her to bed with a very specific rendition of Paranoid by Black Sabbath as her lullaby.
She does let you squeeze her in your arms, pepper kisses to the top of her head as you bid her a goodnight. But as quickly as she crashes into your arms, she’s wiggling out of them in search of her new bedtime companion, Sally.
“Alright, slugger. Let’s get you to bed.” Jack calls out to her, pressing a kiss to your cheek before following Phoebe on his crutches.
The heaviness in your chest hasn’t disappeared. It’s eased just enough to feel like you can breathe this evening, but even Jack’s presence alone isn’t enough to completely keep it at bay. You’re overly aware that you both need to have a big conversation about yesterday and you’re not quite prepared for it.
Feeling hot beneath your skin at the thought, you grab two glasses and a bottle of wine from the fridge that you carry in two hands out to the balcony. The evening air is crisper than it was through the day, a slight breeze that does little to cool your skin but enough to help the rise and fall of your chest.
The sun is starting to set, long summer nights falling behind you as the sky is painted in something beautifully golden. Hints of pinks and oranges peek beneath the clouds, a promise of sunshine for the morning and a sleep full of sweet dreams.
You fill both the glasses halfway as you sit on the rattan couch, a crocheted blanket draping across your lap as you take a sip. Only a moment for you to try and gain your bearings, to sort through the whirlwind that has been the last two days.
You’ve drained half your glass of wine by the time Jack finds you, an easy but tired grin stretching on the corners of his mouth when he pops his head out into the balcony. His brows raise playfully when he clocks the almost empty glass in your hand and the freshly poured one on the small table.
He doesn’t say anything as he joins you, a little too caught up in his head. The last time he drank out on the balcony with you was when it all started. The night of Diva’s birthday party. The night he first kissed you and felt his soul slowly beginning to tangle with yours.
“She settled okay?” He hums as he comes closer, resting the crutches against the wall and sitting beside you with a tired sigh.
“Out like a light.” Jack pinches the blanket, drapes some of it across his thighs. He reaches for his wine but doesn’t drink it. Holds it in his lap while his other arm lifts to rest against the back of the seat; fingers gently tracing the skin of your shoulder.
He feels the heaviness, too. The plethora of topics that need to be addressed, discussed. It’s because of that, that he finally takes a long gulp of his wine before turning to admire you.
“So…Kirsty, huh?”
A non-committal hum escapes you, eyes far off in the distance but when Jack follows your line of sight, he sees your gaze is settled on his balcony across the way.
“She okay?”
A loaded question, really. One that takes you a moment to consider and answer. “No, he’s really done a number on her.”
Jack swallows, doesn’t like the hollowness of your voice. Like your reminiscing on your own experience with Tom. He squeezes your shoulder.
“What happened?” He only heard snippets when Kirsty had shown up unannounced. Jack was a little preoccupied with hiding a raging boner, getting dressed and reattaching his prosthetic. By the time he did join you both in the kitchen, he put himself to good use by making tea.
He didn’t want to make Kirsty uncomfortable.
Jack feels you shrug beneath his palm. “His usual shit.”
It’s not something you want to get into. Not yesterday in a quick explanation, and not now when you have the time. Mostly because it’s not your story to share, but also because it’s the same things that Tom put you through. The lies, the abuse, the manipulation.
You got out of the woods. You escaped the claws he had in your mind and you’re free now. Happy. Your mind is no longer held in a prison. It’s watered and cherished, cared for and set free to bloom.
“He’s really gone, though,” you find yourself clarifying anyway. “She said he’s been given a house and position at some finance company in Dubai. Living his dream.”
Jack scoffs, wine sloshing in the glass on his lap from the movement of his body. “Yeah, well…he made his bed, now he can lie in it.”
That heavy silence settles over you both again as you gaze out across the sunset. It’s lowering more with every passing minute, darkness slowly creeping over the tops of the sky. You don’t want to spend the evening tiptoeing around things that need to be discussed. Jack’s got four nights off now and you’re not willing to start them off with anything unsaid.
“So, we’ve debriefed about Kirsty. Next up…you’re leaving SWAT?”
Jack heaves a heavy sigh and rolls his head in a lull of a nod. “Met them this morning after my shift. Told ‘em it’s not for me anymore.”
You frown at him, his gaze locked on the stem of the wine glass pinched between his fingers.
“Why? I thought you enjoyed it?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“What changed?”
He turns to you then, eyes slightly glassy and lips scrunched slightly to the side. It’s an expression you’ve learnt that usually means he’s trying to suppress his emotions, or at least keep the full extent of them off his face.
“I didn’t have anyone waiting for me at home when I joined SWAT. We both know what it’s like to lose a partner. I’m not prepared to put you through that again, to put Pheebs through that.”
His gentle explanation—like it’s the most simplest decision in the world—almost crushes your chest. Your lungs seize at the consideration, at the pure reverence in his tone. You don’t mean to, but your fingers instinctively move to your chest, to reach for the chain you haven’t worn for months and months now.
The one that sits in a box in your nightstand. Like Jack’s sits in a box in his.
The fact that you and Phoebe continue to make such a profound effect on him, the way that he so loudly respects and considers you both…how he so happily changes his lifestyle to fit healthily around you both…
“Jack, that’s a big decision to make.”
“No, it’s not.” It’s not an argument, he counters you like it’s a fact. Unbothered and undeterred in his decision. “Besides, Robby’s been trying to get me to quit that shit for years.”
An unintentional laugh barks through you at that, the thought of his dear friend chiding him for such a reckless hobby—which, if you’re honest, you’d have to agree with. Despite how sexy the uniform is…how much fun you’ve had with it in the past.
You haven’t been able to stop thinking about Robby since you met him last night. Kind eyes, teasing lilt to his deep voice. Secure, competent. Attractive, if you’re allowed to think as much.
“Robby’s single, right?”
Jack’s brows raise comically high at the sudden question. He’s a bit ashamed to admit the wall of jealousy and discontent that slams into him, the way his shoulders stiffen. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’ve written threesome stories with that very vivid imagination of yours…Jack can’t help but silently begin to panic that you’re about to ask for Robby to be a third.
“Why?” He asks carefully, voice tight and deep.
