Steve harrington x fem!reader, 1.8k words, Steve is an adorable loser for his gf <3
summary: Everyone loves Steve's girlfriend, but he just wants a little bit of your attention for himself. Is that so bad?
It starts, as many things do, with Dustin Henderson.
You’re curled on the corner of Steve’s couch, your legs tucked under his thigh while he flicks through TV channels. The doorbell rings, and before Steve can even mutter “I’m not home,” the door swings open.
“Hey, is she— oh, there you are!” Dustin beams, dropping his backpack with a thud. "Hi!"
"Hi," you say back, grinning up at him, happy to see him.
He mirrors your smile. “Okay, so I need a second opinion on the naming convention for my new campaign NPC. ‘Zargoth the Destroyer’ or ‘Lord Malador of the Shadowed Vale’?"
"Hmmm, I like Zargoth better. It's more intimidating. Plus, short and sweet, you know what I mean?"
Steve stares, remote dangling from his fingers. “Henderson. My house. A ‘hello’ would be nice. An appointment would be better.”
Dustin waves a dismissive hand. “Hi, Steve. This is important.” He plops down on the floor in front of you, effectively blocking Steve from your line of sight.
It doesn’t stop there.
Two days later, you’re helping Steve sort a mountain of mismatched socks that have just come out of the laundry. Weirdly, it's somewhat of a bonding experience, doing laundry together.
Robin lets herself in, her eyes landing on you like a spotlight.
"Oh, thank God you're here," she breathes.
"Where else would I be?" you joke.
She plops down on the bed, messing up Steve's organised sock piles. He sighs.
“My date with Vickie. At Enzo’s. It’s tomorrow. It’s a real, sit-down, checkered-tablecloth kinda date."
You put down the polka dot socks you were holding to beam at her. "That's amazing, Robin! I know how much you were looking forward to that."
"It is amazing! But it's also a crisis!" She grabs your shoulders, her eyes wide. “What do I wear? Do I go cute? Do I go cool? Do I try for both and risk looking like I’m trying too hard? And my hair— can you braid it?"
Steve holds up two socks that are clearly not a match—one black, one navy. "Hello? We're doing laundry. We were in the zone."
Robin spares him a haphazard glance. "This is important, Dingus." She turns back to you. "Please, I need you. I'm vibrating."
You can't help but laugh. "Okay, okay. I like your outfit now. It's chic, but doesn't look like you're trying too hard. And I can totally braid your hair, but I think it might look better down? Light makeup I can help you with, maybe a little eyeliner on your waterline. I have one I think'd suit you, it's in the bathroom."
Robin tugs on your hand, pulling you up to stand. "You're a genius."
Steve watches, helpless, as you're swept upstairs in a whirlwind of pre-date panic, then back down at his socks. "They're both dark," he mumbles to himself.
The true test of his patience comes during a Friday night movie marathon in the Wheeler’s basement. You’re on the floor, leaned back comfortably between Steve’s knees, his fingers in your hair, scratching absently at your scalp. It’s perfect. It’s your spot.
The movie plays, and Steve is content, his world pleasantly narrowed to the familiar weight of you against him and the scent of your shampoo.
Then, Lucas slides over from his spot next to Mike. He looks desperate. "Hey," he whispers, his voice strained. "I need help. It's an emergency."
You tilt your head back to look up at Steve with an apologetic smile before turning your full attention to Lucas. "What's wrong?"
"I pointed out a zit on Max's face," he confesses in a horrified rush. "I wasn't trying to be mean! I just noticed it! I said, 'Is that a new zit?' and she... she hasn't spoken to me in two hours. She's just been giving me this death glare. What do I do? Do I apologise? Do I ignore it? Do I buy her nail polish? Is nail polish even an apology gift?"
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, but your eyes are sympathetic. "Oh, Lucas. Okay. First, do not buy her nail polish. That implies you're paying way too much attention to her appearance, which is the problem. Buy her new skateboard bearings, she mentioned she needed some. And definitely apologize. Say, 'I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.' Keep it simple."
Lucas nods frantically, absorbing the instructions like they're a military briefing. "Got it. Thanks." He scuttles back to his spot, already planning his approach.
Steve’s hand has stilled in your hair. You feel him take a slow, deep breath behind you.
Before you can settle back against him, you catch Max’s eye from across the room. She gestures subtly with her head towards Lucas and rolls her eyes, but you see the hurt in them.
You give her a small smile in acknowledgement. Mouth, 'he's sorry. He'll make it up to you.'
Then, Dustin’s head appears, blocking the TV. “Okay, one more question about the D&D character convention. If a—”
But Steve has had enough.
He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is a low, soft murmur, tinged with a vulnerability that makes your heart clutch. “Hey, angel... can we get out of here?”
You twist to look up at him. In the flickering blue light of the TV, his expression isn’t annoyed. It’s wistful. A little tired.
“Yeah,” you whisper back instantly, without hesitation. “Of course.”
You gently extract yourself from his hold and stand up, reaching for your jacket. "We're gonna head out," you announce.
A chorus of groans erupts.
“What? Now?” Dustin whines.
"Yeah, I had a question to ask you!" Mike exclaims. "It's, like, life or death. I think the Chief's gonna kill me if I go see El again—"
“You can’t leave, I haven’t executed the apology protocol yet!” Lucas whisper-yells, panicked.
Steve opens his mouth, a familiar, defensive retort about how you’re not a UN negotiator clearly forming. But you step in before he can.
You smile, soft but firm, and slip your hand into Steve’s. “You guys’ll be fine,” you say, your tone gentle but leaving no room for debate. You turn your smile up to Steve, eyes warm. You give his hand a little squeeze. “I want some alone time with my boyfriend.”
The groans taper into scattered laughs. Max sends you a not very discreet thumbs up.
Steve looks down at you, warmth pooling in his chest. He gives you this look of such pure, dazed adoration it makes your heart skip. He doesn’t say a word. He just lifts your joined hands and presses a firm, grateful kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.
“You heard the lady,” he says to the room, his voice light and full of happy energy. “We’re off-duty. Emergencies will have to wait.”
He leads you up the basement stairs, the sounds of the movie and the kids’ renewed bickering fading behind you.
The second the Wheeler’s front door clicks shut, sealing you both in the cool, quiet dark of the porch, Steve stops. He turns, and in the soft glow of the porch light, his expression is completely unguarded—all soft eyes and a tender, wobbly smile.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He wraps his arms around you and sways gently on the spot, his cheek resting against your hair.
“My sweet, perfect girl,” he coos, the words a warm rumble against your temple. "You were so patient with them, solving everyone’s problems.”
He pulls back just far enough to cradle your face in his hands. His thumbs stroke over your cheekbones with a reverence that makes you feel dizzy.
He’s beaming at you, his eyes shining with so much affection it’s almost overwhelming. He leans in and peppers a flurry of soft, quick kisses all over your face—your forehead, your nose, each eyelid, your cheeks—murmuring between each one.
"My smart girl... giving everyone life advice... always being so kind and helpful and perfect..."
He finally lands on your lips, kissing you slow and deep, a kiss that tastes like gratitude and awe. When he breaks away, he’s breathless, his forehead resting against yours.
“I’m gonna melt into a puddle right here on Mrs. Wheeler’s porch,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with feeling. "The way you handle them all, and then you just… you turn those big, beautiful eyes on me and say that? In front of everyone?” He lets out a shaky laugh, his nose nuzzling against yours. “I’m done for. Completely done for.”
He hugs you again, squeezing you tight and lifting you just an inch off the ground. “C’mon, my love,” he says, "let's go to my place. I just want to look at you for a while. Is that okay? I just wanna hold my girl and look at her.”
You laugh, the sound full of softness and affection for your sweet, adorable boyfriend. "It's more than okay. Take me home, please, baby. I'm all yours."
A soft, almost wounded sound escapes him and he hugs you impossibly tighter for a second, his face buried in your neck. "Oh, my heart. You're gonna kill me. You're so perfect."
Steve finally lets you go, but only to take your hand, lacing your fingers together in a grip that feels reverent. He leads you to the car, opening the passenger door for you with a soft, "In you go, gorgeous."
The drive to his house is quiet, but the silence is thick with a new, syrupy sweetness. He keeps your hand in his lap, his thumb stroking incessantly over your knuckles when he's not changing gears.
"Just look at you," he murmurs at one red light, his free hand reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're so beautiful. I can't believe you're mine."
"I am," you remind him softly, leaning into his touch.
"I know," he breathes, like it's the greatest mystery and miracle of his life at the same time, somehow. "I know, baby. And I'm never letting go."
Once home, he doesn't even turn on the main lights. He guides you to the living room couch by the faint glow from the kitchen. He sits down and pulls you into his lap, arranging you so you're sideways, your legs draped over his, your head tucked perfectly under his chin. He wraps both arms around you, letting out a long, contented sigh.
"Here we go," he whispers, his lips against your hair. "Right where I wanted you all night. Just my girl and me."
You hum, a soft, contented sound as you melt into his warmth, all the busy energy of the night finally draining away.
Steve presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You must be so tired, sweet thing," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble in his chest. "Taking care of everyone all the time." His hand rubs slow, comforting circles on your back. "My sweet, exhausted angel."
He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "But you know what?"
"Hmm?"
He tightens his arms around you. "It's okay," he murmurs. "You can help whoever you want, baby. 'Cos when you're done taking care of everyone else..." He presses a fond kiss into your hair. "I'll be right here taking care of you."
summary: you and steve promised a long time ago to never go to sleep angry. imagine your suprise when he breaks that promise.
warnings: angst, arguing, steve is stubborn and a little mean, reader is also stubborn as hell, cursing, he doesn’t in fact break the promise, hurt/comfort, crying, kiss and makeup, happy ending! he still manages to be sweet
word count: 3.2k
Dating with Steve Harrington was bliss, it truly was. He was a kind man, always a loyal gentleman. He was protective and was always there for you – physically and emotionally. He was funny and so incredibly charming.
By definition, he was the perfect man.
But with all of his perfections, he had one singular flaw. His stubbornness.
Steve Harrington was as hard headed as a brick wall.
And you? Well, you could almost give him a run for his money.
Any normal day for you two was loving. Except for today.
Today, Steve seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He claimed you hogged the blankets all night, even though it was his monster feet who kicked them to the floor.
At first it felt like tired bickering. Once the sleep washed away from him and he got a little bit of food in his tummy, all would be well.
Wrong.
At breakfast, you argued about who’s turn it was to do the dishes. You told him everything in the sink was left by him the night before – he argued that your name was next on the chore list.
You argued about how he forgot to make the coffee for the morning. He argued that you could’ve done it too – even though he’s always done it.
You argued over his misplaced keys. Over what time Nancy said to meet at the station. Over who gets to drive – this one was entirely your fault considering you don’t even like to drive, but he was really pissing you off.
The car ride there was spent with your arms crossed tight and your legs tucked into the passenger door – away from his touch – and his fingers gripping the wheel so tight, his knuckles whitened. By the time you two made it into the station, you both angrily agreed not to talk to each other.
It’s pettiness and stress masked as arguments about nothing. The tension between you two was palpable and the group picks up on it quickly.
You’re all standing around the common room, ready to disperse into your own jobs. You and Steve always go with Dustin to monitor Hopper – leaving everyone else back at the station to take care of things.
You’re dreading the idea of sitting in the pre-existing tension between Steve and Dustin, and it doesn’t help the fact that you’re now arguing with him too.
You move to grab your jacket when he speaks up.
“Not you.” Steve says, his voice firm but cold. You blink up at him. “Byers is taking your spot tonight,”
You laugh incredulously. “Wha – Jonathan?”
He nods down at you, zipping up his own jacket. “He knows how to handle the navigation,”
Your face pinches at his answer. “So do I,”
Steve avoids your eyes as he gathers the rest of his things. It’s not because of shame or fear, but from annoyance. “Do you?”
Your eyes narrow and you can feel the fury bubbling in your chest. “Do I?” You repeat. “You know what Steve, you really have to get over whatever bug crawled up your ass today, alright? You’re acting like –.”
Steve cuts you off before you can finish.
“No, do you know what?” He slams his walkie down on the cushion of the couch. When his eyes meet yours, they’re dark and clouded. There’s not a trace of patience or love in them and for a moment, that scares you. “This isn’t about you. Who knows how many more chances we’re gonna get if this goes wrong and the last thing I need is you fucking up the navigation. So for once, I need you to listen to what I’m saying and quit nagging me, alright?”
Everything around you seems to still.
All that you can focus on is the irritation covering your boyfriends face and for the first time, maybe ever, it’s all aimed at you. For whatever reason, he seems to think you’re the root cause of his sour mood today.
So what if you don’t have the best track record with reading the map? Steve’s lived in his town his entire damn life, he should know the streets by now.
It’s not just frustration you feel anymore. Now it’s shame and insecurity and embarrassment. Shame because apparently, you nag him enough for him to remember. Insecure because you couldn’t even guess how long he’s been holding this in. And embarrassed because everyone around you has also stilled – now staring at the two of you like you’re a pair of animals in a cage.
That thought angers you even more.
Your jaw clenches so hard you can almost hear your teeth grinding against each other and you can feel the way your nails dig into the skin of your palms as a way to calm yourself down.
Steve stares back down at you and after a beat of silence, he seems to register exactly what he said. His eyes flutter shut and he sighs, raising his hand to gently grasp your hand.
Your face is steel as you take a step back before he can reach you. You won’t cause a scene and you also won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt you just now.
“You should go then.” You tell him. He grimaces at your cold tone and makes no move to leave.
He says your name gently. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just – just come with and we can –.”
You cut him off this time. “No thanks, I wouldn’t want to fuck up the navigation again.”
Steve’s shoulders deflate when you echo his earlier words.
It looks like he’s ready to say something else but before he can, you’re spinning on your heels and downstairs to the basement to meet with Joyce at the intercom. You can feel his eyes following you as you disappear but not once do you turn or falter.
It didn’t matter what was causing his sudden attitude change. You were done trying to be empathetic and understanding. He wasn’t about to use you as an emotional punching bag – if he didn’t want to be around you then you would give him that.
It’s hours later when Steve finally arrives back at the station. In that time, his voice cracked over the intercom a few times with updates about movements and any military activity. Each time you ignored the pang in your chest and let Robin respond.
The crawl ended up being just another tally mark under the dead end section and you all began to filter home, completely defeated.
Steve didn’t offer any words as you climbed into the car together, but neither did you. It was still tense but not as tense as when he left. His foul mood is still obvious but it’s no longer white hot anger. It gives you a little bit of hope.
When you finally make it home, it’s after 10. He still hasn’t spoken to you but he lets you shower first, and you take the opportunity to try and get rid of your own anger.
You weren’t sure if he really cared it wasn’t your voice he was hearing. It didn’t seem like he cared about your absence in the van, but then again it wasn’t the focus of the night. His earlier words rang in your head.
It’s not about you.
Yet here you were, making it about you.
You’re smart enough to realize his blow up had little to do with you. It was a culmination of stress of the crawls, stress from his newly strained relationship with Dustin, stress from everything. You were just the only constant in his life and it seemed like you were the best thing to take it out on.
It doesn’t make it right, but at least you understand.
Still, you’re annoyed at the very least.
But you two have made a promise years ago – to never fall asleep mad and with the way exhaustion is clawing at you, you’re ready to climb into bed and apologize for arguing all day. It’s nothing a few sweet words and a few more sweeter kisses can’t fix and the more you think about it, the more you crave it.
Fighting with Steve was one of your least favorite things in the world.
You quickly clean your mess in the bathroom and change for bed but when you step out of the bathroom and into your shared room, you freeze.
It’s not the darkness or the quietness that stops you. It’s the fact that Steve is already on his side of the bed, his back turned towards your side and asleep.
That asshole actually fell asleep.
You stand there, five feet away from him, in complete disbelief. It was his stupid idea to promise that and he’s the one who broke it first.
Your newly dissolved anger reignites and this time, it’s scorching. You have to fight the urge to abuse him with your pillow as you look at his sleeping frame. You’ve spent the last few hours trying to think of ways to make up with him and he’s just sleeping.
Your body is tense as you finally climb into bed. You make it a point to leave as much distance between your bodies you can without falling off the bed.
Steve is unmoving as you settle on your side and it angers you even more.
Now it’s not just the arguments from today. It’s everything.
It’s the arguing, it’s his careless words from earlier, it’s the coldness you’ve been getting from him all day, it’s the short temper he’s met you with.
You feel small and almost like you mean nothing to him. It’s a stretch considering all he actually did was fall asleep but damnnit, it’s the principle of it all.
Before you know it, tears are slipping from your eyes and soaking the pillow beneath your cheek. You bite your lip to keep the sounds as muffled as possible because the last thing you want is for him to see you cry.
For the first night in your entire relationship, you don’t want to be anywhere near him.
You’re not sure how much time passes when you finally stop crying.
You feel pathetic for it but it’s not out of sadness – because he didn’t hurt your feelings (he did) – it’s because you’re just frustrated about the whole thing.
He’s laid beside you, peaceful and still as he lets his body loosen and forget all its troubles. All the while, you’ve been lying here crying.
There hasn’t been a second where your frustration has even slightly dwindled. Instead, it keeps building and your exhaustion isn’t helping matters.
The sound of Steve’s slow and even breathing behind you is enough to make you break. You don’t take a second to rethink things before you’re shoving the blankets off of you and snatching your pillow in one hand.