You shrug, take a long sip of your wine. “He’s responsible, older…I think he and Bella would look pretty good together.”
Jack blinks at you for a moment, lungs seizing as he finally releases an exasperated exhale. Relief slams into him like a freight train and he’s met with the embarrassing realization that he desperately needs to get his emotions in check.
First he’s ready to blow a gasket over your far too friendly interactions with Mateo, and now he’s here fretting over the possibility of you wanting Robby?
Jesus fucking Christ, Jack. Get a grip!
“You wanna set up Robby and Bella?” He busies his hands with topping up both of your glasses as he asks the question, his newfound and deeprooted insecurity needing a bit of reassurance. “Do you forget how mentally unstable Robby is?”
You frown. “I thought you said he was better after his sabbatical?"
“Well, yeah, but he’s not magically cured, baby.”
You take the wine from him with a hum, peering up at him over the rim of the glass when you take a sip. That heaviness between you both has slowly started to ease into something more comfortable, more familiar. And the glint in your eye promises Jack is about to have his ass handed to him.
“Your team is nice. They seem to know a lot about me.”
“Yeah. You seem to know a lot about Mateo.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jack! What the fuck is wrong with you!?
His eyes widen at his own retort, shoulders stiffen at the sight of your entire body freezing for a split second. Panic surges through him, and Jack feels sick to his fucking stomach for saying something so stupid in such an accusing tone.
Dread curdles in the pit of his stomach when your lashes flutter droopily, when you lean over to place your drink back on the table. When you turn back to him, Jack gets the sense that he has royally fucked up.
“I was engaged to Mateo’s brother.”
The admittance slips past your lips in a quiet confession, one that’s laced with dormant pain and an ache that time will never quite heal completely. Jack blinks at you, heart in his throat and he’s never fucking hated himself as much as he does in this moment.
“My mom used to call us the three musketeers. Anywhere we went, Mateo always tagged along with us. The night that Sammy… the night of the accident, I had taken Teo to the theatre, some new Avengers movie that had come out…”
“Baby, you don’t have to do this,” Jack’s voice is wrecked when he reaches for your hand. You grip his fingers, knuckles turning white but you ignore him and continue anyway.
“Sammy was supposed to meet us there—” Your voice breaks as tears begin to slip past your eyes. Years since it happened and whenever you think about it, it feels like it was only yesterday.
It’s killing Jack to listen, to watch. To see the pain in your eyes and the hurt in your voice. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. He should never have fed into those stupid thoughts, should have never said anything about it.
“We called him, Teo was telling him to hurry up, that he’d be so mad if he missed a single second of the movie. Sammy was speeding…we—fuck, we heard the car ram into a pole—”
Jack catches you before you can collapse into him. Coddles you straight into his chest as he wraps himself around you in the only way he can think to protect you right now. Your body shakes as sobs tear through you, tears soaking into his shirt while his own slip past bloodshot eyes.
He holds you like that until the cries soften to sniffles. Until you’re able to pull away and keep yourself up right. But the pain is still there, still so fresh and prominent in the very centre of your chest.
“His parents blamed me. Said I got him killed. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral, wasn’t allowed to see Mateo anymore. I never got to say goodbye.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Baby, I shouldn’t have assumed, I shouldn’t have said—”
“No,” you cut him off with a sniffle. “No, it’s okay. I get it. And you deserve to know about him—about Sammy.”
He just wants to hold you close again, to tuck you under his skin to shield you away from everything horrible in this world. Jack reaches for you, a tender hand caressing your jaw as his thumb smoothes away the remnants of silver tears.
He dips his head to meet your gaze. “If he could see you now. See the brilliant woman you’ve become, the incredible mother that you are…”
“You always say this,” you interrupt through a sniffled laugh.
“Because it’s true. My mom walked out on me when I was a kid, left my dad to raise me alone. You are everything to Phoebe that I wish my mother had been to me. And Sammy…he would be so proud of you, if he could see you now.”
You stare at him through bleary vision, unable to steady the ache in your sternum at the mention of Jack’s mother. The only time he’s ever mentioned her. You find yourself nuzzling into his palm, seeking out his comfort and offering yours in return.
“Mary would be proud of you, too.”
Jack blinks, eyes reddening as his lips roll into a thin line. It’s not heavy with guilt like before. Not haunted by pain, but like he’s accepting the fact as a truth.
“Yeah, she would.” He sniffles.
There’s a moment of pure clarity that seems to wash over Jack, like the final weight of something unspoken has been shifted off his shoulders. He can’t seem to take his eyes off yours, can’t help but be whisked away by your soul.
He has never found someone so beautiful before. Every part of you, every imperfection that makes you you. It feels like his heart has burst open in his chest, given way to a field of fresh grass and blooming tulips as this thing begins to glow from the inside out.
He can't hold it in anymore.
“I need to tell you something.” Jack whispers.
“When I lost my wife, when there was nothing else we could do and she passed…I never thought I would find happiness again, never find love. But you—you and Phoebe…you’ve changed me. I’m not the same man I was when we first met. You’ve reminded me of what it feels like to live, to love. And I know that neither of us expected this, that Phoebe calling me Dad is never something we anticipated but…”
“But what?” You’re breathless, bottom lip trembling and fresh silver lines your eyes again. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, can feel that familiar tingle in your fingertips as your gaze desperately searches his.
“Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you, the way I feel about Diva. And I know—I know—I’m not her dad, but she’s become my daughter.”
“Jack…” Your voice is unsteady and you can’t catch your breath.
He rests his forehead against yours, both hands cupping your face now and wiping the tears as quickly as they fall. You’re not given a moment to comprehend his words, to filter through them. The tip of his nose traces the slope of yours when he speaks again.
“I am so, irrevocably in love with you—it’s not even…it’s not funny—why are you laughing?”
But Jack’s laughing, too. Watery and broken as your hands come up to wrap around his wrists, as you blubber and press your tear-soaked lips to his.
Months of uncertainty and pain and guilt and anguish have led up to this. Trials and tribulations, hurdles and heartache. All of it has led to this right now. To Jack’s heart calling out to yours.
“Because I'm happy! Because I'm in love with you, too.”
“Yeah?” His voice cracks, chasing your mouth to kiss you again when another bubble of laughter tumbles from the back of your throat.