You trudge into the darkness downstairs and throw your pillow against the couch. You pull the blanket that rests over the back cushion and settle into the couch.
It’s achingly lonely down here but somehow it feels better than trying to stay beside Steve. You know you’ll wake up in an even worse mood because of how uncomfortable the couch is. The cushions are lumpy, it’s almost too short for your body, it’s colder down here without the warmth of Steve comforting you.
Still, you force yourself comfortable and take another chance at sleep.
Upstairs, Steve’s subconscious has him flipping over in his sleep and his arms instinctively reach out for you. His hand slides across your side of the bed, ready to grab your waist and pull you into his chest but he feels nothing.
His eyes flutter open at the feeling of emptiness beneath his palm. It takes him a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room but when he finally does, he sees your side of the bed is empty and cold.
He leans up on his elbow then, taking a quick glance at the bathroom but the light is off and the door is shut. He scans the rest of the room but is met with nothing. It doesn’t really register for him until he realizes your pillow is also gone.
He feels his stomach twist with nerves before he pulls himself out of bed.
His feet pad against the hardwood floor of your shared home as he makes his way out of the bedroom. The rest of the house is quiet and dark – he almost worries you left entirely.
He makes his way down the steps, into the living room and that’s when he finally sees you.
Steve feels guilt hit him like a truck when he sees your small frame squished uncomfortably on the couch. You’re lying on your side, knees curled into your chest and a small throw blanket covering your body.
He hates seeing you like this and even more, he hates being the cause of it. He knows without a doubt it’s his fault. He knew what he said earlier was cruel and completely uncalled for – and he didn’t blame you for a second when you chose not to talk to him over the radio.
When he got back and saw how angry you still were, he felt like the best thing to do was give you space. He’d been blowing up over the tiniest things all day, the least he could do was give you time to yourself.
So when he climbed into bed, it wasn’t to break his promise – it actually wasn’t even on his mind. He just didn’t want to overwhelm or upset you even more.
Obviously that was the wrong choice.
His feet pull him towards you and he bends down so he can lift you up. He carefully pulls the blanket from you and slides one arm beneath your neck. He’s ready to slide the other under your knees when you begin to stir.
Your head turns, lashes fluttering against the skin of your cheeks as you try to focus on what woke you up. There’s a softness in your eyes, one personally reserved for your boyfriend and he feels his heart ache at the sight.
But just as fast as it appeared, it’s gone when you blink.
You pull away from his hold and Steve lets his arms fall to his sides.
“What?” Sleepiness laces your voice but he picks up on the anger beneath it.
He swallows and kneels beside the couch so he’s eye level with you. “Come back to bed,” He whispers.
“I’m comfortable here,” You lie easily. Your hands grab the blanket at your feet and pull it back up to cover yourself, just before you shift to turn away from him.
Steve stares at the back of your head for a moment, immediately missing the sight of your beautiful face.
“Baby..” He sighs. He’s ready to argue more but you cut him off.
“I don’t want to sleep next to you, Steve.” Your voice is detached and cold.
His heart cracks at your response.
His ego tells him to walk away. To leave you to deal with your temper tantrum and to enjoy the bed to himself.
He’s never ignored a thought so quickly.
“Then let me sleep on the couch. You go to bed, babe,” He offers softly.
Your anger aimed at him and your exhaustion has you groaning into the air. You twist your head just enough to face him.
“Just forget it, Steve. I want to sleep.”
Steve feels his own stubbornness filter back. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” He says your name firmly – like a parent scolding a child.
You glare at him, your eyes so dark, there may as well be daggers shooing out of them.
“Why not? You were sleeping so peacefully a few minutes ago. Go back and do it again,” You huff before turning your head to face the cushion again.
Steve’s jaw clenches, not from anger but from more guilt. He never wanted to make you feel like this – like you didn’t matter.
Carefully, he moves to sit on the couch with you. You grumble something like go away but he ignores it. He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, and you try to pull away but his hold is firm.
“I’m sorry, baby,” He whispers, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheeks. It’s a little damp and sticky from your earlier tears you didn’t even bother to wipe away. He watches the way you avoid his gaze and the way your jaw ticks. “I shouldn’t have spent all day arguing with you, and I definitely shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I was pissed off about these crawls and the way Henderson’s been acting lately and I took it out on you,” His voice is so soft and gentle – it’s a dangerous contrast to how he spoke earlier. “You didn’t deserve that, baby and I’m sorry.”
Your eyes gloss over again at his apology and you can slowly feel your resolve break. You’re so tired and all you want is to wrap yourself in his arms again.
But you’re still pissed.
“I’m not your punching bag, Steve.” You say firmly. There’s a hint of a waver in your tone but he doesn’t catch it. He nods, his eyes sad and regretful.
“I know you’re not,”
“And you don’t get to take it out on me every time you’re pissed off.”
He nods again. “I won’t, I promise.”
Your eyes narrow, but it’s not as angry this time. “And you’re not allowed to go to bed without me again.”
Steve breaks a smile at your words but quickly tries to cover it, worried you’re not ready to joke with him again. It technically was meant to be lighthearted but the sentiment was serious.
“I’ll stay awake forever if you asked me too, baby,” He responds, his hand gently stroking your skin.
You roll your eyes at his theatrics, but he doesn’t miss the ghost of a smile on your lips.
He leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. He doesn’t try to deepen it – just lets you both feel the other close and intimate. When he pulls away, he leans his forehead against yours. “I really am sorry, baby.” He whispers.
You nod gently. “I know,” You bring your own palm up to his cheek this time and he plants a kiss to your palm before letting himself lean onto your hold.
It’s quiet for a few seconds as you hold each other before you speak up.
“Can you carry me to bed now?” You breathe out, a smile plastered across your face. Steve grins down at you and within seconds, you’re in his arms bridal style. You gasp in surprise from his swiftness and he’s easily carrying you up the stairs.
He plants kisses across the skin of your face the entire way back to bed and once you’re finally settled in, he doesn’t let you go for a second.
summary: when borrowing steve’s car ends in an accident that leaves it completely wrecked, you’re left shaken and terrified of how he’ll react. except when he finds you, it’s painfully clear he couldn’t give a fuck about the damage.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: car accident, totaled car, panicked sobbing, slight bleeding minor injuries, blood on face/hair, guilt, hurt/comfort, comfort, reassurance, overthinking.
“He’s going to kill me.”
The words spill out of you before you can stop them, thin and shaking, ripped straight from your chest.
You barely recognize your own voice. You’re staring ahead, eyes unfocused, fixed on nothing and everything at once. Not the spiderwebbed windshield. Not the hood crumpled inward, steam ghosting up into the air.
All you can see is Steve’s face when he finds out. When he sees the car. His precious car.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman says gently. “Try not to worry about that right now.”
You shake your head, breath hitching. “No, you don’t understand. He’s—fuck—he’s going to lose it.”
Because not even twenty minutes ago, you’d been driving just fine. Careful and hyper-aware, even, because it was Steve’s car. His stupid, perfect red BMW that he loved more than most people, the one he washed by hand and showed off whenever he got the chance to.
The road had been clear, that’s until a cat darted into your headlights, and your body reacted before your mind could, wrenching the wheel to avoid it—sending the car headfirst into the tree instead.
If it weren’t for the passing car that saw the whole thing, for the woman and her daughter pulling over without hesitation, you don’t know what you would’ve done.
Steve’s car, though, was completely fucked. And that thought keeps looping in your head, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else around you.
The woman —who’s name you learned to be Mrs. Dunne—sighs and gives your shoulder a careful squeeze before stepping away. “I’m going to call for help, all right? My daughter’s a nurse. She’ll look at you.”
She hurries across the road toward the phone box, sensible shoes crunching against gravel.
You’re still trying to slow your breathing when the car door opens again.
“I need a number,” she says gently, already leaning across the seat. “Who owns the car?”
Steve’s name sticks in your throat, except you can’t even pull the words out. You point instead. “Glove compartment.”
She finds it quickly — a worn little address book, containing numbers and details— and flips until she nods. “Got him.”
“Hey,” a voice says nearby. “I’m Vickie.”
You look up to find a girl. She can’t be much older than you, short hair pulled back, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.
“Can I take a look at you?”
“I’m fine,” you say immediately, the lie automatic. Then your mouth trembles. “I mean—I’m not fine. But I don’t think I’m that injured.”
Vickie gives a small, understanding huff of a smile. “Okay,” she says gently. “Still gonna check you.”
She guides you toward the back seat of the car—which is much less damaged than the front, one hand hovering near your elbow like she’s afraid to startle you. The air smells like antiseptic and gasoline, sharp and overwhelming your senses.
“I swear I wasn’t speeding,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “The road was clear, and then there was a cat, it just ran out in front of me and I didn’t even think, I just—”
“Hey,” Vickie says softly, crouching in front of you. “Pause. Breathe first. Then talk, alright?”
You try. The breath stutters anyway.
“That’s okay,” she murmurs, already pulling gloves on. “We’ll take it slow.”
She tilts your chin carefully, eyes scanning your face. “You’ve got a split lip and a cut on your temple.” Her voice stays calm. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“I feel sick,” you admit. “But I think that’s just because of… everything.”
“That makes sense.” She presses gauze gently to your forehead.
You hiss despite yourself, tears spilling hot and fast. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says quickly. “Glass scratches bleed a lot. It always looks worse than it is.”
“It is worse,” you choke. “Steve’s going to see this and he’s going to lose it. Oh, God—the car—”
She stills, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Steve’s your boyfriend?”
You nod, but it only makes the lump in your throat worse. The words spill out before you can stop them. “It’s his car. His brand new BMW—which he, by the way, saved up forever for it. He literally paid an insane amount of money for it and shows it off every chance he gets.”
A laugh slips out despite the fear and guilt coursing through you, and you hate it. “I’m dead. I’m actually so dead.”
Vickie gives a small, incredulous smile. “I don’t know your boyfriend, hon,” she says, smoothing the tape down with careful fingers, “but cars can be fixed. People can’t. I really don’t think he’s going to care about the car when he sees you like this.”
“He will,” you say immediately, shaking your head. “He’s gonna take one look at it and just—God. I shouldn’t have borrowed it. I shouldn’t have touched it at all. I should’ve just walked, I—fuck.”
“Well, my mom already called him,” Vickie says softly, not stopping her work. “And she called your friends too. He’s already on his way.”
Your chest tightens at that, panic blooming fresh and hot. “No. Oh my God.” You drag a hand under your nose, trying to breathe around the pressure. “You should go, both of you. You’ve done more than enough, and I really don’t want you here when he—when he sees it.”
The image won’t leave you alone: Steve’s face hardening, his furious rage leading him to probably— rightfully so— break up with you. Your stomach twists at the thought, nausea rolling up hard enough to make you swallow.
Vickie shakes her head before you’ve even finished. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
From across the road, her mom’s voice carries over, firm and unmistakable. “None of that, honey!”
Mrs. Dunne walks back toward you, arms folding like she means business. “We are not leaving you stranded and scared on the side of the road. Not for a second.” She softens just a touch as she looks at you. “We’ll stay right here until your boyfriend or one of your friends gets here. That’s that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dunne.” you smile warmly at her despite the worry churning in your guts.
Time stretches thin and horrible. Every passing car makes your heart jump. Your thoughts spiral tighter and tighter, replaying Steve handing you the keys earlier, the grin on his face, the way he’d said, Be careful, okay? like it was a joke, like nothing bad could ever happen to you—
A sharp screech of tires cuts through the air.
You flinch hard, breath catching painfully in your throat as a truck skids to a stop on the side of the road, door flying open before it’s even fully parked. Steve steps out, and the look on his face steals the air from your lungs completely.
You’ve never seen him look like that. Not angry, smug, or teasing.
Terrified.
His eyes scan the wrecked car, the tree, the road, wild and frantic, until they land on you. His face goes slack with shock and then he’s moving fast, running like the ground is on fire beneath his feet.
Vickie and her mom both straighten. “Well,” Mrs. Dunne says softly, already reaching for you. “That’ll be him.”
They each pull you into quick, careful hugs, murmuring reassurances you barely register.
Then they step back, giving you space, watching until Steve reaches the door and drops to his knees in front of you like his legs have given out.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Hey. Hey—look at me. Fuck—are you okay?”
The Dunnes’ car pulls away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, taillights glowing red before disappearing down the road. The quiet that follows is almost worse as you try to register Steve’s frantic words.
He keeps saying your name, softly at first, then a little louder, but it barely reaches you through the ringing in your ears.
“Hey. Hey—look at me, okay? Baby, c’mon.”
You can’t.
Your eyes stay glued to your shaking hands, to the dark flecks of blood dried beneath your nails. Your chest heaves in sharp, ugly bursts as the sobs finally tear loose, choking and uncontrollable.
“I’m sorry,” you manage, words tripping over each other. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to, I swear, it just happened so fast and I tried to stop and—and I know how much you love it and I shouldn’t have taken it and—”
“Hey.” His voice cuts through, “Hey. Stop.”
Your voice cracks completely. You hiccup on a breath as the words choke out, panic spiraling tighter.
“I know it was stupid,” you ramble, tears blurring everything. “I know it’s your car and it’s new and you worked so hard for it and I ruined it and I didn’t mean to, Steve, I swear it was an accident—”
“—look at me,” he says, low and steady.
Steve’s hands come up suddenly, firm and warm, cupping your face on both sides. His thumbs press just under your cheekbones, forcing your head up despite your instinct to pull away.
Your eyes flicker up at last, red and glassy, breath stuttering.
“Breathe, baby,” he says immediately, softer now. “Just breathe with me. In and out. Come on.”
You suck in a shaky breath.
“Good. Out. Yeah, that’s it. Again.”
You follow him, lungs burning as you inhale and exhale in uneven pulls, his thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes, grounding you.
“That’s it, good job,,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. I’m here.”
Your body trembles again as he studies your face, eyes moving fast, cataloging every mark and every scrape.
“Now,” he says, voice firmer, sharper, like he’s trying to anchor you to reality. “Are you hurt?”
You swallow hard, your throat tight, and the words come out all wrong, tripping over themselves. “No—but your car, it’s—”
Steve’s jaw snaps tight, his hands gripping your face just tight enough to make your skin tingle.
“Did I ask about the goddamn car?” His voice cuts through the trembling air, sharp enough to make your heart drop.
You freeze, the panic climbing higher, and he leans closer, pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to pin you in place—but it’s not dominance, it’s urgency.
“I asked if you’re hurt,” he says again, softer but no less intense. “not the car.”
You look up at him, and it hits you as your stomach drops. The expression on his face, the tension coiled in his body, the raw, frantic light in his eyes—it isn’t anger. It’s terror. Pure, unfiltered, all-consuming fear of losing you.
His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tracks of your tears, and for a second, you see the world mirrored in his eyes—a world where nothing matters but you, and every fierce, frantic care he holds is yours alone.
You shake your head slowly, trembling. “No,” you whisper, voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat. “M’not.”
He exhales hard through his nose, “Does your head hurt? Your temple?” he says gently now.
You sniff, shaking your head again. “No. It stings, but—there was an old woman and her daughter. They saw the accident. The daughter’s a nurse. She helped me.”
Steve nods. “I know. She called me.”
Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his chest suddenly. His arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing hug, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing you so tight to his chest it knocks the air from your lungs.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes into your hair. You cling to him, fingers twisting into his jacket as the last of the sobs shake out of you.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You hear me? Don’t scare me like that. I thought something much worse happened to you.”
In truth, the moment he’d gotten that phone call, his heart had dropped straight through the floor. He hadn’t thought about the car. Not even for a second. He’d pictured you bleeding, broken, or worse; not breathing.
He’d borrowed a truck, hands shaking so badly he could barely turn the key, every worst-case scenario slamming into him one after another.
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead pressing briefly to yours. Then he kisses you, quick and desperate, like he needs to feel you over and over again.
You blink up at him, voice small. “So… you’re not mad about your car?”
His expression softens instantly, the tension melting out of his features. “Mad?” he echoes. “No. God, no.”
He shakes his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. “I don’t give a damn about the car. I can replace it, sweetheart—hell, I can buy another one tomorrow if I wanted.”
You laugh against his chest, still sniffling. “I don’t think you’re that rich, Steve.”
He snorts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Oh, come on. I might not have a Scrooge McDuck vault full of coins, but I can definitely scrape together a replacement BMW. You? Not so lucky.”
You pull back a little, squinting at him through your tears. “Are you seriously laughing right now? I just totaled your baby!”
“I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of you panicking like this,” he says, voice shaking with relief and amusement. “You looked like someone had just told you the world was ending.” His hand slides to your cheek, thumb warm against your skin. “Besides. You’re my baby. Not that damn thing.”
Your throat tightens all over again, heart warming up at his sweet words.
“Now, come on,” he murmurs, shifting closer, careful as he helps you to your feet. “Let’s get you checked out at the hospital.”
You hesitate, glancing down at the gauze. “But Vickie already wrapped me up—”
“I know,” he says softly, squeezing your hand like he needs the contact as much as you do. “I just need to hear it from a doctor, alright? Humor me.”
You nod, letting him guide you toward the truck, his arm never leaving your back, like if he does you might disappear.
steve harrington masterlist
a/n: likes, comments, and reblogs are all highly appreciated <33
summary: summer nights meant hanging out with the group in steves backyard- smoking, drinking, playing games. but when a game of never have i ever gets a little spicy- eddie munson finds himself on a mission to right what he thinks is the ultimate wrongs of the universe. based off of this request by anon
warnings/tags: smut!, unprotected sex, bratty! reader, softdom! eddie, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, the gang bringing the dramatics as always.
masterlist
The string lights swayed overhead like they were in on the joke, casting everything in a warm, slightly blurry glow. Steve’s backyard smelled like chlorine, cut grass, and the joint that kept making its slow orbit around the circle. You were sunk into one of the ancient lawn chairs, the plastic straps digging into your back in a way that somehow felt grounding against the floaty, giggly haze in your head. Everyone was loose-limbed and loud- Steve half sprawled on the grass like he’d melted there, Robin cross legged on a blanket and already talking with her whole body, Nancy tucked against Jonathan’s side with her cheeks pink from the tequila, Eddie draped dramatically across the picnic table like a rockstar who’d lost his stage.
The game had started tame enough an hour ago- “Never have I ever skipped class,” “Never have I ever lied to my parents about where I was”- but the drinks and smoke had done their job. Now it was spiraling into glorious, unhinged territory.
Steve sat up just enough to point his beer bottle at the group like a scepter.
“Alright, my turn again. Never have I ever… gotten high and tried to cook at three in the morning.”
You lifted your bottle immediately. So did Robin, Eddie, and- after a guilty pause- Nancy.
Robin cackled, nearly spilling her drink. “The toaster incident! I stand by it. Pop-Tarts are a perfectly valid midnight meal.”
“You put the Pop-Tart wrapper in the toaster,” Steve shot back, wheezing. “I had to unplug the whole damn thing before the kitchen caught fire. You’re a menace.”
Eddie threw his head back with a theatrical groan. “Amateur hour. I once tried to make grilled cheese at three a.m. while stoned out of my skull. Used a fork. On an electric stove. There were sparks. I named the scorch mark on the wall and we had a funeral for it the next day.”
Nancy was giggling into Jonathan’s shoulder, trying and failing to look dignified. “I made… I think it was supposed to be pancakes? But I used cornflakes instead of flour because the bag looked similar and the labels were blurry. It was… crunchy.”
Jonathan’s quiet laugh rumbled under her. “I remember that. You tried to serve it to me like it was intentional. ‘It’s deconstructed,’ you said.”
“Shut up,” Nancy muttered, but she was smiling.
Robin pointed at you, eyes sparkling. “You drank too! What was your crime against the culinary arts?”
You shrugged, fighting a grin. “Tried to make mashed potatoes but ended up just sticking the potato in the microwave and forgetting to cook it. Bit into a raw fuckin' potato.”
The group lost it. Steve actually rolled onto his back in the grass, clutching his stomach. Eddie sat up so fast he almost fell off the table.
“Legendary. Absolute madwoman.”
Robin wiped tears from her eyes. “Okay, okay, my turn. Never have I ever… had a secret hookup that I never told anyone in this circle about.”
A beat. Then Eddie and Steve both drank without hesitation.
Robin’s jaw dropped. “EXCUSE ME? Both of you? At the same time? Separately? Details. Now. I demand details.”
Eddie grinned, all teeth and chaos. “Relax, Buckley, it wasn’t with each other. Though that would’ve been a hell of a story. No, this was… senior year. Very short-lived. Very ill-advised. She thought I was mysterious. I thought she was hot. We both realized we were wrong by morning. End of saga.”
Steve took a long sip like it might save him from the interrogation. “Mine was… after senior year. Different person. We agreed it was a one-time thing. Haven’t thought about it since. Until right now. Thanks for that, Robin.”
Robin was vibrating. “I hate both of you. I tell you everything and you’re out here hoarding girls like dragons. Unfair. I want names. Or at least embarrassing details. Did anyone cry? Was there a walk of shame? Was it in a car? Be specific.”
Nancy raised an eyebrow, amused. “I feel like we’re one question away from a full confessional.”
Jonathan just shook his head, small smile in place. “I’m staying out of this one.”
Eddie pointed at him. “Smart man. Jonathan knows the value of silence. Unlike some people.” He shot a look at Steve, who flipped him off lazily.
Robin was still going. “I’m circling back to this later. Mark my words. This is not over.”
The laughter died down into comfortable, tipsy quiet for a second, the kind where everyone was just enjoying the buzz and the night air. Then Eddie shifted on the picnic table, rings catching the light as he leaned forward with that signature glint in his eyes- the one that always meant trouble was incoming.
“Alright, my turn again, you beautiful disasters. I’ve been saving this one.” He paused for dramatic effect, looking around the circle like he was about to drop state secrets. “Never have I ever… not come during sex.”
The air shifted just slightly. Steve made a face like he’d tasted something sour. Robin shook her head immediately. Nancy didn’t move. Jonathan stayed still.
You lifted your bottle and took a slow sip.
For three full seconds, nobody said anything.
Then the backyard exploded all over again.
Robin made a noise like a dying seagull and actually fell sideways onto the blanket. “YOU DRANK?! You actually drank?! But you’re- you! How is that even possible? Was it recent? Was it that one guy? Oh my God, tell me it wasn’t that one guy with the weird shoes-”
Steve sat upright, beer forgotten in the grass. “No. Absolutely not. Rewind the tape. You’re telling me some absolute clown had the privilege of being anywhere near you and just… tapped out? Like the job was done for him and he clocked out early? That’s not even selfish, that’s a federal offense. I’m personally offended.”
Eddie had gone very still, the usual manic energy sharpening into something focused and almost offended on your behalf. He stared at you like you’d just announced the end of the world.
“Sweetheart. No. We’re not doing this. Who the fuck was it? Give me a name, a description, a license plate number- I’m not picky.”
Nancy blinked rapidly, her analytical brain clearly fighting the tequila. “I… okay. That’s surprising. From you. Are you- I mean, obviously it wasn’t great if- wait, that came out wrong. Do you want to talk about it? We can talk about it. Or we can drop it completely. But also we’re all very invested now, so. Your move.”
Jonathan’s voice was quiet but sincere under the chaos. “That really sucks. Like… actually sucks. Sorry that happened.”
The questions started flying, voices overlapping in drunk, protective, nosy waves.
Robin, half-sitting up again- “Was it bad-bad or just ‘eh’ bad? Did you fake it or just lie there like ‘well, this is happening’? Because I have strong opinions about faking it and I need to know if I should be adding this person to my shit list-”
Steve, pointing dramatically- “On a scale of one to ‘I want to key their car and also their life,’ how bad are we talking? And do I need to go do recon tonight or can it wait till I’m sober?”
Eddie, already in full dramatic mode- “I’m in mourning. Actual mourning. The concept that you have experienced subpar anything and didn’t immediately tell us so we could form a council of war? Rude. Disrespectful. I demand emotional damages.”
Nancy, trying to sound reasonable while clearly spiraling a little- “Statistically it happens more than people admit, especially if there’s alcohol or if the other person’s… not great at listening. But still. You? Really? Do you want advice or just… collective judgment of this mystery idiot?”
Jonathan, dry as ever- “Or we can just sit here and roast them in silence. That’s also an option.”
Eddie was still staring at you, something unreadable flickering behind the theatrical bullshit. Steve looked ready to stand up and demand an address. Robin was vibrating with secondhand outrage and best-friend protectiveness. Nancy had that little crease between her brows. Jonathan just watched you, steady in the middle of the storm.
The game was forgotten.
The night, however, felt like it had just cracked open.
The group was still staring at you, the night air thick with weed smoke and the kind of drunk, high curiosity that made everything feel like the most important conversation on earth.
You shrugged, keeping it short because the buzz in your head made long explanations feel impossible.
“It was that guy I went on a couple dates with. He got his and that was it. Didn’t really care if I did or not. It just… didn’t happen for me. I didn’t make it a thing.”
Silence for half a second.
Then the backyard lost its collective mind all over again.
Robin made a noise like she’d been personally stabbed. “He what?! He got his and just- rolled over?! Like a fucking seagull that stole a fry and flew away?! I’m going to kill him. I don’t even remember his name but I’m going to find him and I’m going to-”
Steve sat up so fast he almost face-planted in the grass. “No. Nope. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. You don’t just- Jesus Christ, what a fucking loser. I’m actually angry. Like, real anger. My blood pressure is up.”
Nancy’s voice was tight, the tipsy analytical tone cracking into something sharper. “That’s not even selfish sex, that’s just… using someone. That’s unacceptable. I’m sorry that happened to you. Really.”
Jonathan just shook his head slowly, quiet but firm. “Guy sounds like an asshole. You deserved better than that.”
But Eddie-
Eddie went very, very still.
The manic energy that usually lived in his hands and his voice had narrowed into something focused and almost dangerous. He slid off the picnic table in one fluid motion, boots hitting the grass with a soft thud, and crossed the circle until he was crouched right in front of your chair. Close enough that you could see the way the string lights caught the silver in his rings, the faint scar on his bottom lip, the way his dark eyes had gone hot and serious in a way you’d never seen directed at you before.
His voice came out low, rough around the edges from the smoke and the drinks.
“No. Fuck that. That’s not okay. That’s not even in the same zip code as okay.” He shook his head once, hard, curls falling into his face. “You’re telling me some mediocre, selfish little shit got to touch you- got to have you- and didn’t even have the decency to make sure you came? That’s not a mistake. That’s a crime. And I’m taking it personally.”
He reached out, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted, and rested one warm, ring-heavy hand on your knee. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your jeans, barely there, but the touch lit up every nerve ending like a live wire.
“I’ve always liked you,” he said, voice dropping even lower, just for you even though the whole group could hear. “Like… liked you. I’ve thought about you a lot. More than I should’ve. Way more.”
Robin made a tiny, high-pitched noise somewhere behind him. Steve muttered “Oh shit, he’s really doing this,” but didn’t sound mad about it.
Eddie didn’t look away from you. His hand stayed on your knee, thumb still moving in that slow, deliberate stroke.
“And now I find out some asshole left you hanging? Nah. Not happening. Not on my watch.” His mouth curved into something that was half grin, half promise. “So here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. I’m making it my personal fucking mission to give you an orgasm so good you forget that guy’s name, his face, and the entire concept of bad sex. If you’ll let me.”
He leaned in closer- his lips just shy of your ear- his whispering voice turning darker, flirtier, filthy in that Eddie way.
“I’d take my time. None of that ‘get mine and dip’ bullshit. I’d learn what you like. What makes your breath catch. What makes your thighs shake. I’d use my mouth, my fingers, my cock- whatever you wanted, however long it took. I’d make you come so many times you’d be begging me to stop… or begging me not to.” His thumb pressed a little firmer against your knee. “And I’d enjoy every second of it. Because I’ve wanted to hear you fall apart for a while now. And I’m really fucking good at getting what I want when I decide something matters.”
The group had gone mostly quiet behind him, the air crackling with secondhand tension and drunk fascination.
Robin whispered, “Holy shit,” like she was watching a car crash in slow motion and couldn’t look away.
Steve cleared his throat. “Munson, you’re really out here shooting your shot in front of all of us? Bold. I respect it. But also… maybe give her a second to answer before you start planning the victory lap?”
Nancy’s voice was a little breathless. “I mean… he has a point about the mission part. The delivery could use work, but the intent is… surprisingly pure? In a very Eddie way.”
Jonathan just gave a low, amused hum. “He’s been staring at you for months. We all noticed. This isn’t news.”
Eddie didn’t even glance at them. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and hungry and suddenly very, very serious under all the theatrical bullshit.
“So?” he asked, voice soft but rough, thumb still stroking slow circles on your knee. “You gonna let me fix it? Or you gonna make me work for it first? Because I’m good with either. I like a challenge. And I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for a long time.”
The open backyard felt smaller suddenly. Just his hand on your knee, his voice in your ear, the way the buzz in your head made every word feel heavier, hotter, more inevitable.
And Eddie Munson was looking at you like he’d already decided you were the only thing that mattered tonight.
You didn’t even hesitate. The buzz made everything feel simple, inevitable.
“Okay,” you said, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah. I’m in. Fix it.”
Steve made a noise behind Eddie as Robin excitedly poked him in the ribs.
“Oh my God. No. Nope. Absolutely not. I am begging you two. Not here. Not tonight. Not while we’re all sitting in my backyard like this. The pool does not need to see whatever the hell is about to happen. I’m serious. Take it inside later. Or tomorrow. Or never in front of me. I’m begging. On my knees. Metaphorically. Please.”
Eddie threw his head back and laughed- loud, bright, delighted, the sound cutting through the night air like it belonged there. He didn’t even look at Steve. His eyes stayed on you, dark and shining, like Steve’s panic was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.
You tilted your head at Eddie, feeling bold and bratty and loose from the weed and the tequila and the way he was still touching your knee like he owned the right.
“You better mean it, Munson,” you said, voice light but edged with challenge. “You talked a real big game just now. Don’t pussy out on me later. I hate when guys talk shit they can’t back up.”
Eddie’s laugh cut off like someone had flipped a switch.
For a second he just looked at you- really looked- and something in his expression shifted. The hunger that had already been there sharpened into something hotter, darker. His pupils blew wider. His hand on your knee tightened, fingers flexing once like he was physically holding himself back from doing something stupid in front of everyone. He liked that. The brattiness. You could see it in the way his jaw flexed, in the slow, dangerous little smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth before he schooled it back into something cocky.
He didn’t say anything about it out loud. Just let the moment hang there, thick and electric between you.
Steve was still muttering prayers under his breath. Robin had her face buried in her hands, peeking through her fingers like she was watching a horror movie she couldn’t look away from. Nancy looked equal parts scandalized and fascinated. Jonathan just raised his eyebrows and took a very long, very deliberate sip of his beer like he was pretending he wasn’t there.
Eddie finally dragged his gaze away from you long enough to glance at Steve, still grinning like the devil himself.
“Relax, Harrington. I’m a gentleman. Sometimes.” He gave your knee one last slow squeeze before finally- finally- pulling his hand back. But he didn’t go far. Instead he dropped down onto the grass right beside your chair, close enough that his shoulder pressed against your leg, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him through his jacket. He leaned back on his hands like he had no intention of moving for the rest of the night.
The group, blessedly, took the hint and started bullshitting again- Robin launching into a rant about some customer at the video store who tried to return a tape with peanut butter on it, Steve jumping in with his own horror stories, Nancy adding dry commentary that made everyone laugh. It was easy, familiar noise. The kind that usually filled nights like this.
But Eddie stayed exactly where he was.
Close.
His shoulder stayed pressed to your leg. Every so often his hand would drift back- casual, like it belonged there- resting on your calf, or brushing against your ankle when he gestured while talking to the group. When the conversation got loud he’d lean in a little, voice dropping just for you.
“You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmured at one point, low enough that only you could hear, the words curling warm against your ear. “Good. I like that.”
Later, when Robin was mid-story and everyone else was distracted, he tilted his head back against your chair and looked up at you through his lashes, voice even quieter.
“Still thinking about what you said. The way you said it.” His fingers traced one slow line along the seam of your jeans, barely there. “Bratty looks good on you. Real good.”
You knew it.
He didn’t push it further. Didn’t drag you off into the house or make good on any of the filthy promises from earlier. Not yet. But he stayed glued to your side for the rest of the night- laughing at the group’s bullshit, throwing in his own dramatic commentary, passing the joint when it came around again. Every time someone wasn’t looking his hand would find its way back to you. A thumb stroking slow circles on your knee. Fingers hooking lightly around your ankle. Once, when the laughter got loud, he turned his head and pressed his mouth to the side of your thigh through your jeans- just a quick, hot press of lips and teeth that no one else saw.
The night kept spinning around you in a haze of smoke and laughter and string lights.
But Eddie Munson didn’t move from your side.
And every time you glanced down at him, he was already looking back- dark eyes full of heat and something dangerously close to a total loss of control.
The house had gone quiet.
Everyone drifted off one by one- Steve muttering something about “no sex in my backyard” under his breath as he headed inside, Robin still giggling about the night’s chaos, Nancy and Jonathan disappearing into one of the guest rooms with quiet goodnights. You tried to sleep in the room Steve had given you, but your head was too loud, your body too wired from the weed, the tequila, and the way Eddie had stayed glued to your side all night.
So you slipped outside again.
The backyard was cooler now, the string lights still glowing faintly. You lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the house, letting the first drag burn slow in your lungs.
Eddie was already out there.
He was sitting on the picnic table, boots on the bench, a cigarette of his own between his fingers. He looked up when the door clicked shut, and the second your eyes met, the air changed.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and crossed the space between you in a few long strides.
The kiss was immediate and rough.
His mouth crashed into yours like he’d been holding back for hours. One hand slid into your hair, gripping tight at the roots, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he walked you backward until your ass hit the edge of the picnic table. You gasped into his mouth and he took full advantage, tongue sliding deep, teeth catching your bottom lip. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was exactly what the tension between you had been building toward all night.
When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, voice low and ragged.
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
You shook your head.
His hands stayed on you- one still fisted in your hair, the other sliding under your shirt to grip bare skin at your waist.
“Do you know what you like?” he asked, voice rough. His thumb stroked once over your hipbone. “Be honest with me.”
You swallowed, pulse hammering. The bratty edge from earlier was still there, loosened by the night and the way he was looking at you like he wanted to ruin you.
“I think I like it rough.”
Eddie’s eyes darkened. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.
“Yeah?” He gave your hair a deliberate tug, just enough to tip your head back. “Good. ‘Cause I like you bratty. Mouthy. Makes it hotter when I get to shut you up.”