While you’re both caught up in one another, in the happiness and love and devotion that’s finally flourishing so freely on the balcony of apartment seventeen, further into the home is where Phoebe sneaks awake.
Her feet are kicked up behind her, belly to the ground with pieces of paper with practiced letters and colored pens scattered around her. In one hand is a black sharpie, the other her bright pink diamonte purse.
And just beside her sits Jack’s SWAT card that she pinched from his wallet five days ago. For the last few nights, she’s been practicing in sneaky sessions, feigning sleep until either of you leave the room so she can continue her mission at hand.
Days of messy handwriting, backward lettering and something just not looking quite right. But tonight is the night. No more trials, no more fresh sheets of paper.
She grins at Sally, who pads over on tubby paws and nuzzles into the crook of Diva’s neck, the whiskers tickling her skin and she struggles to keep her giggles at bay.
And it’s like the furry friend understands the significance of this moment. Because when Phoebe looks down at her work on the wallet, Sally does, too.
PROPERTY OF DIVA PHOEBE Y/L/N ABBOT
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You have officially reached the very end of Apartment Seventeen. I am feeling a lot of emotions right now tbh, this story is one of my favourite things I've ever written and I am truly so incredibly sad to see it end. I cannot thank you all enough for the overwhelming amount of love and feedback and support you guys have shown me and this series, it truly means so so much!!
I do have plans to check in on them again in the future, along with a potential big bonus chapter later down the line, too. But in the mean time, I am excited to start some new projects and I hope you'll stick around to see them too!!
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
you were awoken, rather abruptly, by the sound of toys clattering down your side. blinking sleep away, you groan softly, before you’re face to face with your little toddler, her little ringlets messy and sticking up in every direction. she blinks at you. you blink at her.
“g’mo’ning, mama,” she says, in something akin to a whisper, but it comes out more just like hot toddler breath in your face. you can smell coffee wafting from the kitchen.
“mm, baby, what’re you doing?” you croak, lifting a sleepy hand to move the sheets off of you when you’re instead met with a small plastic toy car. then, a little train. then — ah! another toy! this time, in the form of a small cloth bee stuffed with pellets. there’s a damp spot on its antennae, where your darling daughter had no doubt chewed on it just moments ago.
she blinks at you again, extending a little pointer finger towards the collection of trinkets now placed on your stomach. “play.”
“play?” you ask, as she hands you yet another toy from her chubby fingers. she must’ve gotten out of her crib somehow, and judging from the fact that jack’s side of the bed is empty, that’s probably how. “where’s papa?”
“ou’side.” she says, walking the little bee plush along your blanketed stomach. “mama, play.”
“mm.” you groan slightly. you give her one last look before resigning to your newly appointed role as a play-mat. the books did say to encourage spontaneous play. “m’kay.” you pick up the little car, rolling it along your torso as she mimics the buzzing of a bee.
her cheeks are flushed a sleepy pink as her brows furrow in concentration. freckles dust her little nose, and the person who gave them to her walks into the bedroom. jack, still in his sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants leans against the doorframe, as a warm smile graces his aged features.
“there you are, buggy,” he says, as your daughter’s head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. jack cocks his head behind him. “pancakes’re ready,” he smiles.
then, your daughter turns to you. “mama, pancakes.”
“mm, i’ll be there in one sec, baby,” you nod, still wearing off the last of your grogginess as you sit up, the toys clattering into your lap. your daughter, sweet and full of energy as she is, waddles her way out of the bedroom with the soft pitter-patter of her feet following her. as she rounds the door into the hallway, jack extends a hand to cup the back of her little head, gentle.
then, he turns to you, a bright glint in his eyes. “she wanted to play.”
a little smile graces your lips. “yeah, she did,” you murmur, stretching your arms over your head.
rubbing your sleep from your eyes, the comfortable silence is broken by the sound of your toddler shouting, “mama! papa!” from the kitchen, the clumsy clanging of her plastic utensils against her paw patrol plate joining her.
you can’t help the laugh that leaves you, and jack’s chuckles join you.
“she’s a tyrant,” you sigh with affection, kicking the duvet away from you as you stand, approaching jack. you rest your hand on his lower back as his drapes over your shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking the both of you out in the hall, muttering, “yeah, but, i mean, look at her,” he says, nodding in the direction of where she tries to climb into her high chair. “she makes for a pretty fuckin’ cute one.”
summary: pope comes home from prison and meets craig's new gorgeous friend, you. you're quiet and a little odd, in an adorable way he becomes obsessed with. and he wonders how a sweet girl like you could be friends with an idiot like his little brother. one night, he learns about your little stingray obsession and uses that as a way to try and get closer to you. and it works.
content/warnings: lots of em dashes (only because I've always used them, I swear this isn't AI), a whole ass book before they even kiss (really just me yapping), age gap (reader is like 20-21, pope is late 30s), s1 pope (because I think his haircut is cute), i'm sorry if everyone is ooc (i'm new here), reader isn't described as a specific race or weight but does have a specific style, all the cody boys are here & my girl cath, reader is kinda a stoner, mentions of sm*rf & b*z, switch!pope, pope's a bit of creep (he likes to smell you and touch your hair and watch you and touch your body when you're sleeping or when you're not looking, it's okay you like it), dry humping (yum), cumming in pants (yummier), biting, chasing, finger in mouth, mentions of male masturbation, a bit of fluff, nicknames for reader by Craig include pet/bug/shorty, nicknames for reader by pope include honey & baby, baz catches you and is pissed but craig to the rescue, pansexual tendencies, 18+ ONLY!
note: this is my first fic on tumblr... it's kinda long and not proofread, so please be nice and thank you. muah!!
Your brother sold weed, that's how you met your best friend. Craig Cody, or El Craigo as he's tried to get you to call him. Of course, you don't. He came onto you, thinking you were hot. But every time he tried, womp womp. He eventually gave up yet couldn't stay away from you, you were fun— in a quiet way.
You often prefer books and embroidery to actual human interactions but he prefers surfing to anything else (sometimes even parties), so friendship went smoother than dating would have. And the one thing you had in common was really what kept you guys together, weed. You two would smoke up to three blunts and just laugh about nothing before ordering too much food and/or annoying deran.