He kissed you again before you could answer- harder this time, rougher- and then he was lifting you onto the picnic table like you weighed nothing. The wood was cool under your thighs through your jeans. He stepped between your legs, hands already working your button and zipper open with impatient fingers.
“You gonna be good for me?” he murmured against your mouth, even as he shoved your jeans and underwear down your thighs in one rough motion. “Or you gonna keep running that mouth?”
You couldn’t help it. The brattiness slipped out easy.
“Depends. You gonna actually do something, or just talk about it all night like you did earlier?”
Eddie laughed- low, dark, delighted- and the sound went straight between your legs.
“There she is.”
He pushed you back until you were lying on the picnic table, the string lights blurring above you. Then he dropped to his knees on the grass between your spread thighs like he belonged there.
The first drag of his tongue was slow, deliberate, almost teasing. Then he groaned against you like he’d been starving for it, and everything got rougher. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in as he held you open. He licked and sucked with focused intensity, tongue working your clit in tight, relentless circles before dipping lower. When you tried to squirm, he growled and pinned your hips down with one forearm across your stomach.
You couldn’t stay quiet. Couldn’t help the way your hips tried to rock against his mouth.
“Fuck- Eddieeee-”
He pulled back just enough to speak, voice wrecked and smug.
“Still mouthy. Good.” He nipped at the inside of your thigh, sharp enough to sting. “Keep talking, sweetheart. See what happens.”
Then he went back in- hungrier this time. Rougher. Two fingers pushing inside you without warning while his mouth stayed locked on your clit, sucking hard. The stretch burned in the best way. He curled his fingers just right, fucking you with them in time with the relentless drag of his tongue, and the picnic table creaked under you.
You reached down, fingers twisting into his hair, and tugged. Hard.
Eddie moaned against you like you’d given him a gift.
“Yeah,” he rasped between licks, voice muffled and filthy. “Pull it. Be as bratty as you want. I’ll just make you come harder for it.”
He didn’t let up. Didn’t slow down. He ate you like he had something to prove- tongue relentless, fingers rough and deep, the hand not inside you gripping your thigh so tight you knew you’d have marks tomorrow. Every time you got mouthy- every gasped “fuck you” or “is that all you got?”- he responded by being meaner with his mouth, rougher with his fingers, until your back was arching off the table and your thighs were shaking around his head.
The orgasm hit hard and sudden, ripping through you with a broken sound you couldn’t bite back. Eddie didn’t stop. He worked you through it, tongue gentler now but still moving, fingers slowing but not pulling out until your whole body went limp against the wood.
Only then did he lift his head.
His mouth was shiny, eyes blown black, curls messy from your hands. He looked wrecked and triumphant at the same time.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned up to kiss you- slow and deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.
“See?” he murmured against your lips, voice hoarse. “Told you I’d fix it.”
His hand was still between your legs, two fingers still buried inside you, lazily stroking like he wasn’t done yet.
“And we’re just getting started.”
Eddie didn’t give you much time to come down.
He stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then his hands were on your hips, flipping you over so your stomach pressed against the cool wood of the picnic table. The position was sudden, a little rough, exactly the way you’d told him you liked it. Your jeans were still around your thighs, keeping your legs close together as he kicked your feet a little wider.
“Stay just like that,” he muttered, voice wrecked.
You heard the clink of his belt, the sound of his zipper. Then the hot, heavy drag of his cock against your ass as he leaned over you, one hand braced on the table beside your head.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he breathed against your ear. He rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, teasing, not pushing in yet. “All this from my mouth? Or you been thinking about this since I had my hand on your knee earlier?”
You pushed back against him on instinct, trying to get him inside. He laughed softly and pulled his hips back.
“Uh-uh. Not yet.”
“Fuck you.”
“Trying sweetheart. But someone's impatient even though she just got what she wanted. Didn't she?”
“Need more.”
“Ah ah- don't be greedy.” He growled and your cunt clenched down in reaction. You had a taste and you needed everything.
He kept teasing- slow drags of his cock over your clit, the tip catching at your entrance before sliding away again. Every time you tried to rock back or get mouthy, he’d grip your hip harder and hold you still.
“Eddiee-”
“Yeah?” He sounded way too pleased with himself. “Something you want?”
You twisted enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still a little breathless. “Stop fucking around and put it in already.”
His laugh was low and dark. “There’s that mouth.” He finally notched the head at your entrance and pushed in slow, stretching you open inch by inch until his hips were flush against your ass. The groan he let out vibrated through both of you.
He started fucking you in long, deep strokes- rough enough that the picnic table scraped against the grass and the edge bit into your waist with every thrust. One hand stayed on your hip, the other sliding up your back to fist in your hair, pulling just enough to arch your spine.
It felt good. Too fucking good. You were still sensitive from his mouth, and every drag of his cock hit exactly right. Your breathing got ragged fast.
Eddie noticed.
He slowed down immediately, hips rolling in these deep, grinding circles instead of the hard pace from before. “Not yet,” he said, voice tight like he was holding himself back too. “You don’t get to come until I say.”
You made a frustrated sound and tried to push back harder. He tightened his grip in your hair and gave one sharp thrust that made your vision blur, then went right back to that slow, torturous grind.
“Eddie, come on- ”
“Beg nicer,” he teased, even as his voice cracked a little. “Or keep being a brat. I like both.”
He edged you like that for what felt like forever- fucking you hard and fast until you were right on the edge, then slowing down or pulling almost all the way out until the feeling faded. Every time you got close he’d laugh under his breath and call you a brat, and every time you snapped back at him he’d reward you with a few brutal thrusts that made your legs shake.
The last time he pulled you right to the edge and held you there, you were shaking, forehead pressed to the table, cursing him under your breath.
“Please,” you finally bit out, voice wrecked. “Fuck- please, Eddie- ”
“Yeah,” he groaned, like the word broke something in him. “That’s it.”
He fucked you hard after that- fast, rough, the hand in your hair pulling tight as his other hand slid around to rub tight circles over your clit. You came with a broken sound, whole body locking up. Your vision whited out and your ears were ringing.
And then you were squirting- sudden, hot, and completely unexpected. It splashed against his thighs and the front of his jeans, your cunt pulsing hard around him as the orgasm ripped through you.
Eddie made a shocked, punched-out noise behind you, hips stuttering.
“Fuckin’- holy shit- Jesus Christ-”
You were still coming, still gushing with his fingers locked on to your overstimulated clit. The sound he made was half groan, half stunned laugh. He kept fucking you through it, short and desperate, until he pulled out at the last second and came across your lower back with a low, broken curse.
For a second neither of you moved. Just the sound of both of you breathing hard in the quiet backyard.
Then Eddie let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.
“Did you just-?”
You twisted enough to look back at him, equally stunned, face hot. “I- I didn’t know I could do that.”
He was staring at the mess on his jeans and your thighs like he’d witnessed a miracle. Then he started laughing harder, the sound bright and a little wild. You couldn’t help it- you started laughing too, the two of you cracked up and messy and still half-dressed against the picnic table in Steve Harrington’s backyard at god-knows-what hour.
Eddie leaned down and kissed the back of your shoulder, still grinning against your skin.
“Jesus Christ. We’re doing that again. Like… soon. A lot.”
You were both still giggling as he helped you up, using his shirt to clean you both up as best he could. Your legs were shaky. His hands were gentle now, the roughness from earlier softened into something careful as he pulled your jeans back up and tucked himself away.
“Come on,” he murmured, still smiling. “Before Harrington comes out here and actually murders us.”
You snuck back inside quietly, shoes in hand. Most of the lights were off. Eddie didn’t even pretend to go to a different room. He followed you into the guest room Steve had given you, shut the door behind him, and pulled you straight into the bed with him.
The sheets were cool. His body was warm. He kicked his jeans the rest of the way off and tugged you against his chest, one arm slung heavy around your waist. His rings were cool against your skin where his hand rested under your shirt.
Neither of you said much. Just quiet breathing, the occasional soft laugh when one of you remembered the picnic table, and Eddie pressing lazy kisses to the top of your head.
You fell asleep like that- tangled up in him, still tasting him on your tongue, the faint ache between your legs a reminder of exactly how thoroughly he’d kept his word.
The morning light was already leaking through the curtains when you woke up. Eddie was still half on top of you, one arm slung heavy across your waist, curls a complete disaster against the pillow. He made a low, sleepy noise when you tried to move, pulling you closer instead of letting you up.
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled into your shoulder.
You stayed like that a little longer anyway.
Eventually the smell of coffee and something sweet pulled you both out of bed. You threw on yesterday’s clothes- Eddie stealing your hoodie since he really can't eat breakfast in a cum covered shirt- and headed downstairs together.
Steve was in the kitchen in an apron that said “Kiss the Cook” like an asshole, flipping pancakes with the focus of a man on a mission. The rest of the group was already scattered around the table and island- Robin perched on the counter, Nancy nursing coffee, Jonathan quietly scrolling on his phone. They all looked up when you and Eddie walked in.
The staring started immediately.
Robin’s eyes narrowed. Nancy raised one eyebrow. Jonathan’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. Steve didn’t even turn around from the stove, but you could feel the judgment radiating off him.
Robin was the one who broke first.
“Okay, so… why is Eddie’s shirt literally just lying by the picnic table outside?” she asked, way too casually. “Like, full-on abandoned. We found it this morning. It was just… there.”
You couldn’t help it. You laughed- short and bright and a little guilty. Eddie muttered “Hope you didn't touch it.” under his breath, low enough that only you could hear it.
Steve finally turned around, spatula in hand, and gave you both the most exhausted dad look imaginable.
“I heard you last night,” he said flatly. “Both of you. Through the window. My window. The one that faces the backyard.”
You groaned and dropped your face into your hands.
Eddie, the traitor, just grinned and stole a piece of bacon off the plate Steve had already started stacking.
Robin pointed at you with her coffee mug. “So wait. Does this mean the game from last night is officially over? Like… mission accomplished?”
Nancy actually looked a little proud. “Glad your little problem is fixed.”
Jonathan just nodded once, quiet but sincere. “Good for you.”
Steve flipped another pancake with unnecessary force. “I’m not saying I’m happy about the volume, but… yeah. Congrats on finally coming during sex. Truly. We were all rooting for you.”
Robin raised her mug like she was toasting. “To finally getting to finish during sex!”
Eddie slung an arm around your shoulders, smug as hell, and pressed a loud kiss to the side of your head.
“See?” he said, way too pleased with himself. “Told you I’d fix it.”
You elbowed him in the ribs, but you were smiling anyway.
Steve just sighed and started plating pancakes.
“Sit down and eat before I change my mind about feeding any of you.”
summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader
warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint
notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂↕️
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
masterlist
“Ew.”
The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.
You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.
“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.
McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.
“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.
You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.
After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.
“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.
“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.
“They’re raspberry flavoured.”
“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”
You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.
He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.
You: Are you coming in early today?
JA ❤️: Always.
You quickly typed out another message.
You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible
The reply came almost instantly.
JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.
You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.
JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.
You: are you psychic?
JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.
Your smile widened as his reply came through.
You: thank u 🩷
JA ❤️: 👍
“What are you smiling at?”
You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”
“Nothing.”
Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.
Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”
“What?”
“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.
“That?” Whitaker supplied.
“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”
You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”
Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”
You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”
Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”
Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."
You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.
“Never give your triggers away Santos.”
“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.
You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.
You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.
“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.
“You all good?”
“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”
“Not for a little while.”
“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”
“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”
You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”
Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”
You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”
“Apparently so.”
You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.
Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.
“Hey.”
You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.
“What?” You asked warily.
Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”
“The what?”
Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.
“Absolute smoke show.”
Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”
Your brows knitted together.
“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.
“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.
You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.
At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.
And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.
“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.
You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.
Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.
Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.
“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”
By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.
“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”
Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.
“Well I’ll be.”
That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.
“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”
Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.
“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”
“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”
“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.
He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.
"Someone has to."
Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.
“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.
"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.
“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.
“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.
Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"
Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.
"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"
"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"
"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."
McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.
Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”
You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.
“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”
You snorted. “Please.”
“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”
You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”
He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."
He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”
You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”
“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."
"No."
"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”
“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”
"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.
“Wait let me guess.”
Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.
His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”
He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”
From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”
Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.
Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.
For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.
Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”
Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.
“I’m right."
You didn't answer.
"I am."
“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”
“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”
“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”
Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."
"He also has excellent aim."
"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."
And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.
"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.
“You’re happy?”
You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.
“I am.”
“He good to you?"
You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”
Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”
For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.
You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”
“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.
"So the usual then?"
“The usual.”
He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”
“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."
Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”
“Sloan.”
The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.
Mark's grin returned instantly.
“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.
"A lot less hair since I last saw you."
Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”
Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.
Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.
“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”
“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”
“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”
Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.
“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”
Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”
McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”
“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.
Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”
The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."
Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.
“You two know eachother?”
“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.
“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.
Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”
You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.
“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“
“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."
Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."
“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”
Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.
You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.
He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.
"Ex?"
You sighed. "...Ex."
Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”
“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”
Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.
You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.
“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.
Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.
You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.
When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.
“Don’t you dare say a word.”
She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”
You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.
For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.
By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.
“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”
You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.
“The old lady with the chest pain?”
“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.
You frowned. "That sucks."
“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.
“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."
Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”
Your eyes narrowed.
"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.
"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."
"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.
"I hate all of you."
Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"
Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.
You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.
You waited a couple minutes before moving.
The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.
A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So… that’s your ex.”
“That’s my ex.”
He nodded. "You left out a few details."
"Such as?"
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.
“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”
Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"
Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."
Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”
“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”
“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”
“You’re not.” You insisted.
Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”
“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.
Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.
"Jack."
"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”
You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.
“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.
“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.
“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”
You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”
Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.
“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”
His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”
“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”
The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”
“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”
His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”
Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.
“Well, lucky for him it worked.”
The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.
He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.
“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”
You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”
“Yes.” He answered plainly.
You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”
Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”
You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”
Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”
Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.
“Did you eat?”
You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”
Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”
“I will.”
“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”
Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”
“Of course.”
You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”
His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.
“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”
You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.
You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”
You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.
“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”
Jack raised a brow.
“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”
“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.
“I know I am.”
“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.
You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.
Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.
As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍
Warnings: friends/coworkers to lovers, established mutual feelings, fluff, drunk reader, whipped Jack.
Summary: Jack decides he’s done hiding exactly how whipped he is for you.
After a brutal week of work, your shift crew was letting loose, trading complaints about management and downing cheap drinks.
But Jack wasn't paying attention to any of them.
He was leaning against the table, a half empty beer in his hand, with his gaze entirely on you. You were sitting across the table, throwing your head back as you laughed at a joke someone just made. The warm ambient lighting of the pub caught the edge of your smile, and right then, something shifted heavily in Jack’s chest.
God, she’s easily the most beautiful person in this room, he thought, a sudden clarity hitting him.
It wasn't just a fleeting work crush anymore, and he knew it.
Watching the way you effortlessly commanded the space around you, he realized he was completely done for.
He found himself thinking past the walls of the bar, imagining what it would be like to be the one walking you to your front door tonight. He’d willingly play the perfect gentleman, do whatever it took, even charm your mom if he ever got the chance to meet her; anything just to ensure he got to stay in your life.
The mere thought of a future with you, spoken out loud or just kept in his head, made his heart race.
As if feeling the weight of his stare, you turned your head. Your eyes met his, and your smile softened into something private, just for him.
Jack didn’t look away. Instead, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
The music in the bar shifted to something with a pulsing beat, and a few people from the shift immediately dragged you out toward the cramped dance floor.
Jack stayed at the table, but he didn't join the conversation around him. His eyes followed you through the lights. He watched the way you moved, the unbothered laugh on your lips, and the way you completely shook off the stress of the past week.
Every second he spent watching you only hammered the realization deeper into his chest.
When a song ended, you made your way back, flushed and laughing. The drinks had fully caught up to you by now, leaving your mind pleasantly fuzzy and your movements a little loose.
Instead of reclaiming your original seat, you slid straight into the tight space right next to Jack.
The moment your hip met his, his hand slid effortlessly around your waist, his palm warm as he pulled you against his side. The warmth of your body radiated through his clothes, and because of the alcohol blurring your usual boundaries, you happily let yourself sink heavily into him, leaning your head back against his shoulder and looking up with slightly unfocused eyes.
"Too much dancing?" he murmured, dropping hus voice so only you could hear him over the bar’s bass.
"Maybe a little," you hummed, a smile playing on your lips. "Or maybe it's the drinks."
"You're a lightweight," he teased softly. As the words left his mouth, he leaned his head down and pressed a kiss right against the bare skin of your shoulder, his lips were warm against your skin.
A shiver ran down your spine, and you let out a soft giggle, shifting even closer until there was absolutely no space left between you. You reached up, your fingers playfully tugging at the lapel of his jacket. "Are you being sweet to me, Jack?"
"I can be whatever you want me to be," he replied without a hint of hesitation, his hand at your waist gently squeezing. He was completely dialed into you, entirely forgetting that you two weren't alone.
Across the table, a few looks were traded. A couple of eyebrows went up. One of the paramedics cleared their throat loudly, a massive smirk spreading across their face.
"Uh, Jack? You want us to leave you two alone?"
Jack blinked, fucking finally remembering the rest of the world existed. He looked up, catching the knowing grins of the entire shift crew staring.
Anyone could see it: the way he was holding you, the softness in his eyes, the absolute focus he had on you. He was totally whipped, and there was absolutely no denying it anymore.
Instead of pulling away or getting defensive, Jack just looked down at you, seeing the faint, beautiful flush on your cheeks. He chuckled, his arm adjusting around your waist.
"Mind your business," Jack said to the table, not a single bit of shame in his voice. "I'm minding mine."
Before anyone could even process his words, Jack turned his head down toward you. His hand slid from your waist up to the nape of your neck, his fingers gently tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up and captured your lips in a deep kiss.
The kiss was deep, slow, and full of all the unspoken words he’d been keeping to himself for months. It was a warm claim that left you completely breathless. He tasted faintly of the beer he’d been sipping, his lips incredibly soft but firm as they molded against yours, demanding a response you were more than ready to give.
The shift went absolutely wild around, cheers and loud whistles erupting from everyone, but Jack didn’t pull back. Instead, he only deepened the kiss.
The sheer excitement of the crew brought a shy heat to your cheeks, and a breathless smile broke across your lips right in the middle of the kiss. Jack let out a chuckle against your mouth, loving the feel of your lips curving against his.
Yielding completely to the fuzzy rush of the alcohol and his touch, you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, burying your fingers in the collar of his shirt. You tilted your head and kissed him back softly, your smile pressing directly into his as you let him completely steal your breath away.
Day 5 - “I would choose you in every lifetime, every universe.” 🍒
Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: You were raised that if you love something you set it free, even if that’s the absolute last thing you want.
PSA: @wildflowersandvibranium the angst bug got me
Warnings: hurt but mostly comfort, implied to be post sex but no explicit mention, Steve being sweet, reader being insecure, happy ending :)
Word Count: 800
Isla & Pink's Galentine's Event
"You can go if you want." You offer.
Steve stops breathing under you, the soft rise and fall of his chest going completely still.
"What?" He asks, and poor Steve genuinely doesn't seem to have a clue.
With a sigh you continue, ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes as you do.
"You can go back I mean." You tell him, ignoring how bitter the words taste despite how much you do truly mean them. "I understand."
You're not stupid.
When Steve volunteered to return the stones, you saw it.
He's had that look in his eyes, ever since him and Tony came back. That wistfulness that only comes with regret and an irrepressible "What if?"
You know it's her. The woman who's legacy you've been chasing since you met him. The one you could never compete with.
It didn't used to bother you, it still doesn't truthfully. After all, who can compete with a dead woman?
Who can compete with the chance to go back in time and get it right?
"It's okay." You choke out, closing your eyes to stave off the sting of tears. "I just want you to be happy."
Steve is stiff as a board beneath you. The hand that had been tracing your spine stops, hovering somewhere over the back of your neck as he processes your offer.
"You want me to go back in time?" He asks.
His voice sounds thin, worried almost.
"Of course." You try to force some cheerfulness. "I just want you to be happy."
You can hear the sheets rustle as Steve shifts. "And you think I'd be happier there?"
The tears well anyway, bubbling under your eyelids and threatening to spill no matter how you tight you squeeze them shut.
"Wouldn't you?"
Steve is quiet for a long time, long enough for your chest to start to shake as you do your best to stay strong. Heart pounding with nerves as you brace yourself for what comes next.
What comes next is his hands.
Slowly, they move you, guiding you flat onto you back so Steve can roll over top of you. A large hand cradles your face, the touch so familiar and comforting it sets you over the edge.
A hiccup escapes, then another, just as the first tear pushes past your waterline.
"Where would you be?" He asks.
He doesn't acknowledge your tears, but brushes them away, his thumb catching the sad droplets and catching them as they threaten to roll down your cheek.
"Here." You croak, chest heaving with an stifled sob.
"Here?" He repeats.
You nod, eyes still squeezed shut.
Another one escapes, crashing into the pad of Steve's finger as it rules from the corner of your eye.
"Look at me." Steve tells you, voice steady.
You shake your head, petulant and hurting. A girl can only be so mature when telling her boyfriend it's okay if he breaks up with her.
"Please." Steve breaks, barely above a whisper.
You give in, fighting through stuck lashes as you finally peek at Steve's face.
He's staring at you like he's afraid you'll break, pretty blue eyes confused and shining with worry.
"Why would I go there when you're here?" He asks.
God, is he really going to make you spell it out?
You choke down another sob, releasing an uneven exhale as you try to give him a calm answer.
"To be with her." You tell him, "With Peggy."
Steve's reaction is nothing short of shock, his jaw dropping and closing, just to fall open again.
"Oh honey." He coos.
"Steve stop-" you try to fight him, hand weekly pushing at the one holding your face. "I know you still love her."
Steve shushes you, but not to be mean or cruel.
"I don't want that life anymore." He tells you.
The tears keep coming anyway, streaming down your cheeks like rivers as he leans in and starts to kiss them away.
"I haven't in a long time."
You hiccup again, hand holding onto Steve's wrist like you're afraid he might disappear.
"You haven't?" You ask, sounding so small.
"No." Steve breathes, pressing his forehead to you. "I like the life I'm building here, now, with you."
"But-"
"No buts." Steve interrupts, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I would choose you in every life time, every universe."
Despite the pounding of your heart, the ache in your chest and the salt of your tears, you believe him.
"Then why'd you ask to go back?" You blink up at him, searching for any sign of that regret you swore you saw.
Steve laughs, a breathy huff against your lips as he presses a chaste kiss to them.
"There's a ring." He explains. "It was my moms and I'm pretty sure I can get my hands on it if I get the timing right."
You heart stutters.
"A ring?"
Steve nods, his own eyes watery eyes as he kisses you again. "Your ring."
"Oh."
"My silly girl." He says, nudging his nose against yours. "You're my future, the only one I want."
Happy birthday to our sweetest lover boy 🥹😭 it feels like MY birthday the way I’ve been gifted this beautiful fic!! So soft, so sweet. To be loved in every lifetime
crossing lines pt.2 - best friend!steve harrington
pairing: best friend!steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: steve can’t stand your dumbass boyfriend so he takes matters into his own hands.
warnings: smut with plot, mentions of cheating, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, reader has a vagina, kitchen sex, not proofread.
note: HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYONE 🤍🤍🤍
part 1 | part 2
don’t repost or translate my work.
“tyler?”
his name barely leaves your mouth before the entire atmosphere shifts.
your boyfriend’s eyes snap to you immediately, confusion flickering across his face for half a second before irritation settles back in.
but then he really looks at you and suddenly, he goes still. completely still.
his gaze drags slowly over your face, narrowing slightly, and your stomach drops because you already know what he’s seeing.
the flushed cheeks, your messy hair, your swollen lips.
and then his eyes flick to steve, and god, he looks just as bad.
hair completely messed up from your hands, breathing still uneven, lips red like he’d just been kissing someone.
like he’d just been kissing you.
the silence stretches for one horrible second too long. then tyler lets out this short laugh, except there’s nothing funny about it.
“wow...”
“tyler, what are you-” your chest tightens painfully.
“no.” he holds a hand up immediately, eyes still locked on your face. “no, wait a second.”
steve’s shoulders tense beside the door.
you can practically feel the anger rolling off him already.
but tyler keeps staring at you, specifically at your mouth.
and the longer he looks, the uglier his expression gets.
“are you serious right now?” he asks quietly.
you open your mouth but nothing comes out. because what can you even say at this point?
tyler notices that immediately too. his jaw tightens hard.
“wow.” he repeats, quieter this time. “we have a bad argument and stop talking for like one week and this is what happens?”
“it’s not-” you start before he cuts you off.
“don’t.” his voice sharpens instantly, getting closer to you. “don’t lie to me right now.”
steve steps in before you can answer.
“alright tyler, watch your tone.”
tyler’s head snaps toward him so fast it almost makes you flinch. “excuse me?”
“you heard me.” steve says coldly.
and there it is, that immediate tension between them. that thing that’s always existed every single time they’re in the same room together.
tyler’s always hated how close you and steve are.
and steve’s always hated the way tyler treats you.
but now? now there’s proof. at least for tyler.
he laughs again, but this time it sounds genuinely angry.
“this shit is unbelievable.” he points between you two. “seriously? him?”
“tyler let’s just talk first-” you whisper.
“no, i wanna hear this.” his eyes go back to you immediately. “i wanna hear you explain why your best friend opens the door looking like that, and you’re standing behind him looking like you just got done making out.”
your face burns.
steve’s jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle tick. “that’s enough, tyler.”
“stay out of it.”
“not happening.”
tyler scoffs. “of course not. captain fucking harrington to the rescue, right?”
“tyler, stop…” you say quickly, panic rising in your chest. “please. let’s talk in private.”
but now both of them are too worked up.
steve takes one step forward instinctively, putting himself slightly between you and tyler without even realizing it.
“you really don’t even try to hide it, huh?” tyler asks slowly.
“hide what?” steve snaps.
“the fact that you’ve been waiting for this.”
silence.
steve freezes only for half a second but it’s enough, because tyler catches it immediately and suddenly the anger on his face shifts into something worse. something almost bitter.
“holy shit…” he laughs quietly. “you have.”
“please-”
“how long?” he asks, eyes darting between both of you. “huh? how long has this been going on?”
“it hasn’t, ty.” you say immediately.
“bullshit.”
“i’m serious!”
“then why does he look at you like that?” tyler asks.
the room goes dead silent.
your breath catches.
tyler says it so fast. so honestly. like he’s noticed it for longer than either of you realized.
you glance at steve automatically.
big mistake.
the second your eyes meet everything becomes obvious, all over again.
the tension.
the guilt.
the feelings sitting way too close to the surface now.
tyler notices the look. his expression crumples for the briefest second before anger covers it again.
“oh my god,” he mutters. “i was so fucking stupid for trusting you. you’re in love with him.”
“tyler, stop-”
“are you?”
you can’t answer.
that silence destroys him.
“wow.” his voice cracks slightly around the word.
in the middle of the tension, steve’s world stopped as soon as you didn’t answer tyler’s question. you were in love with him. and suddenly some of the anger leaves his face too, replaced by guilt. real guilt. because despite everything, despite how much he loved you, he never actually wanted to hurt you. or even tyler, really.
he just wanted you.
tyler shakes his head slowly, laughing again like he can’t believe this is happening.
“you know what’s crazy?” he says quietly. “i used to think i was insane.”
nobody says anything.
his eyes stay on you.
“every time i brought him up, you defended him.” he points at steve without looking away from you. “every single time.”
your throat tightens.
“and every time we fought, where’d you go?” he asks. “him. always.”
steve looks away briefly at that, because he knows it’s true.
“i thought i was just jealous.” tyler continues bitterly. “but i’m not crazy, am i?”
more silence.
“god, you kissed him fast.”
“tyler, you don’t know that.” you whisper sharply.
“what?” he snaps. “am i wrong?”
steve steps forward immediately. “okay, that’s enough.”
“or what?”
“or you leave.”
“you are in her house telling me to leave?” tyler stares at him in disbelief.
“yeah.” steve says coldly. “because you have no place to talk and you’re upsetting her.”
his eyes flick between both of you again before settling on you and suddenly he looks tired.
“did you even feel bad?” he asks quietly.
the question hits like a punch because the answer is horrible.
you do feel bad. but not bad enough to regret kissing steve.
that realization makes you feel even worse.
your silence says everything.
tyler looks at you for a long second, then nods slowly like he understands. like he hates that he understands.
“right.” tyler says quietly.
steve glances back at you immediately, concern flashing across his face at how overwhelmed you suddenly look.
“you are literally exactly the kind of guy i thought you were.” tyler turns to steve.
“and what kind is that?” steve says coldly.
“the guy waiting around for someone else’s girlfriend.”
“okay.” steve takes a step forward instantly.
“steve, don’t.” you warn quickly.
but tyler’s already spiraling now. he points at you suddenly.
“and you.” he laughs again, completely disbelieving. “you make me sick.”
your stomach twists.
“i didn’t mean for this to happen, tyler.”
“bullshit.”
“tyler-”
“you expect me to believe this just magically happened tonight?” he asks loudly. “look at you two.”
you probably look exactly like what just happened.
your lipstick’s ruined.
and the tension between you and steve is still practically visible in the room.
tyler notices everything and it’s making him angrier by the second.
“fucking hell.” he mutters, dragging his hands over his face. “i knew it. i fucking knew it.”
“knew what?” you snap suddenly, frustration finally boiling over too.
“that he wanted you!”
“and you know what?” your voice shakes but still raises. “maybe i liked having somebody around who actually acted like they gave a shit about me!”
the room goes dead silent.
tyler stares at you.
steve looks at you too now, his expression softening instantly despite the disaster unfolding around him.
“there it is,” he says quietly, chuckling sarcastically. “look at him.”
you wish he’d stop saying things out loud, because every time he does, it makes everything more real.
“he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.” tyler says, voice dripping with frustration. “and you, you eat that shit up.”
“please, tyler…” your head starts to spin.
“no, seriously, this is pathetic.”
steve steps forward again. “don’t call her pathetic.”
“i wasn’t talking about her.” tyler shoots back instantly. “i’m talking about you.”
steve goes still.
tyler laughs harshly.
“you think this means something?” he asks him. “you think you won because she kissed you?”
“nobody’s trying to win anything.”
“please.” tyler rolls his eyes. “you’ve been circling her like a fucking vulture since day one.”
that one actually pisses steve off.
“careful.”
“or what?” tyler steps closer too now. “you gonna hit me? weren’t you the one who got beaten up by jonathan byers?”
“stop acting like you ever treated her right enough to claim territory here.” steve snaps.
tyler’s entire expression changes.
“claim territory?” he repeats slowly.
“that’s not what i-” steve immediately realizes that came out wrong.
“no, no, say it again.” tyler says, laughing angrily now. “go ahead.”
but he’s locked onto steve now. ego bruised beyond repair.
“you can have her.” tyler says.
your face falls instantly. “excuse me?”
“yeah.” he gestures toward you carelessly, anger making him cruel now. “if she folds this easily for her guy best friend, then maybe she was never worth keeping in the first place.”
his words hit like a slap.
silence crashes through the room.
steve moves before you even process it. “watch your fucking mouth. get the fuck out, man.” his voice is terrifyingly cold now.
tyler scoffs. “this is her house, man. don’t get to boss me around.”
“get out.” you say now.
tyler laughs in disbelief. “wow. look at you.”
he points between both of you again.
“this is gonna be so funny in like three months.”
your stomach twists. “what?”
“when you realize this whole thing is built on sneaking around and emotional cheating and whatever the hell this was.” he gestures wildly. “and he realizes you’re not some perfect little dream girl.”
“stop, leave.” you whisper.
but tyler keeps going.
because he’s angry.
embarrassed.
his ego is hurt.
and he wants to hurt you back now.
“you know what your problem is, babe?” he says. “you like attention. always have. and little king steve over here does exactly that, every single fucking time.”
steve immediately steps between you both.
“okay, you heard her, go.”
“there he is!” tyler laughs loudly. “god, this is embarrassing for you, man.”
steve’s jaw clenches hard. “you’re pushing it. leave.”
“you really think he’s different?” tyler asks you suddenly, eyes locking onto yours around steve’s shoulder. “he’s obsessed with you right now because he couldn’t have you.”
your throat tightens painfully.
“but eventually?” tyler shrugs mockingly. “you’ll just become another girl he got bored of.”
steve looks genuinely furious. hurt too, weirdly enough. but he’s holding back for you, he knows that what tyler saw is already enough.
“you don’t know a damn thing about me.” he says coldly. “and you clearly don’t know a thing about the kind of girl she is.”
“i know your type.”
“and i know yours.” steve fires back. “guys who make girls feel hard to love until they finally run to somebody who doesn’t.”
tyler stares at him.
then at you.
and suddenly he laughs again, except this time it’s quieter. meaner.
“wow.” he shakes his head slowly. “you deserve each other. really.”
your chest aches instantly. somehow that embarrasses you more than yelling would’ve. the disgust in his voice. the judgment, like you and steve are some cliché waiting to implode.
tyler backs toward the door slowly still staring at both of you.
“have fun with this.” he says bitterly.
then his eyes lock onto yours one final time.
and the last thing he says is quiet enough to hurt the most.
“just remember you destroyed a whole relationship for a guy who was waiting around for his turn.”
you physically freeze.
he nods once slowly like that was exactly what he wanted. then he walks out.
the door slams behind him so hard the walls shake slightly.
either way you know that your relationship with tyler was over long before you and steve kissed.
the silence after the door slams is horrible. thick and ringing.
you just stand there staring at the door, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts, tyler’s last words still echoing around your head.
waiting around for his turn.
your stomach twists violently.
suddenly everything feels disgusting. the kiss, the tension, your feelings. all of it.
you wrap your arms around yourself tighter like it’ll somehow hold you together, breathing unevenly while humiliation crawls hot beneath your skin.
behind you, steve is quiet for a second.
then softly. “hey.”
his voice is careful now. he already knows you’re seconds away from falling apart.
you close your eyes briefly because hearing him right now only makes everything worse.
you can still feel his lips on yours.
and tyler’s words keep replaying over them like poison.
waiting around for his turn.
you hear steve take one small step closer. hesitant this time. which almost never happens with you. but now he’s careful like he doesn’t know if he’s still allowed to.
“baby...” he says softly.
your chest tightens painfully. “don’t, steve.”
your tone comes out sharper than you mean it to.
steve immediately stops moving.
you stare hard at the floor, blinking rapidly because tears are starting to burn behind your eyes and you absolutely refuse to cry right now.
“don’t what?” he asks quietly.
you laugh once under your breath.
except it sounds awful.
“don’t call me that right now.”
steve goes still. completely still.
and immediately guilt crashes into you for that too.
because his face, jesus...