His family loved you, even the wicked witch herself. She liked how you just did what she wanted (though you only did because you could tell she was awful and wanted her off your back). Deran thought you were great, he loved having you around. J liked how colorful your vibe was compared to the Codys. And Baz... you hate Baz. asshole. No real reason to, you just do. Cath could do better, you thought every time you saw him.
Then came Andrew.
The day you met was a few days after he returned, a week after his sister died. You walked behind Craig like you were his little tail. Dressed in a little green 60s mini dress, tights with little bugs on them, and ballet flats— an outfit that was considered toned down compared to your usual fashion.
"Yo." Craig called out as he walked into the kitchen, everyone immediately ignored him as soon as you appeared.
"Hey!" Cath practically squealed, happy to see you. You liked Cath, she was kind. Everyone greeted you, having not seen you in almost two weeks.
"Y/N, this is our brother, Pope. Pope, this is my pet bug, Y/N." Craig says, using the same joke he always does when he introduces you to someone. You turned around and there he was. my word... Immediately you could feel how different his presence felt compared to others. And how much you liked it. And how pretty fucking hot he was.
You weren't someone who had a partner or felt much interest in dating. It was easier to be alone, though it was lonely at times. But here he stood, the mysterious older brother. Andrew, who they called Pope for a reason you didn't know. Deran had told you about him but you never saw a picture. God... how you wished you knew how handsome he was. And as you felt his unsettling aura, your mind wandered to places it only would when you were alone— in the darkness of your room.
"Hi." You whispered. You were always so soft-spoken.
"Hi." He spoke back. He voice was nice, raspy. You began to pick at your fingers as the conversation went on with everyone talking about things you didn't care about.
You tried your best not to look at him. Andrew. You tried to look at Craig or your hands but Baz was standing too close for comfort. He always tried to put his arm around your shoulder, even in front of his wife. And you hated that. You weren't big on touch, especially not with Baz. ewwwahhh
You liked physical touch, lots of it. But it had to be with someone you've accepted into your soul family. You were a strong believer in that we all have more than one soulmate. And Baz was NOT a part of your soul. So when he tried again, you stepped aside and bumped into someone. Andrew. He was already looking at you when you looked over.
"Sorry..." Even though you were barely audible, he heard you. You looked away again, but he didn't and you felt it. He looked down at your tights. How they hugged you thighs...
"Alright, Smurf. Come on, bug." You ears heard Craig say as he left, you followed close behind but not before taking a peak back to the oldest Cody. Still, he stared at you... and you didn't seem to mind.
"Your brother is very handsome." You tell Craig as you enter his room.
"Ew! Don't tell me Baz finally got to you." He replied, you immediately pretended to gag.
"I'd rather have my skin be peeled off little by little." You joked, he laughed loudly as he plopped down onto his bed. You never went near his bed unless you knew for sure his sheets were clean, thankfully today it was clean— or clean enough.
"Then who? J? Cause he's not my brother, he's my nephew. And Deran is gay, remember?" He asks as he begins to roll a new blunt, you lay back on his headboard.
"Not J or Deran. The other one, Andrew." You say, Craig pauses. He slowly turns to look at you, expecting you to laugh or give him some type of sign you were joking. But you didn't.
"Pope?" He sat up, "Pope!?" Any louder and they would've heard him in the kitchen.
"Yeah." You answered softly.
"Please tell me your joking. You can't actually be saying you wanna fuck Pope." He said, you rolled your eyes at your best friend.
"I said he was handsome, not that I wanna fuck him." You told him as you chris crossed your leg.
"I've known you for two years— you wanna fuck my creepy brother, it's all over you face. You want him all over your face." He teased, you laughed. Oddly enough, as stupid as he can be, he was usually the only one who could make you laugh and smile. He knew you quite well.
"Would it bother you if I did?" You ask. The question came out before you could stop it. You were a virgin, you never actually wanted to have sex with anyone. No one ever caught your eye. But Andrew...
"I mean you can if that's what you really want. You body, your stupid choice— or whatever the fuck. Just know I'd throw up tho." Craig replied. He didn't care who you slept with or dated, not as long as you were happy. Even if it was his weird older brother.
The next time you saw Andrew was a random Thursday, the next week.
You were back at Smurfs, sitting on the couch with Craig. It was late. You wore purple patterned shorts and a blue tank top, blue spiders on your white knee-high socks. Your legs were draped over Craig's lap, a bowl of M&Ms on your lap, both of you laying back as if you had worked for hours on end all month. You guys had just smoked two blunts and were laughing at horror movies. Deran and J had joined you somewhere into the marathon, not really taking your attention.
Then you felt it... his presence.
"What are you guys watching?" You heard him ask, your heart almost moonwalked out of your chest. You looked back and again, there he was. His eyes never seem to look at anything else, just you.
"Scream 1." J answered his question. You looked away, pressing your thighs together. Thankfully Craig was so high he probably didn't know he was still alive let alone that you were sexually attracted to his older brother's unsettling aura.
"Come on." Deran calls him over, Andrew sat down on one of the chairs. Specifically the one that was next to you since you were on one of the ends of the couch. You looked again, you can't help yourself. He's so handsome.
He stares at you still, you're getting used to it quickly. You gave him a small smile before turning away. The chair was close. He was close. Andrew got an unbearable urge— he wanted to touch your hair. It was just there, hanging perfectly down your back. He wanted to cut off a piece and keep it in his pocket so he could smell it when you weren't around... of course he wouldn't actually do that he definitely would.
He just liked you. It was weird for him to admit that but he did. His own family was scared of him. They found him strange. But you? You smiled at him. You fucking smiled at him. That's all it took for him to pick you out of everyone. He picked you, he wants you. You will be his. Maybe you'll fix him. He thought about that. Maybe someone like you could be kind enough to fix someone like him, if he can be fixed.
You didn't think there was anything wrong with him. You didn't think like others, like him. He seemed normal to you. So he liked to stare at you, so what? It's so easy to just let him. He's not hurting you. He was just released from a cell, let him stare at whatever he wants. As the movie ended and J put in the next one, Craig groaned.
"I'm so tired." He whined, shoving a handful of M&Ms into his mouth.
"So go to sleep." J told him.