“yeah... okay.” he says softly after a second.
no attitude. no defensiveness. just immediate understanding.
which somehow makes you feel even worse.
you shake your head hard, frustrated tears finally slipping down your cheeks.
“this is so messed up.”
“it´s not-”
“no!” you spin around suddenly, emotions spilling over too fast now. “you heard what he said!”
steve’s expression tightens immediately. “yeah, and he was being an asshole.”
“but he’s not completely wrong!”
the second the words leave your mouth, steve freezes.
silence crashes between you both instantly.
that one hurt him. his eyes watch you up and down.
you see it happen.
his jaw tightens slightly.
his eyes flick away for half a second before returning to you carefully.
“you think i was waiting around?” he asks quietly.
and suddenly you realize what you just implied.
waiting around for his turn.
your anger disappears instantly, replaced by horror.
“steve, i didn´t mean it like that.”
“no, it’s okay.” he nods once quickly, even though it clearly isn’t. “i get it.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
“you’re upset.” he says.
his voice stays soft. he’s still trying to take care of you while looking visibly hurt himself. “i know you didn’t mean it like that.”
but you did, a little.
not truly.
not fairly.
but enough for it to sting.
you drag your hands over your face roughly, completely overwhelmed now.
“i’m sorry.” you whisper shakily. “i’m sorry.”
steve’s entire expression softens immediately.
“hey,” he says quietly. “look at me.”
he takes another careful step closer this time.
slow enough to give you room to stop him.
you don’t want to, because your chest feels too heavy and your face is burning and suddenly you feel like the worst person alive.
but eventually your eyes lift to his.
and steve just melts. completely melts the second he sees you crying.
“oh, baby.” he murmurs the nickname softly, completly ignoring your request earlier.
there’s no hesitation in his voice anymore, just concern.
he reaches toward you instinctively before stopping himself halfway.
asking silently this time.
your throat tightens painfully at that.
“i didn’t mean that.” you whisper quickly. “i swear i didn’t.”
steve nods immediately. “i know.”
“no, i really-”
“i know.” he repeats softer.
his eyes don’t leave yours, completely patient.
“you’re overwhelmed right now.”
another tear slips down your cheek. you wipe at it angrily.
“i just feel horrible.”
steve’s face softens so much it almost hurts to look at him. “c’mere.”
his voice is quiet.
you shake your head automatically, not because you don’t want him. because you want him too much.
“baby,” he says again softly. “please.”
your breath catches. you look down at the floor again, shoulders trembling slightly, and after a second, very slowly, you nod.
that’s all it takes.
steve crosses the room immediately, careful but fast, like he’s been restraining himself this entire time. his arms wrap around you gently at first, giving you room to pull away, but the second you melt against him with this shaky little breath, he tightens his hold instantly.
one hand sliding up into your hair while the other presses firmly against your back, pulling you completely against his chest.
“you´re okay.” he whispers softly.
you bury your face into his chest finally, fingers gripping weakly at the back of his shirt while the crying you’ve been trying to hold back starts spilling out properly.
steve just holds you tighter.
“i know.” he murmurs into your hair. “i know, baby.”
his hand keeps moving slowly through your hair, soothing and repetitive and impossibly gentle.
“you’re okay.”
you shake your head against him. “i hurt him.”
“yeah...” steve says quietly, always honest with you. “but that relationship was hurting you too.”
your grip tightens on his shirt.
“still doesn’t make this okay.”
steve exhales softly above you, his cheek resting lightly against the top of your head now.
“maybe not.” he murmurs. “but i’m not gonna stand here and pretend what he did this whole time didn´t hurt you first.”
you close your eyes tightly, letting him hold you, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him despite everything.
steve keeps his arms around you for another few seconds.
just enough for your breathing to calm a little. just enough for the crying to stop feeling so uncontrollable.
then slowly, carefully, he pulls back.
not far, just enough to look at you properly.
his hands slide from your back to your arms briefly before dropping completely, like he’s trying not to overwhelm you now. trying not to push.
you wipe quickly under your eyes, embarrassed immediately, but steve pretends not to notice, or maybe he notices and chooses not to make you feel worse about it.
he stays close though, standing right in front of you in the quiet hallway, watching you carefully like he’s trying to figure out the exact right thing to say.
normally words come easy but not today. today everything feels fragile.
you stare at the floor.
“don’t try to make me feel better about this.” you say.
steve’s face softens immediately. “little late for that.”
you let out this weak, miserable laugh through your nose.
he takes that as a good sign.
“baby,” he says carefully, “you’re acting like you murdered somebody.”
your head snaps up immediately. “steve.”
“i’m serious.”
“i cheated on my boyfriend.” you sigh.
“your ex-boyfriend.” he corrects gently.
you groan softly, dragging your hands over your face again “that does not help.”
“i’m trying here.”
despite everything, there’s something so familiar about the way he says it that your chest aches.
this banter, this rhythm between you it’s always been easy. even now. especially now, maybe.
steve leans lightly back against the wall beside the doorway, giving you space while still staying close enough that you can feel his presence.
“look,” he says quietly. “was tonight messy? yeah.”
you look at him tiredly. “messy.”
“trying to soften the blow.” he smiles softly.
“steve.”
“okay, fine.” he sighs dramatically. “disastrous. catastrophic. emotionally horrifying.”
another tiny laugh almost escapes you before you stop it.
his eyes catch it immediately and soften. god, they soften so easily for you.
you shake your head quickly. “don’t do that.”
his brows furrow. “do what?”
“make me laugh like everything’s okay.”
steve goes quiet for a second at that.
“i don’t think everything’s okay.” he says softly. “really.”
the sincerity in his voice makes your stomach twist.
he continues before you can spiral again.
“i just don’t think you’re some terrible person because of what happened tonight.”
“how can you possibly not?” you stare at him.
“because i was there.”
the answer comes instantly.
“i know what happened.” steve continues.
you cross your arms tightly over yourself. “yeah. we kissed.”
his eyes flick briefly to your mouth again, instinctive. then he looks away almost immediately.
“yeah. we did.” he says quietly.
the silence after that feels warm in the worst way, despite all this guilt, neither of you regrets the kiss itself. and that’s the problem.
steve exhales softly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“he made it sound like we planned this or something.” he mumbles.
“didn’t we?” you ask weakly. “in some subconscious horrible way?”
steve’s head lifts immediately. “hey. no.”
“but maybe he’s right.” you whisper. “maybe i checked out a long time ago and just…” you laugh shakily. “waited until i had someone else.”
steve’s face tightens instantly. “you didn’t use me.”
“i didn’t say that.”
“you implied it.” steve says.
you go quiet, because maybe you did.
steve shakes his head slightly, looking frustrated now, not at you. at the situation.
“you wanna know what i think?” he says finally.
you look up reluctantly.
“i think you spent a really long time trying to force a relationship to work because you didn’t wanna hurt somebody no matter how much he hurt you.” his voice stays calm. “and i think eventually you got exhausted.”
your throat tightens.
“and yeah,” he continues softly. “i think somewhere along the line, feelings got involved between us.”
his eyes flick to yours carefully then, vulnerable and honest.
“but that doesn’t automatically make you manipulative or cruel, or desperate for attention. you needed someone who understood you and i was there.”
you blink rapidly. hearing him say feelings out loud makes everything feel terrifyingly real again.
“steve…”
“what?” he asks quietly. “you want me to lie?”
you don’t.
he sighs softly, looking down for a second before speaking again. “look, if tonight never happened…” he pauses. “if we never kissed, i still would’ve wanted you to leave him.”
your eyes lift to his immediately.
his expression doesn’t change.
“not because i thought i’d get something out of it,” he says quickly. “before you say it.”
he pushes off the wall slightly.
“i wanted you to leave him because of all the times you came crying to me after he made you feel awful. and maybe because i actually am in love with you.”
‘and maybe because i actually am in love with you.’
the words hang in the room heavily, completely changing it.
you just stare at steve for a second, blinking slowly like your brain physically cannot catch up fast enough.
steve looks like he regrets saying it out loud immediately after. not because it isn’t true, because now it’s real, between both of you.
he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, glancing away briefly before looking back at you.
“well,” he mutters awkwardly. “that kinda slipped out.”
your mouth opens slightly. closes again.
“slipped out?” you repeat incredulously. “you don’t accidentally tell someone you’re in love with them, steve.”
“i know that.” he says quickly. “i’m aware.”
“then why do you sound so calm?!”
that actually makes him laugh softly.
not because it’s funny, he’s just nervous.
you can tell.
“trust me.” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “i am very much not calm right now.”
you stare at him. “you just confessed to me after i cheated on my boyfriend with you.”
“ex-boyfriend.” he corrects you again.
“steve.”
“sorry.”
you look away first, arms crossing tightly over yourself while your thoughts spin violently.
all those moments you ignored, all those looks, all the tension, all the almosts, suddenly they mean something completely different.
you laugh once quietly under your breath. “oh my god.”
steve watches you carefully. “that reaction doesn’t feel super promising.”
your eyes snap back to his immediately. “i’m not reacting badly!”
“okay.”
“i’m not!”
“you just said ‘oh my god’ like i told you i committed tax fraud.” he holds back a giggle.
despite yourself, you huff out a tiny laugh.
steve’s face softens instantly at the sound. it’s subtle but it’s there, that stupid softness he only seems to have with you and that makes your chest ache even worse.
“how long?” you ask quietly.
steve’s smile fades slightly. “seriously?”
“yeah.”
“i don’t know.” he hesitates.
“that’s such a cop-out answer.” you roll your eyes.
“it’s not!” he argues immediately. “i genuinely don’t know.”
“steve.” you whine.
“what do you want me to say?” he asks, throwing his hands up slightly. “that i saw you one day and suddenly violins started playing?”
“you are so annoying.”
“and yet,” he says softly. “you still kissed me.”
“can you stop bringing that up?” your face heats immediately.
his eyebrows lift. “you want me to stop bringing up the life-changing kiss that happened like ten minutes ago?”
“yes, i do.”
“kinda hard, sweetheart.”
you look away from him again quickly.
bad idea. because it gives him time to really look at you and you can feel it, the weight of his eyes moving across your face carefully.
now that everything’s out in the open, he’s allowing himself to look at you differently.
“you’re doing that thing again.” you murmur.
“what thing?”
“looking at me like that.”
steve goes quiet for a second.
“i’ve always looked at you like this.” steve simply says.
your heart almost stops.
the honesty in his voice is devastating.
you blink rapidly, trying to steady yourself. “that’s not helping.”
“i’m not trying to help anymore.”
your eyes snap back to his immediately. steve’s expression shifts slightly then.
“i spent months trying to convince myself this was just me being protective,” he confesses. “or jealous because your boyfriend sucked.”
“he did suck.” you agree.
“thank you!” steve says immediately, pointing at you. “see? that’s all i’m saying.”
despite everything, you laugh softly again.
his mouth twitches slightly like he’s trying not to smile too hard.
“but then it got worse.” he continues.
“worse?”
“way worse.” steve admits.
“how?” you ask.
steve looks at you for a long second before answering. “you’d touch me and i’d think about it for, like, three business days.”
your eyes widen instantly.
he laughs quietly at your reaction, leaning back against the wall again.
“okay, you tell me something now.” he mumbles through a soft smile.
“what?” you ask.
“you seriously never noticed?”
your stomach drops slightly.
you noticed things. you noticed everything. you noticed the way steve always moved closer to you unconsciously. the way his hand always found your back in crowded places. the way he looked at your boyfriends like they personally offended him. the way he remembered every tiny thing about you without trying.
you noticed.
you avoid his eyes immediately which is answer enough.
“you did notice.” he says quietly.
“not fully!” you defend yourself.
“baby.” he groans.
“i thought maybe you were just-”
“hopelessly devoted to you?” he offers.
you groan loudly, covering your face with your hands. “stop talking.”
he laughs softly again.
“you know what the worst part is?” he says.
you peek at him through your fingers suspiciously. “what?”
“robin used to make fun of me for it constantly.”
“what? really?” your hands slowly lower.
“yeah.” he nods once. “apparently i’m not subtle.”
“robin knew you were in love with me?”
“robin knew before i did.”
you stare at him in horror.
“she used to literally kick me under tables whenever i stared at you too long.” steve laughs at your expression.
your jaw drops. “how have i never noticed this?!”
“because you trusted me.” his voice softens slightly after saying it.
and suddenly the mood shifts again.
steve looks at you for a second before speaking again. “i never wanted you uncomfortable around me.”
“you never did." you admit.
“good.”
he means that. seriously.
you shake your head slowly, overwhelmed all over again.
“i just…” you laugh weakly. “i can’t believe this is real.”
“yeah,” steve murmurs softly. “me neither.”
you study him carefully for a second.
“were you really okay never saying anything?” you ask softly.
steve immediately gives you a look. “absolutely not.”
“then why didn’t you?” you laugh softly.
his expression changes slightly, a bit more serious now.
“because you loved somebody else.” he says without bitterness. “and because i knew if i told you, i’d mean it.”
your throat tightens painfully.
steve looks down briefly before continuing quieter. “i didn’t wanna be some guy waiting around hoping your relationship failed.”
tyler’s words flash through your head immediately for the millionth time.
waiting around for his turn.
your expression changes slightly.
steve notices instantly. “don´t look guilty because of what he said.”
you swallow hard. “but what if he’s right about everything?”
“he’s not.” steve’s jaw tightens slightly.
“steve-”
“i didn’t sit around hoping he’d hurt you.” his voice stays calm. “i hoped you’d realize you deserved better.”
your eyes lock onto his and suddenly the tension between you shifts again.
steve takes one slow step closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough that your breath catches.
“and yeah,” he says quietly, eyes flicking briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. “a part of me wanted that better to be me.”
your heartbeat stutters violently.
his eyes flick briefly across your face again.
jesus, you do feel awful about tyler.
about how things ended, the humiliation on his face when he left was unbearable… but standing here with steve now, with all this honesty finally sitting out in the open between you, you can’t pretend your feelings disappeared just because the situation hurts.
you swallow hard.
“you make this really difficult…” you whisper.
steve’s expression softens immediately. “i know.”
“no, seriously.” you laugh weakly, shaking your head. “i should probably want space from you right now, steve.”
“do you?” his eyes stay on yours.
the question lands directly in your chest. the answer comes fast, too fast.
no.
not even a little.
you look away from him first.
“that’s the problem.” you say.
steve goes quiet after that.
you can practically see him thinking and holding himself back, trying so hard not to push you when emotions are already everywhere.
even now, even after confessing he’s in love with you, he’s still more worried about overwhelming you than getting what he wants.
your eyes lift back to his slowly.
“say something.” you murmur.
steve lets out the smallest breath through his nose. “dangerous request.”
“why?”
his mouth twitches faintly.
“because i’m trying very hard to behave right now.” he admits, eyes turning dark.
“steve…”
“i’m serious, baby.” his voice lowers slightly. “you’re standing there looking at me like that after kissing me half to death ten minutes ago, and i’m trying not to make this worse for you.”
your breath catches immediately.
the memory hits all over again at the way he says it. the wall against your back while his hands rest on your waist. the way he kissed you like he’d been holding it in forever.
you close your eyes briefly. big mistake.
suddenly you can feel it again.
and when you open them, steve’s already looking at you differently.
his voice softens instantly. “hey.”
“i know i should stop this.” you shake your head weakly.
steve’s jaw tightens slightly at the word should.
“but you don’t want to…” he says quietly.
not a question.
you hate how easily he reads you.
your eyes flick down briefly to his mouth.
steve’s breathing changes immediately. small and subtle.
the tension shifts all over again.
“this feels horrible, steve.” you admit softly.
“kissing me feels horrible?” steve’s brows pull together instantly.
“no.” the answer comes too fast.
your face burns immediately and suddenly steve looks dangerously pleased for half a second before softening again.
“okay.” he murmurs.
you groan softly, embarrassed. “stop looking at me like that.”
all the softness in his face comes rushing back.
“baby,” he says quietly. “i just want you.”
the sincerity in his voice hits hard.
your breath catches painfully because he says it so simply.
and suddenly the space between you and steve feels impossible.
you stare at him for one long second. then another.
and neither of you moves but the air changes anyway.
his eyes flick slowly between yours like he’s trying to decide whether he should stop this before it starts again.
he gives you every opportunity to pull away. every. single. one.
“tell me to back off.” he says softly.
like he’s hanging onto self-control by a thread.
you stare at him, breathing unevenly, because the worst part is that you know he means it. if you asked him to leave right now, he would. no matter how much it hurt him.
somehow that makes this harder.
tyler’s gone. your relationship is over.
you should be crying more than this. you should be devastated. guilty. disgusted with yourself.
instead you’re standing in your hallway staring at steve’s mouth while he looks at you like he’s trying not to cave.
“i hate this…” you whisper suddenly.
steve’s brows pull together instantly. “hate what?”
you laugh softly, but it comes out shaky. frustrated. “the fact that i know i should ask you to leave.”
his expression changes at that, he looks hurt.
he nods once slowly. “okay...”
and he actually starts stepping back.
he just accepts it immediately even though you can physically see how badly he doesn’t want to.
“wait.” you blurt out.
steve stops instantly.
you drag your hands over your face hard enough to make your skin burn. “god, this is so messed up.”
“yeah, i know… no need to tell me that.” he says quietly.
“and you standing there being all understanding is making it worse, steve.”
“what do you want me to do?” he asks softly. “be an asshole?”
“maybe a little.” you confess.
“not really my style with you.” he says.
he says it so naturally, him being gentle with you is instinct.
“you can’t just…” you shake your head helplessly. “you can’t just tell me you’re in love with me and then look at me like that.”
“how am i looking at you?”
you stare at him incredulously. “seriously?”
“i’m asking.” steve says.
“you already know what i’m thinking.” you reply.
steve goes quiet.
“do i?” he breaks silence.
you lean back against the wall with a tired exhale, eyes fixed on the floor. “i feel like such a bad person right now.”
“hey.” the firmness in his voice makes you look up immediately.
steve’s expression has hardened slightly.
“you are not a bad person.” steve says softly.
“steve, i cheated on somebody.”
“after spending months getting treated like shit.”
“that doesn’t excuse it.” you groan.
“i didn’t say it did.” his voice stays calm.
he takes one careful step closer again.
you cross your arms tighter over yourself. “you don’t get it, steve.”
“then explain it to me.” he says.
the answer comes so fast it catches you off guard. he sounds serious, completely open like he genuinely wants to understand every ugly thought in your head right now.
you stare at him for a second, then laugh weakly. “i don’t know how to explain it.”
“try.”
“i just…” your voice cracks slightly. “i feel awful because i hurt him.”
steve nods immediately. “okay...”
“but then i kiss you and i don’t regret it, and that makes me feel worse.” you admit, your voice low to hide the shame.
his eyes flick down to your mouth unconsciously.
you notice.
“you really don’t regret it?” he asks quietly.
“don’t ask me that, steve.” you sigh.
“i wanna hear you say it.” steve whispers.
the tension shifts instantly, your heartbeat stutters.
“steve…”
his eyes stay locked on yours. “come on.”
the softness in his voice makes it worse somehow. less pressure and more intimacy.
you swallow hard.
“no, steve.” you whisper finally. “i don’t regret kissing you.”
steve actually closes his eyes for a second after hearing that like the words physically hit him.
“you have any idea what that does to me?” he murmurs.
“i’m already barely holding it together.” you say.
“you think i’m doing any better?” steve asks.
he takes another slow step closer. close enough now that you can feel the warmth coming off him.
“you know what tonight’s been like for me?” he asks quietly.
you can’t answer.
steve laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head once.“watching you look at me like you wanted me all night and trying not to do something stupid.”
your eyes widen slightly. “i was not-”
he gives you a look. “you were.”
you open your mouth to argue again, then close it.
because honestly?
maybe you were.
his expression softens dangerously.
the air between you suddenly feels too thick to breathe properly.
“this is crazy.” you whisper. “and you’re way too calm about this.”
that makes him laugh.
“i’m not calm.” he steps even closer. “i’m trying very hard not to pin you against this wall and kiss you again.”
you hate how much your body reacts to him. how easy it is.
you shake your head weakly. “you’re impossible.”
“and you’re staring at my mouth again.” he smirks.
your eyes snap upward immediately.
steve’s lips twitch slightly and you see it because you actually were looking at his mouth.
“you’re so annoying.” you whisper.
“yeah?” he murmurs, leaning in just slightly. “still wanna kiss me?”
your stomach flips so hard it almost hurts.
gosh, he’s right and he’s so stupid.
you should stop this. you know you should.
but instead you whisper. “you make me feel insane, steve.”
steve’s face softens instantly at that. something emotional flashes across it so quickly it almost knocks the air from your lungs.
“sweetheart.” he says quietly. “you have been ruining me for, like, years.”
your eyes shut briefly. “that’s not fair.”
“none of this is fair.” steve whispers.
when you open your eyes again, he’s even closer, enough that your noses almost brush. and still he waits, still he lets you decide.
“if i kiss you again,” you whisper shakily. “i’m not gonna be able to pretend this is just a mistake anymore.”
steve’s gaze flicks between your eyes and your mouth slowly.
“good.” he whispers back.
you grab the front of his shirt suddenly and pull him in.
steve makes this low sound against your mouth like he’s been dying for it.
the kiss is immediate and messy. all the guilt and confusion and aching feelings pouring into it at once. intense in a completely different way now.
because now there are no misunderstandings left between you.
his hands slide to your ass instantly, gripping tighter this time as he backs you gently into the wall again.
“fuck.” steve breathes against your mouth.
the word sounds wrecked.
your fingers tangle in his hair again and his head drops slightly at the feeling, it affects him way too much.
“you have no idea-” he murmurs breathlessly, kissing you again before you can ask what he means.
his mouth moves against yours slower this time, like he’s savoring it now that he finally can. and god, the way he touches you, careful but desperate at the same time, is driving you insane.
you can feel it in the way his hands grab your waist instantly, pulling you flush against him with this desperate kind of care, like he can’t decide whether to hold you gently or never let you go again.
the kiss gets deeper fast.
and somewhere between steve backing you against the wall and your fingers tangling into his hair, your hands find the hem of his shirt.
steve reacts immediately when your fingers slide underneath it. his breath catches sharply against your mouth.
“fuck.” he whispers.
you don’t even think about it.
you just tug harder, desperate to touch him, to feel more of him. suddenly the layers between you feel unbearable.
steve breaks the kiss just enough to look at you, breathing hard.
his hair’s a mess already, lips swollen again, eyes completely dark with want and emotion all tangled together.
“baby,” he says softly, almost disbelieving. “you’re killing me.”
your stomach flips violently.
you tug at his shirt again impatiently. “take it off, steve.”
that catches him off guard. his eyebrows lift slightly and for one brief second he just stares at you. then he laughs softly under his breath.
“need you right now, baby.” steve groans.
heat rushes through your entire body and before you can even process the effect his words had on you, steve’s pulling the shirt over his head quickly, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking.
you feel your core shamelessly pulse at the sight.
you’ve seen steve before, obviously.
but not like this. not flushed and breathing hard while looking at you like he wants to crawl under your skin. not standing in front of you after kissing you senseless.
his chest rises unevenly as your eyes drag over him for half a second too long.
steve notices immediately.
“don’t look at me like you’re trying to get me into trouble.” he smirks.
you laugh softly. “pretty sure we’re already there.”
“yeah,” he says quietly, eyes flicking down to your mouth again. “guess we are.”
then he’s kissing you again, harder this time.
now your hands are on him directly, sliding over his hairy chest and shoulders while steve practically melts into every touch. you feel him shiver slightly beneath your fingertips and it sends heat straight through you.
“you’re so sensitive.” you whisper against his mouth.
steve lets out this breathless laugh that sounds almost embarrassed. “only with you.”
ugh, the way he says things.
your fingers drag lightly down his chest and his head drops briefly against your shoulder with a low groan.
“baby…” he groans warningly.
you can’t stop smiling. “what?”
“you know exactly what.”
his hands tighten instinctively at your waist before sliding lower, palms warm against your ass, restless.
he kisses down your jaw slowly, mouth warm against your skin while his hands roam carefully over your sides.
“you’re so pretty.” he murmurs against your neck suddenly. “seriously.” he pulls back just enough to look at you properly again. “you’re ridiculously pretty. it’s actually annoying.”
“that’s your line?” you laugh breathlessly.
“i’m distracted.” he steve replies.
“clearly.”
his eyes flick down your body briefly before returning to your face immediately, almost like he catches himself.
you reach for him again before he can pull too far into his own head, fingers curling lightly around the back of his neck.
“c’mere.” he whispers. “stop pulling away.”
he kisses you slower this time, one hand sliding into your hair while the other settles firmly at your ass again, pulling you into him until you can feel the warmth of his skin everywhere.
steve kisses like he’s losing control of himself slowly.
your hands are still moving over his bare chest, fingers dragging across warm skin while his mouth keeps finding yours again and again, deeper every time, and he’s becoming impossibly more affected by it all.
every little sound you make seems to hit him directly.
every tug of your fingers into his hair, every shaky breath against his mouth. it’s driving him insane.
you feel it the second his body presses closer against yours again.
his breathing catches hard, this time, there’s no hiding how turned on he is.
your stomach flips instantly when you feel him through his jeans, growing bigger every second.
“ah- fuck…” he breathes softly against your mouth, almost a moan.
his forehead drops briefly against yours, eyes squeezed shut for a second like he’s trying to regain composure and failing miserably.
“you okay?” you whisper breathlessly, barely able to stop yourself from laughing.
steve opens his eyes slowly. “you cannot ask me that right now.”
his hand at your ass squeezes, like he’s trying to find balance.
you laugh softly against his mouth.
his lips move to your jaw again, then lower, kissing slowly along your neck while one of his hands slips beneath your shirt.
warm skin against warm skin.
you inhale sharply at the feeling.
steve groans softly against your throat immediately.
“there.” he murmurs quietly. “that sound. jesus.”
your fingers tighten automatically in his hair.
he kisses you harder after that. and suddenly he’s pulling gently at the bottom of your shirt with slightly shaky hands.
his eyes lift to yours immediately after, checking, always checking.
“can i?” he asks softly.
your heartbeat stutters. you nod.
steve pulls your shirt up carefully but quickly, hands warm against your skin as he lifts it over your head and tosses it to the ground.
then he freezes. his eyes drag slowly over you and suddenly he looks almost overwhelmed again because you’re not wearing a bra.
“shit, baby.” he says softly before he can stop himself.
heat rushes to your face immediately. “steve.”
“sorry- no, not sorry, actually.” he laughs breathlessly, staring at you like he’s genuinely lost his mind a little. “holy shit.”
you shove lightly at his shoulder, embarrassed. “stop looking at me like that.”
“i literally can’t.” his voice has gone lower now.
his hands slide slowly up your bare sides like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch you like this.
“you are so fucking beautiful. i’m gonna fuck you so good, baby, i promise.” he murmurs.
a moan accidentally leaves your mouth, making steve smirk.
“you have no idea what you do to me.” he says quietly.
your stomach twists violently.
he kisses you again suddenly, hard enough to make you stumble slightly back into the wall. steve catches you immediately, one hand sliding firmly to your waist while the other moves instinctively up your back, holding you against him.
feeling him hard against you like this makes your brain go completely foggy.
you make this tiny involuntary sound against his mouth and steve groans immediately.
“fuck, don’t do that.” his forehead presses against yours again briefly while he breathes hard. “i swear i’m trying to behave.”
the words send another rush of heat through you.
steve’s hands are everywhere.
your waist.
your hips.
your boobs.
your ass.
his fingers hook briefly at the waistband of your shorts while his forehead presses against yours.
“baby,” he mutters breathlessly, half laughing from how overwhelmed he is. “you are making it very hard for me to think.”
“please, steve.” you whisper.
steve groans softly into your mouth, hands tightening at your hips before he steps back just enough to look at you properly.
his chest is rising hard, eyes dark and fixed on you like he’s gone.
then, slower this time, giving you every chance to stop him, his fingers slide more firmly against your waistband.
you nod before he even asks. steve’s eyes flick up to yours immediately at that, visibly affected by the trust in it.
“yeah?” he murmurs.
you nod again, breathless.
he pulls your shorts down quickly but carefully, hands warm against your thighs as he kisses you again immediately after, like he can’t go more than two seconds without your mouth now.
suddenly his hands are under your thighs and he lifts you effortlessly.
you gasp softly in surprise, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist while steve steadies you against him immediately, one arm securely beneath your ass while the other tangles into your hair.
“hi.” he says breathlessly, looking up at you with this dizzy little smile.
you laugh softly despite everything. “show-off.”
“absolutely.”
his forehead bumps lightly against yours before he kisses you again slower this time, deeper, and god, being this close to him feels dangerous.
your fingers slide through his hair while steve walks you both backward blindly, unable to stop kissing you long enough to care where he’s going.
his hands grip your thighs tighter every time you react to him.
every shaky breath, little sound, it’s driving him insane.
he kisses you again before you can hide your face, smiling softly against your mouth when you laugh into the kiss too.
but the smile fades quickly because the way you’re looking at him now, warm and wanting and completely overwhelmed, absolutely wrecks him.
his grip tightens slightly beneath your thighs as his eyes drag over your face as he starts moving.
your legs stay wrapped around steve’s waist while he carries you through the hallway toward the kitchen, one arm locked securely beneath your ass again.
steve kisses you like he’s starving.
there’s barely any talking anymore, just breathless sounds between kisses and hands grabbing desperately at each other like neither of you can get close enough.
his mouth never really leaves yours as he carries you down the hallway toward the kitchen, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist while your fingers stay tangled in his hair.
every few steps he stops walking completely just to kiss you harder, sloppier.
and every single time you react to him, steve groans softly against your mouth like it’s driving him insane.
his grip tightens beneath your thighs when you pull at his hair.
by the time he gets you into the kitchen, both of you are breathing hard.
the tension between you feels overwhelming now, hot and messy and impossible to stop.
steve backs you gently against the counter for half a second just so he can pull away long enough to get his belt undone. his eyes never leave yours while he does it.
you can hear the buckle clink against the kitchen floor a second later before he impatiently pushes his jeans down and kicks them aside.
“gonna make you feel better than that asshole ever did.” steve whispers.
“steve!” you scoff.
then he’s right back against you again instantly.
his mouth crashes into yours again while his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter.
you gasp softly into the kiss at the sudden movement. steve swallows the sound immediately.
one hand braces beside you against the counter while the other grips your waist firmly, pulling you right to the edge until he’s standing between your knees.
“you’re so goddamn perfect, baby. been dreaming about you like this for so long.” he praises.
leaning down, steve captures one rosy peak between his lips, suckling hard. his other hand trails lower, teasing along the waistband of your panties.
with a swift tug, steve removes your last scrap of clothing, your panties, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.
he sits you up easily on the cool marble countertop, nudging your legs apart to stand between them. his palms skim up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before coming to rest on your hips.
“look at you,” steve rasped, voice thick with lust. “so fucking pretty f’me. can't believe this is really happening.”
“steve, please.” you plead, your body almost shaking in need.
he lays a large hand on your stomach, kinda laying you down a bit on your elbows to see your body better, spreading open for him.
“been thinking about this, about me, haven't you?” steve asks bluntly between open-mouthed kisses on your torso.
“mhm.” you nod pathetically.
“mhm?” steve slightly mocks you, pouting and eyebrows frowning as he hums.
steve’s hand leaves your hips to softly circle your swollen clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and your back arch.
he watches, transfixed, as your back arches off the counter, pressing your breasts towards him. the sight of you, lost in pleasure, it's probably the most erotic thing steve’s ever seen.
“let me hear ya’.” steve encourages huskily, increasing the pressure of his thumb on you. “wanna know how i make you feel.”
“so g-good, steve.” your voice fails as a soft gasp interrupts you, you grab onto his free big forearm.
steve leans in to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, all tongues and teeth and desperation.
he can feel how close you are, your walls closing around nothing but steve pulls back just as you teeter on the brink, denying you that release.
a wicked grin spreads across his face at your whimper of frustration.
“steve! why’d you stop?!” you whine.
steve just leaves that stupid hot grin on his face and lowers it between your legs. his warm and soft respiration hitting your sensitive wet folds.
slowly and torturously, he drags the flat of his tongue through your dripping slit, from entrance to clit. steve seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently.
“ah- fuc- more to the left. ughnhn- oh my god, there!” you guide steve, messy moans interrupting you constantly.
the feeling of your thighs clamping around steve’s head, holding him in place, only spurs him on. steve groans into your core, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure.
he maintains the slow yet effective soft licks on your clit, alternating between kitten licks and gentle sucks.
“you’re fucking soaked.” steve groans, words vibrating against your flesh.
your legs tremble around his head, your breath coming in increasingly shallow pants, your fingers threading through steve’s hair… you’re really close.
“almost- almost there.” you manage to say, holding on to steve’s hair for dear life.
steve’s tongue locks on your clit with singular focus, sealing his lips around the sensitive nub and sucking hard, pushing you to your limit.
“that’s it, baby. let go f’me.” he groans against your flesh, interrupting the amount of pleasure you were receiving from his tongue.
“don’t stop, steve.” you push his head against your wet folds.
steve smiles at your words and increases the suction on your clit again, feeling your body tensing, your muscles pulling. your thighs clamp tighter around his head, holding him in place as your orgasm crashes over agressively.
“oh my god, f-fuckck. fuck, steveeee.” your moans come out slurred and loud.
steve hums against your core. “mm baby.” his lips moving on your clit as he lazily speaks.
he works you through the aftershocks, his touches gentling as he feels your body relax under his touch. finally, he places one last kiss on your pussy, before pulling away to admire his work.
you, flushed and panting, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. steve’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing small circles on your hipbones as he gazes at you with undisguised hunger.
“god, you're beautiful like this.” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. “coming undone for me...”
“need more of you, steve.” you say, still panting, thighs clenching at the thought of his cock inside you. “please.”
“yeah?” steve’s voice comes out husky and rough.
you can feel his hardness grinding on your leg.
“c’mere.” he whispers, grabbing the back of your legs to get you off the counter gently. “turn around f’me.”
you quickly spin around, bending over the cold marble countertop. steve presses his chest to your back and leans down to nip at your earlobe.
“how’d i get so lucky with you? god.” steve’s voice causing you goosebumps all over your body. “gonna take you from behind right here, baby. that’ okay?”
“mhm. yes, steve. please.” you desperately agree.
he carefully kicks your legs apart and grinds his clothed erection against your bare bottom, letting you feel how hard he is for you. one hand slides around to rub tight circles on your clit while the other grips your hip possessively.
your soft desperate moans whenever he touches you are music to steve’s ears.
with a smirk, steve hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slowly peels them down his hips. as more of his dick comes into view, steve hears your breath hitch.
your head gently turns to look behind you and watch him get undressed.
finally, steve steps out of the fabric pooled around his ankles, his big cock springing free, already leaking at the tip. he strokes the length from base to crown a few times without taking his eyes off of you.