"Don't wanna." Craig whined while picking up M&Ms and gently throwing them at you. You tried to catch them with your mouth and failed a couple times. You chuckled as he tried to got up, defeated by sleep.
"Fine, whatever." He whispers, "'Night, shorty."
"'Night." You replied as you leaned away to take your legs off him.
That's when it happened. Your hair... it touched Andrew's hand. You didn't notice, it was just for a second. But oh... Andrew notice. He almost came grabbed it. He couldn't believe how soft it was. He'd bet his life it smelled nice too, like you. He remembers the day you met, how when you got closer he could smell you. Like vanilla and rose petals. He wanted to lick the scent off you... Who said that? Are you not hearing that? Whatever.
You planned on staying for the rest of the other movies, until Baz arrived. why is he here!!?? go home!! He immediately sat next to you, reaching out to touch your shoulder. You pushed his arm away as you sit up straight and placed the bowl in-between you and him. You could feel the uncomfortable-ness built in you when you realize he was looking at your exposed thighs. dickhead.
"I think I'm gonna go too." You say softly as you stand up.
"Hey, if Craig kicks you again, you can sleep in my bed. I'm gonna head over to Adrian's in a few." Deran informs you, the quietest little 'thanks' escaped your lips as you left.
"'Night." You whispered. And there it was again. His voice.
"Goodnight." Andrew replies, it was small and sweet. You smiled widely but thankfully you were already out of sight when you did. Oh... you've made up your mind. It's him. He will be the one to take your virginity. You don't know when or how, but it will be him.
It was the middle of the night. 3, maybe 4, am.
You laid on Craig's bed, him next to you. Well... actually he was almost on the floor but still. You didn't mind sharing beds with friends, you liked it. It was fun. You would shower with your friends if they wanted, TMI is non-existent to you. But tonight, you couldn't sleep. You couldn't stop thinking about your decision. Andrew Cody will take my virginity, the thought danced in your head like a drunk cowboy.
You stood up off the bed, your white Lolita style nightgown falling down to hang just above your mid thigh. It was almost see-through if you looked hard enough. Enough to see the orange polkadot panties you had on, and maybe your bare chest too. You walked out of Craig's room and out to the living room. You hoped you could just watch something until you felt sleepy. What you didn't expect was for Andrew to be there too...
It almost scared you, to see someone else awake this late. He simply sat in the same chair, watching tv. Little jellyfish swimming on the screen, a man narrating quietly. He looked so peaceful. Andrew. Just doing mundane things. You've only seen him twice, both times he seemed so tense and uncomfortable but he looked relaxed now.
You almost just wanted to leave him alone but your body moved before you could control it. You looked away from him as you approached, head turned to the tv. You took a glance at him, he's looking at you again. Or... he's looking at your nightgown. You didn't mind. It flattered you. Maybe he thought you were pretty.
"What are you watching?" You ask.
"Documentary." He answered. You liked his voice like this. So gentle, it almost cracks when he speaks.
"Can I watch it with you?" You asked him, finally looking at him. He stares up at your eyes for a good second, and you stare back.
"Yeah." He whispers. You smiled slightly as you sat down where you had been, close.
You're not sure how long you were there for, watching the fishes on tv. It wasn't until a big stingray appeared on the screen that you almost jumped up. You straighten yourself and leaned forward, once again chris crossing your leg. You listened to every word the narrator said, looking at the beautiful creatures. Andrew noticed.
"During mating season, the male ray will smell his prey from afar. He'll pick her without even interacting, immediately beginning the chase before she knows what's happening." The man in the tv said.
"He'll follow the female ray, chasing her for up to days— trying to bite her fins. Once the male has a good grip, he works to maneuver the female so they are positioned belly-to-belly. The male then bends his body over her, inserting a pair of tube-like sex organs called claspers into the female's body by rubbing himself on her— to transfer his sperm and reproduce." He explained, you chuckled as you leaned back again.
"Sounds fun." You joked. You turned to Andrew, unsure of what you wanted from him. The corners of his lips very slowly rise up. It was almost a smile. Almost was enough for you.
You scratched yourself out on the couch, a sweet smile on your lips. You've expected that what you feel is a crush, a big one. That tiny smile of his just made you confident in your decision. He's the one. But you had to get to know him better. It can't be just a stranger in your bed, in you. You picked someone, now you have to make sure it was the right choice.
All the thinking and the pretty stingray images made you finally slip into sweet, sweet slumber. zzzz You were fine with sleeping on the couch, but I guess Andrew was not. In the state of halfway asleep, you felt him pick you up bridal style. You were very tired to move and you thought it was kind of him, so you let him. He ever so gently placed you back on Craig's bed, your best friend now laying on the floor with a towel as a blanket.
Andrew hovered for a moment, you felt his heat over you. His hand landed ever so slightly on your cheek. You felt how his rough palm pushed your hair back and caressed your neck down to your chest, just above your breasts. His hand made its way down to your legs. His knuckles lightly brushing up and down on your thigh for a few seconds before pulling your nightgown down.
You should have mined but you didn't. What is wrong with you? You don't know him. You met him twice. But he touches you in your sleep and all you think of was how easy it might be to convince him to take your virginity. If he liked you enough to touch you like this, he'd do it. Maybe. You reach over and grab his hand, he pulls away.
Andrew's heart drops. He thought you were sound asleep. He wasn't going to hurt you or touch you beyond the great 'no-go' line. He just wanted to feel your skin. Your young, soft, clean, perfect, untouched skin. You have to be an angel sent from heaven because you're completely unreal to him.
"Thank you, Andrew." You whispered out. It went straight to his cock, truthfully. You saying his real name and not the nickname that made him hate himself... It turned him on enough for him to practically run away. to spend the whole night in deran's empty room, stroking himself dumb as he thinks of you saying his real name. Who is saying these things?? My god...
Three days later, you were back. He felt so guilty after that night. Embarrassed, having done what he did to himself while thinking of you. Especially now, after seeing you again. Perfect little you. He had woken up late, a rare thing— but he had been jerking off to the image of you in his head again and got tired thinking of you. WOAH!! anyways...
He stood behind you, almost next to you. Just looking... You had on a bright yellow 60s mini patterned dress on, matching ballet flats, and those adorable bug tights. They're your favorite, you wear them with everything. Andrew wants to rip them off you and buy a hundred more. *sigh* this is getting out of hand...
You looked like you came straight out of a movie. He was so taken aback by your style every time he saw you. No one he's ever known has ever been so bold. But here you are, embracing the fact that anything goes in California. And you rocked every piece you wore. You sat so fucking pretty on the couch.
You were embroidering on the hem what he guessed is another one of your little dresses, this one in blue. You're so cute. Watching the nature channel, lions on the tv. Something he would watch. The closer he gets the more he feels like running back to deran's still empty room to continue his inappropriate shenanigans. for fuck sakes I need her on me, he thought. These voices need to relax!!
You hadn't noticed he was there, watching you, until a lion started to eat a baby deer on the screen and you turned your head away. That's when you saw him. You didn't jump or get weird out or tell him off. You smiled, again. that's like three, he's counting. Your shoulders relaxed as if he was everything you were searching for.
"Hi, Andrew." You say quietly, as if he was your little secret or something.
"Hi." He doesn't know why his voice changes for you when he speaks. He only ever does that when he's talking to his Lena. The voice of a man trying to show that he means no harm, that he only wants to interact.
"You wanna watch it with me?" You asked him.
"Sure." He says, nodding. You move your bag to the chair he was on the other night so he can sit right next to you on the couch. You wanted him closer. You wanted to feel the heat you felt when he carried you to bed. Andrew sat down, very aware of your thighs touching.
"Where is everyone?" He questions. The house was quiet, very uncommon.
"Deran is at Adrian's again, J just left with Nikki, who cares where Baz is, and Craig was supposed to be here but one of his girlfriends told him she might be pregnant— third time this year." You explained as you very carefully pinned the needle through the fabric.
"Smurf?" He asked, you shrugged. The wicked witch had apparently found someone who can tolerate her enough to take her on a date and she was barely around anymore, according to Baz. *gags*
"Maybe you have a new dad." You joked. Instantly you regret it. It was a dumb joke and you can tell he didn't like it.
"Sorry..." You whispered as you basically hid in your embroidery.
"It's alright, honey." He replied. Honey... holy fuck. no way. no fucking way. somebody sedate me!! The voices are valid right now.
Because your cunt actually had a reaction. Like a physical fucking reaction. Like a heartbeat, just thumping. You pressed your legs together, wanting her to relax. He noticed. You noticed he noticed. fucking mother of mary-kate and ashley... The corners of his lips turned upward, the tiny smile returned. It returned for your very inappropriate behavior.
"Did you hear about the new stingray at the aquarium in Carlsbad?" He asked you, you looked back up at him.
"There's a new one?" You sounded so small as you asked.
"They say it's the biggest one to ever exist, 14 feet." He tells you, he could have drowned in the excited look on your face. He did his research and it was paying off.
"Ugh... and Craig's not here to take me." You complained softly as you looked down again.
"I'll take you." He says.
"Really?" You ask as you try not to look at his beautiful eyes.
"You wanna go now?" He questions.
"Yeah." You said, looking up a little. He stood up so you placed your things aside and stood up too. He stayed there, in front of you, for a few before he moved aside to let you walk ahead. He was fighting the urge to touch you.
The drive there was about 20 to 30 minutes of silence. Andrew didn't play music or talk, not that you minded. You felt comfortable around him, knowing you didn't have to talk as much as when his brothers are around. When you arrived, he opened the door for you. Very gentlemanly of him. When inside, you practically ran towards the big sign that told you where the new arrivals would be.
"They're outside." You said. He gladly followed you around, enjoying how you stop and look at every fish you pass on your way out.
Once out there, you followed the crowd. Next to a big pool, everyone stood on little steps. They looked in as a man with an english accent talked into a microphone. You grabbed Andrew's hand and stepped on, there it was. It was insanely huge like andrew and it swam around gracefully. Did you hear that? No? Okay...
"This beauty came straight from Southeast Asia. 14 feet long, 730 pounds. Record breaking." The English man told everyone. "We've named him BB, for Big Boy."
You laughed. If Andrew could bottle the sound, he would. He'd keep it on his bedside table and hug it when he sleeps. Not that he really does. But if he was holding you, he might sleep forever. Though you probably hadn't even noticed, he did— you were still holding his hand. Yours small compared to his. Skin so soft...
"Now that doesn't mean he's nice. BB here is quite a rude boy. So please be careful not to touch him or the water." The man explained, you leaned back a little. Your left shoulder lightly pressed on Andrew's chest. He wasn't even looking at the stingray, just at you. He leans in a little and smells his hair, he was right. It smells just like he dreamed it would. Sweet and clean.
"We're thinking of getting him a girlfriend, maybe see the mating ritual done in person." The man said. Andrew couldn't get enough of your face and how lovingly you looked at BB.
You spent the rest of the day together. You explored the rest of the aquarium, touching sea stars and watching seahorses grip seagrass. Andrew even bought you a stuffed stingray from the gift shop, even though you told him he didn't have to. He wanted to. He saw how you lit up when you saw it.
You two ate pizza before he took you to get ice cream, vanilla with chocolate sprinkles— your favorite. He got plain vanilla, which said a lot about him. But it was cute. He was almost confused when he saw all the flavors, and the tops were too much. You barely even talked the whole time, you just enjoyed each other's company.
He drove you back to the house. Surprisingly, it was still quiet. The sun was setting and no one had come back yet. Just a text from Craig an hour ago, 'false alarm, no baby'. That's it. Usually Andrew would maybe worry a little but he wanted to be alone with you. He needed to be, for what he was planning next. He felt like a creep. He was about to take a bold step and he was actually praying you wouldn't react in a negative way.
"You wanna play the stingray game?" He asked you as he watched you gather your things on the couch.
"The what?" You question as you look up at him. His heart was about to combust.
"The stingray game." He repeated, his voice cracking.
"What's that?" You ask with a smile, genuine curiosity in your eyes. Oh god, it was working. He caught you on his hook. Now he has to reel you in carefully.
"Someone chases you around and if they catch you, they bite you. Like the mating thing." He explains. You were silent for a moment... please don't leave please don't leave please don't leave, he thought.
"Okay." You said. victory!!!! You stood up and waited for instructions, he couldn't believe this was working.
"I'm gonna chase you, okay? If I catch you, I get to bite you." He told you. you're wet, thinking about his teeth on you ENOUGH!!
"Okay..." You whispered as you took a step back. He smiled. Not a tiny one, a regular closed lip smile.
He could tell you were already playing so he took a step forward. You chuckled as you took off running around the house, he was faster than you thought. You made it all the way out to the backyard and to J's his room. He caught you at the door, his big arms wrapped around your ribs. He lifted you a little as you laughed.
"I got you." He breathes on your ear.
"How are you so fast?" You ask as you try to catch your breath. Your back was pressed against his chest, his racing heart on your shoulder blade.
"Where can I bite you?" His voice was quiet, maybe giving you the chance to ignore him. But you didn't. You held out your right arm, he swallowed deeply. You were actually going to let him bite you. Twilight style.
He gently grabs your wrist and bites down on your forearm. And the unthinkable happened. You moaned... out loud. He stopped, looking at you as he licked his bottom lip. Your eyes were wide and you had no other choice but to laugh, as if it was a joke. It wasn't. You knew that, he knew that. You turned your head away, embarrassment crawling on your face.
"You like that?" Andrew whispers. ahhhhhhhhhh!! fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme I'm getting there, chill!!!
You looked back, stunned. You couldn't talk, you tired. You just slowly nodded your head yes and he leaned down again. This time digging his teeth into your upper arm, again you moaned. You slapped your other hand over your mouth and closed your eyes, you could feel his smile on your skin.
"Yeah?" He asks as he grabs your other hand, taking it away from your lips. "Can I bite you here?"
His fingers softly glazed the crock of your neck. You sighed, knowing it was happening. His mouth was gonna be on you, it was happening. finally! You laid your head back on his shoulder and nodded. He leaned in as close as he could to your neck, his breath sending chills through your entire body— cunt included.
"Words, baby." He whispers. Baby... fuuuuckuhhh!
"Please bite me, Andrew." You say oh so nicely. He wasted absolutely no time, sinking his teeth into your neck. Like a vampire who hadn't eaten in decades.
You stopped fighting yourself and let the moan that was in your core slip out loudly. The sound made his cock twitch and with how hard he was holding onto you, you felt it. You reached back and grabbed a handful of his short hair, pulling as you slightly rubbed your ass on his crotch. He pulled away and turned you around, roughly bringing your lips to his.
He lifted you again, just a little. Enough so the tippy tips of your feet brushed against the ground as he walked into J's his room. You had your arms completely wrapped around his shoulders/neck. You could feel his tongue against your teeth. He tasted like the vanilla ice cream he had and it mixed with the taste of the chocolate sprinkles you ate.
"Andy." You moaned into his mouth, the back of your legs hitting the bed. His head ached at the sound. Andy. Not Andrew, not Pope. An-dy. God, he needed you.
He pushed his knee in-between your leg as he laid you down, your head hitting the plush of the pillow. He laid his entire bodyweight on top of you, pushing your dress up. Now belly to belly, you wrapped your tights covered legs around him as he kissed down your neck. You reached your hands under him and undid his jeans, just pulling them down a little— he let you. You didn't want to have sex, not now— not yet. But you wanted to feel him. You grab onto his ass and push him forward, he groans into your skin.
"Like that, Andy." You told him, feeling just how hard he is. Andrew was more than happy to just let you use him. He would lick the ground you walked on if you asked.
"Yeah..." He breathes out as he grinds against you. He can feel how warm you are through your panties and tights.
He places his hands on either side of your head, smelling your hair without shame this time. You moaned loudly again when he bit your jaw, not hard enough to mark but enough to make you leak through your tights and into his underwear. You move his shirt to try and kiss his neck. He stops for a second, sitting up and ripping open his button up. You smile at the sight of his freckled body.
He lays back on top of you, crashing you but you're not complaining. You kiss and lick and bite all over his neck and shoulder. His hands are all over you, from your ankles to your face. Kissing him felt like seeing the holy ghost in person. He was such a great kisser. His grinding, his touching, his kissing— it made your stomach turn. You had barely kissed others before let alone this. You felt like throwing up, but in a good way.
"You're so perfect." He groaned into your ear, going harder now. The headboard rocked against the wall, he was pushing himself so hard on you... you swear this might just count as losing your virginity.
"Faster." You whined, he happily obeyed.
You've never had an orgasm before. You tried to give yourself one but failed more than once, simply because you didn't have anything to think of. Porn wasn't really your thing, erotic books were great but not enough. But now here's Andrew, just what you needed. And it was the same for him. The only women he slept with were the ones his family paid for. And Cath, but he'd rather not talk or think about that.
"yeahyeahyeah!" He moans softly on your lips. He was close. But he wasn't even gonna think about cumming until you did.
And you were. You felt it. Or at least you felt what you think is an orgasm. Like a rush of pure heat making its way up from your cunt to your chest, your stomach tightening. You placed your hands on his face, looking into his eyes as the heat became worse. You ran your thumb across his mouth. Unexpectedly he took it into his lips and sucked.
That's what drove you over the edge. You threw your head back and ached your back, your vision whitening. You moaned louder than before. Clinging onto Andrew as your legs shake, feeling it pool in your underwear. His arm around your waist, keeping you close. He made sure to ride you out before he let go. Moaning your name as he came, resting his head on your chest.
Neither of you moved. Why would you? This was heaven. Him on top of you. You under him. You had gotten used to his weight, you didn't need oxygen. You stroked his hair, he rubbed your outer thigh. Your cunt and his cock still closer than ever, just letting each other's cum wet the other's underwear. You felt so sleepy. Until he slapped the side of your ass, making you laugh. He kissed your chest, up to your neck. Gentle and sweet.
"Andy." You whispered. The nickname stuck. You couldn't call him anything else and he didn't want you to.
"Yeah, honey?" He replied. You might just have to change your name to honey so he can call you that every hour of every day.
"If this is a one time thing for you, that's fine. But I don't want it to be. I want you. I wanna get to know you. See the good, see the bad. I want you to take my virginity." You told him, he lifted his head and looked you into your pretty eyes. For a moment, he wondered... how did he manage to get a girl so perfect and beautiful and kind, and untouched?
"It's not a one time thing. You're mine now. And I'll take your virginity if you want me to. I promise I'll keep it safe." He says back. You felt your heart flutter like a butterfly.
"I'm yours? Does that mean you're mine?" You ask.
"Yeah." He whispers, another real smile on his face.
"Yeah?" You teased as you ran your thumb across his mouth again. And again, he took it into his lips with a little 'mhm'. He rested his forehead on yours, sucking your thumb slowly.
"Are you fucking joking!?" You both jumped up when you heard someone else talk. Baz. ewwwww!!! fuck off!!!
He stood at the doorway, shocked at the scene. You quickly pushed Andrew off you, just to pull your dress down. You didn't want him seeing something that now belongs to his older brother. Andrew pulled his pants up but left his shirt open.
"Out of everyone, you choose him? I've been trying to get you to let me just touch you for the last two years and the moment our psychotic brother comes home from prison, you open your fucking legs." Baz spat out, Andrew stood up off the bed.
"Go away, Baz. I don't wanna hurt you." He tells him as nicely as he can. Not because he actually didn't wanna hurt his brother but because he didn't wanna scare you.
"Fuck you, Pope!" Baz shouted in his face.
"Yo! What the fuck is all the yelling about?" You all heard Craig from outside, coming over. He saw you on the bed with your hair all frizzy and your lips red, and Andrew's shirt and pants open. He was an idiot but not that dumb.
"Back off, man." He immediately said to Baz.
"You're okay with this?" He asked, Craig shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't be pissy 'cause it wasn't you. Go home to your wife." He answered, Baz scoffed.
"Un-fucking-believable." He cursed under his breath as he left but not before kicking a chair into the pool. Craig turned back to you and Andrew.
"You sure 'bout this?" He questions you, you nod your head with a smile.
"Alright..." He whispers before taking a step closer to his brother. "You hurt her, I'll fucking kill you. I don't care how big and scary you can be."
You chuckled quietly. That's very adorable. He was your best friend and he wanted nothing less than to protect you. You're very grateful for Craig, despite wanting to choke him out most days.
"I won't." Andrew whispers back, Craig nods. He turned to leave then stopped.
"Is that a bite mark on your neck?" He asked then held up his hand, "Forget I asked."
He was quick to run away.
"I don't think you're big and scary." You tell Andrew, he turns to you.
"No?" He asks as he comes back to you, you shake your head. He kisses you sweetly, pushing you back to lay back in the position you were caught in.
synopsis: where everyone is a year after Pittfest. Reader is named but is otherwise nondescript.
warnings/notes: This is the end, folks. This entire story was written to get us through Pittfest. I always intended to end it here, just like this. I appreciate you taking the journey with me. There won't be a sequel as I have so many other projects I want to work on. The series clocks in just shy of 60k
wc: 800+
It takes a long time for your name on Jack and Robby’s skin to return to gold.
Weeks passed before there was even a hint of golden color amongst the blue that indicated your emotional distress. Weeks where you were subjected to every test imaginable. Weeks where you struggled with words, where you gait was unsteady, where you pushed through the worst of it and came out the other side.
Once that golden hue appeared as the merest tint over the melancholy blue, once that healing started, it seemed there was more gold and less blue every day.
Until finally, it was only a brilliant gold that seemed brighter than ever.
That wasn’t to say there still weren’t bad days. Days where one of your names went blue and the other two did everything they could to pull their soulmate out of it. Healing wasn’t linear. You all knew that and did the best you could to remember it when things got hard.
A year had passed since Pittfest. You didn’t return to work for six months after that day, and even then, it was on a limited basis. Shorter hours, fewer days.
The city tried to give you an award for your actions the day of the shooting. You refused repeatedly to attend any sort of ceremony so the mayor met with you in private to give you a handshake and a plaque with your name on it declaring you a savior to the city. As soon as he was gone, you threw it in the trash, Jack and Robby saying nothing, letting you do what you needed. A similar plaque was displayed at the hospital. Hanging in the lobby where it reminded the patients that passed through of what PTMC had done on that horrible day, and where no employees had to see it unless they wished.
Once you left the hospital, it took months before you were comfortable being without Robby, Jack or your dad present. Always needing one of them by your side. Even now, one of them was with you more often than not. You still worked reduced hours in the ED along with helping your father with administrative tasks as he had yet to hire a permanent CMO. Robby and Jack had both emphatically declined the position.
They had also reduced their hours and Jack had moved permanently to day shift as it should have been years ago. Robby was currently training a replacement Chief Attending. He and Jack were shifting into positions with Montgomery Medical and would only be in the ED as needed to cover for employees’ sick leave and vacations. That was still a couple of months out as Robby wanted to ensure his department was left in the best of hands.
Afraid he’d get bored with the reduced hours, Jack joined TEMS. He was a member for exactly one day before his soulmates expressed their displeasure very vocally and he promptly quit.
Jake was around more than ever, usually with Leah in tow. It took a long time for him to be willing to let you out of his sight whenever he was in your proximity. Even now, he still gravitated to you over Jack and Robby. They didn’t take personally. The two of you had gone through a trauma together that they would never understand.
Though they had heard about it in excruciating detail exactly once.
It was a joint session at your therapist’s office. It was your idea, your soulmates perfectly happy never knowing exactly what happened if that’s what you wanted. But you wanted to tell them, and your therapist thought it was important you tell the whole story even if you it was only the one time. So, you recited in detail everything you could remember. Every death. Every wound. Then they held you while you cried and the three of you spent the next three days curled up in one another processing and helping you when you woke from nightmares and screams that weren’t real.
Rick had eventually come to accept that he wasn’t to blame for what happened to his best friend on the worst day of your life. As it turned out, Marcus’ soulmate name on his calf went a dull gray the same day as Pittfest. Rick decided not to wait for his official soulmate as he’d already given his heart to the soulmate he’d found. They were getting married next month.
You and your soulmates didn’t wait that long, the three of you sporting matching wedding bands six weeks after Pittfest. After almost losing you Jack and Robby didn’t want to wait any longer to make you theirs in every way possible. The ceremony, held at your father’s country house, was small and perfect, attended only by your closest friends and family.
And now?
Well, now you woke up every day and looked at the gold names on your skin and thanked the universe that they stayed that way.