“fuck…” you talk out loud without realizing, looking at his cock completely dumbfounded by his size.
you lock eyes with steve and then with his dick once more. he lets you drink in the sight. the thick, veiny shaft, the swollen purple head already glistening with precum, the heavy sack beneath.
at your continued silence, he raises an eyebrow. “i’ll go slow, baby.”
steve steps even closer, kissing your neck, the thick length of his erection sliding along the cleft of your ass, leaving a trail of precum in its wake.
then, he presses the bulbous head of his dick against your entrance. you can’t help but feel guilty for comparing his size to tyler’s. the difference is stark, almost intimidating.
steve takes a deep breath, reining in his overwhelming urge to simply slam into you.
with a low, rumbling groan, he positions himself at your entrance once more. gripping your hips for leverage, steve begins to push forward, breaching your slick folds with agonizing slowness. the flared head of his cock parts your labia, sinking into your tight heat inch by excruciating inch.
“fuuuuck, baby.” he hisses through clenched teeth. “so goddamn tight. relax for me, sweetheart. breathe and let me in.”
“steve steve steve, fuck!” you moan and grab at his hand on your hips for stability as steve continues his torturously slow advance, pausing frequently to allow your body time to adjust.
with each tiny increment, he can feel you stretching around his cock, accommodating to his size. steve’s fingers dig more into the flesh of your hips, anchoring himself as he struggles for control.
finally, after what feels like an eternity, steve’s heavy balls nestle against your clit. he stays still, savoring the sensation of being fully sheathed inside your cunt.
“holy shit, you feel fucking amazing, babe.” steve groans, voice strained with the effort of holding back. “made for my cock.”
slowly, he starts to move, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside you before pushing back in. steve sets a deep, rolling rhythm, each thrust hitting you deep.
“‘s too much, steve…” you gasp at the feeling.
“i know… i know, baby. take it.” he whispers through clenched teeth again.
the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the kitchen, punctuated by mingled moans.
steve leans over you, covering your smaller frame with his larger one. one hand snakes up to wrap loosely around your throat, applying the barest hint of pressure as the other seeks out your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub.
“fuuuuuuuck, steve- oh my god, m’ steve!” you moan, your voice kinda strained as steve grabs your throat tighter.
steve’s hips snap forward with increasing force, the wet squelch of your pussy, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the room.
he looks down to your ass hitting his hips with every thrust only to see a white ring around his cock, both of your juices mixing together. that almost sends him to the edge, a feral grin spreads across steve’s face at the sight.
“fuck, look at that.” he rasps. “you’re dripping on me, sweetheart.”
you can’t look but you know exactly what steve is referring to.
“feels so good, steve.” you pant.
“yeah?” steve groans, giving your ass a sharp slap. “my perfect little cockdrunk girl.”
his grip on your hip loosens slightly, becoming more caressing than bruising. steve’s fingers on your clit speed up, rubbing tight, fast circles.
“you're doing so well, taking me so deep.” he praises huskily.
he maintains the deep thrusts. the hand on your throat slides up to tangle in your hair, tugging your head back slightly as he leans in to nip and suck at the column of your neck.
unable to speak, you arch your back and press yourself against steve.
his hand comes down to deliver a sharp smack to your jiggling ass cheek. the stinging impact seems to spur you on, your cunt clamping down around steve like a vice.
“oooh- fuck, just like that!” he groans, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor.
“steve!” you moan out his name.
the sound of his name falling from your lips in ecstasy sends a bolt of pure lust straight to steve’s cock.
“i’m gonna- oh fuck, steve!” you gasp as steve thrusts.
“gonna what, baby? talk to me. fuuuuuck.”
feeling your body tensing, hearing the breathy warning in your voice, steve knows you’re so so so close. with a final burst of energy, he redoubles his efforts, hips jackhammering into you at a perfect pace.
“cumming, steve. god, you’re cock feels so good.” you let every word come out of you with each thrust of his hips.
the coil of tension in steve’s gut winds tighter and tighter, his thrusts growing erratic. he can feel your walls fluttering around his cock.
“let go, cum for me, baby.”
“oooh fuck! steve!” you throw your head back and scream in pleasure as your orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing.
your inner muscles clamp down on steve’s throbbing dick, rippling and squeezing as wave after wave of intense pleasure courses through.
the feeling of your pussy squeezing him is too much to bear. with a moan of your name, steve buries himself to the hilt inside you, thick cock pulsing as he explodes inside you.
“fuck, fuck, fuck!” steve groans, hands squeezing your ass.
jet after jet of hot, thick cum paints your inner walls, flooding your insides with steve. he grinds against you, working his release deeper.
steve collapses forward, blanketing your form with his larger one as he rides out the aftershocks, his softening cock still twitching weakly inside your pussy.
“fuck…” you whisper, breath already slowing down.
now, the refrigerator hums, outside, a car passes down the street.
steve’s hand moves to your waist absentmindedly, thumb brushing back and forth like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. honestly, he probably doesn’t, he’s always touching you. the difference is that now you’re both painfully aware of it.
you swallow. “say something.”
that finally gets a real smile out of him.
“can’t really talk right now to be honest.” he laughs. “still… still coming back from what we just did.”
you smile at that, putting your back against his chest, kissing his jawline.
for a second neither of you says anything.
then steve exhales softly. “we’ll figure it out.”
you look at him. “you don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”
“doesn’t matter.”
the answer comes so fast it almost makes you laugh. “steve-”
“i’m serious.” his eyes don’t leave yours. “we’ll figure it out.”
and maybe it’s ridiculous.
maybe the entire night is ridiculous.
but standing there with him looking at you like that, so certain.
for the first time since tyler knocked on that door…
you almost believe it too.
note: omggggg this took me so LONG to write but i hope it was worth it 😭😭 tagging everyone who asked to be tagged !!
Listen obviously the smut was incredibly yummy BUT can we just appreciate the absolute beauty of how well written the build up was?? The angst, their connection, the intimacy!!! Amazing!!
“Know I wanna beat it, wanna beat it bad
Oh, everyone looks happy in a photograph
I've crossed the county line, I cannot go back
I'm always on my own.”
-All Them Horses, Noah Kahan
summary: your family is in town for the annual ‘parents berating their kids for their decisions’ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.
wc: 15.7k (steak is too juicy lobster is too buttery)
tags/tropes: jack falls first and harder, reader is an eldest daughter (but not the eldest child) to a large judgmental family who are constantly disappointed in her, jack pretty much uses the fake dating as a chance to show reader what a good boyfriend he COULD be to her if she let herself have nice things, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, jack is YEARNING in this one, a teeny bit of mean dom jack as a treat
a/n: how are we all feeling about the latest noah kahan album. Doors is great. i do NOT repeat timestamp 2:14-2:21 of All Them Horses. i’m normal and can be trusted with noah kahan’s discography. this fic was supposed to be crossposted on ao3 at the time of post but ao3 crashed and i lost all of my tagging and uploading process so im saving that. for later. when it is POSTED it will be linked below :)
acknowledgements: thank you @wesandresons for the amazing gif and @saradika-graphics, @chrisssiren, and @uzmacchiato for the dividers! and thank you @leeknowpegger for your work in keeping up morale and being deranged with me
masterlist
“Your family’s in town?”
You’re at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where he’s getting them is one of the world’s strangest unsolved mysteries.
You can’t see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone.
“Yeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how it’s such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.”
“Dinner circuit?”
You wave a hand. “It’s actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that they’re here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time they’re at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.”
“Yikes,” The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, “And the whole successful doctor thing doesn’t work on them? It got my parents off my back.”
You shake your head. “I’m the only doctor in the family, but they thought I should’ve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.”
The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. “There’s money in emergency medicine. Eventually.”
“There’s money in all medicine eventually,” You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’m sure if I'd picked general surgery they would’ve found a problem with that too.”
“So your fucked, basically.”
Your eyes slip shut again. “Yep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way won’t get my mom off my back.”
Shen clasps you on the shoulder. “Best of luck with that. You’re the only intern the night shift has got, so we’d rather you don’t off yourself via poisoned wine.”
“I wouldn’t do poison. I’d choke on bread so they’d have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.”
“Jesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but that’s brutal.”
You shrug. “Not as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.”
He gapes. “What reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?”
“I told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.”
“That’s…” Shen trails off, flabbergasted, “…Wow. Now I'm worried you’re going to kill one of them.”
“Way too much effort. They aren’t worth the jail time.”
The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. “Well, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please don’t call me. I can’t afford to be implicated.”
“You saying I can’t hide a body myself?”
“I’m saying I can’t hide a body.”
“Who’s hiding bodies?” Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand.
Shen jams a thumb in your direction. “She’s killing her parents later today.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and don’t bring up any trigger topics, I’ll be fine.”
Jack snorts. “You’re describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.”
“Dr. Intern?” Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift, “There’s a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says she’s your mom.”
Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. “It’s six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Someone behind you says “Holy shit,” but you’re already gone. As you’re speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that you’d only had a chance to skim and— fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?
You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby.
“Mom?”
“There you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that there’s nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldn’t let me. Something about a security issue?”
“It’s not safe. We’ve had incidents in the past—“
She waves a hand, dismissing you. “I’m your mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had to come down here if you’d just respond to my texts.”
“I’ve told you mom, I’m really busy here and I don’t get very much time to look at my phone—“
“Your brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,” She sighs, then continues on, “Did you get time off this week for dinner?”
You frown. “I thought we were having lunch.”
“Well, I figured since we’re all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effort—“
“It’s fine, mom,” You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, “I can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?”
“It’s this Friday and Saturday.”
Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Jack.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.
Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him.
“I’m trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Don’t tell me you’re security.”
You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says ‘DOCTOR’ on it, so your mom’s just being bitchy. Figures.
Jack’s hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks.
“I’m Dr. Abbot,” He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, “I’m an attending here at the ED.”
And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway.
“You work with my daughter?”
“Yes ma’am. She’s the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.”
Your lips twitch at his words. He’s joking. Testing your mother— you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, she’ll pick up on his joke.
She doesn’t. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles.
“Well that’s good to hear. We’re very proud of her.”
Proud of the money I send home, maybe.
“If you’ll excuse us, I need her working on patients.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. “I didn’t realize she was so important and busy here.“
You would if you’d ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better.
Jack’s thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.
“I’ll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?”
Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely.
“No rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.”
Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your mom’s turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside.
The second the doors close behind you and you’re enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale.
“I,” You start, “Am so sorry. I never thought she’d show up here, I got the flight times mixed up—“
“Hey,” Jack’s voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, “None of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.”
“I know. I know. Still, I’m sorry. She can be… difficult.”
He snorts. “Understatement of the year. But seriously. Don’t worry about it. If I didn’t want to get involved with her, I wouldn’t have swooped in there.”
You huff a laugh. “My hero. I’m pretty sure if you’d introduced yourself as my boyfriend she would’ve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.”
“Are those desired outcomes?”
“Mostly.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. “Might be worth a shot, then.”
It’s a very well kept secret that you’ve harbored an embarrassing, ‘think about him while you’re falling asleep at night’ crush on Jack.
So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.
“Yeah, right,” You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jack’s gaze is too intense, “Could even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.”
“You could.”
“Wipe out my entire family?”
“Take me to dinner with you.”
Jack’s body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. There’s no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like he’s serious.
“Are you joking?”
He can’t really be serious. He’s probably just fucking with you. He wouldn’t actually—
“No.”
You run a hand over your hair. “Yeah, sure, laugh it up, haha—“
“I’ll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.”
What. The. Fuck.
“No.” You gape, incredulous.
“No?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No, I mean— fuck. Dr. Abbot—“
“Jack.”
You purse your lips. “Jack. You can’t just… pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” You sputter, “For one, we hardly know each other—“
“You’ve been working here for three months. We’re hardly strangers.”
“You’re my boss, your way older than me, you’re—“ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like ‘you’re ridiculously fucking hot and I haven’t washed my socks in months’, “It wouldn’t even be believable. How would we even have met?”
“In the ED, obviously.”
“How long have we been together?”
“Month and a half.”
“Why are we even dating?”
“Because you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.”
Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine.
“Have you… thought about this?”
He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. “Would it work?”
“Are you rich?”
There’s that devilish, pants dropping smile.
“I’m a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. I’m comfortable.”
You worry your lip between your teeth. “I still can’t… I appreciate the offer, but I can’t subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.”
“But you do?”
“They’re my family.”
Jack doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isn’t coding somewhere.
You sigh. “Why would you even offer, anyway?”
“You need help, and I’m in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesn’t involve people dying or getting shot at.”
“So you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?”
“Beats drinking beer in the park.”
You can’t say yes. It’s crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life.
On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldn’t be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win.
“So. We’ve been dating for a month and a half?”
Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. “I asked you out, of course.”
“Flowers?”
“Naturally.”
“You pay?”
“For every meal.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Navy blue. Mine?”
You roll your eyes. “Black. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?”
Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients.
“Will she really be that upset about it?”
“Probably not, but she’ll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but he’s easier to placate than my mom is.”
Jack hums thoughtfully. “When’s the lunch today?”
“Twelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.”
“How about this,” He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, “Lets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?”
Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind.
“Deal.”
—
Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, he’s as good as yours. Kind of.
In a way.
You’re standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.
Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just don’t want to fucking go.
Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door.
You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.
Shit, he’s here and you’re not ready, god he’s going to be so upset you have to make him wait it’s so rude—
“Hi!” You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. It’s a thin line between the two, “I’m almost ready, I’m so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I won’t take too long to finish up. Sorry.”
You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old method— hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape.
“Woah, easy girl. Nobody’s mad at you. We have time, remember?”
Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked.
Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. “I know, but that was so we’d have time to plan and it’s rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I can’t get my makeup to look right—“
Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause he’s just standing in the hallway and you’re rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why can’t your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?
“First of all,” Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, “You look beautiful.”
Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what he’s doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing?
He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. It’s your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain.
“Secondly, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, I’ll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.”
You crack a wobbly smile. “Not even to Nurse Evans?”
“She’d probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.”
You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one there’ll be hell to pay.”
“You could swap me with someone else?”
“Do you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?”
“Touché.”
The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.”
“I ain’t judging, sweetheart,” Jack soothes, “Besides. We’re ER doctors. We’re all a little neurotic.”
Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity you’re trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom.
“I’ll just. Finish up. Sorry again.”
“I’m gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorry’s. You’re gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.”
Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesn’t critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go.
He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly.
Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.
Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. “Do you want a shot, Jack?”
“You’re aware that I’m fifty?”
Right. That's probably an unhinged question.
“Just thought I’d offer,” You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, “Sometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.”
He’s leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. “It was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. I’m more of a whiskey man, anyways.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “You act like we’re going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be unprepared, because they’re not always bad but when they’re bad they’re bad, you know? And I just don’t want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just don’t—“
“Do you always ramble when you’re worried?” Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.
“Um. No? I don’t know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.”
He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly.
“We got this, okay? I’m not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, I’ll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and we’re being called in.”
“Won’t my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?”
Jack shrugs. “It’s the city. Something horrible is always happening here.”
He holds the front door open for you when you’ve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as you’re sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply.
“You smell good.”
Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold.
“Oh,” You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, “Uh— Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”
You manage to squeak out another awkward “Thanks” before hastily locking the door, hoping he can’t tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain.
The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask.
(“What should I say if she asks if we’ve slept together?”
“Do you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?”
“Fair point.”)
By the time you arrive, you’ve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldn’t be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them.
At least, that’s what he says.
“I want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”
You can’t help but smile at his efforts. “And what will you be doing while I’m sneaking out?”
“Singing your praises, of course.”
Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you “In case they’re still watching,”) and loop your arm through Jack’s, you feel… almost capable.
The lunch is going to suck. That’s a given. But Jack assured you he’s seen worse (“Probably done worse, sweetheart,”) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid —and fucking huge, how are his biceps that big— under your arm, and his presence is steadying.
As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried you’d be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but there’s no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body.
The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you.
You’ve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers:
“You’ve got this, baby. And if you don’t, I do.”
Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you.
When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jack’s grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how… possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves.
Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. “Honey, we’ve talked about you being on time to these things. You can’t be late to important family—“
You watch in real time as your mother’s gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness.
Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isn’t going down too well.
If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place.
He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby.
“I believe we’ve met before, but I’ll introduce myself again. I’m Dr. Jack Abbot.”
Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like you’ve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she can’t afford in the first place.
“You’re my daughter’s plus one?”
Jack nods. “Her boyfriend, yes.”
Your brother’s gape. Your dad’s glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack.
“Honey,” Your mother says, gaze darting to you, “You didn’t say—“
“I didn’t want you to meet him at the hospital,” You tell her, hoping the lie doesn’t come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, “The lobby of the hospital isn’t the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.”
Your mother purses her lips. “Why the last minute addition? If you’d told me that he was coming before today, it would’ve been easier to make the reservation.”
Jack is quicker to respond than you. “That’s my fault, actually. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.”
You have to try hard not to smile at Jack’s not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending.
“Yes, well. My daughter doesn’t always stress the importance of these things.”
Jack’s grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your mother’s gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. “I’m starving.”
Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you.
“How’d I do?”
You elbow him in the side. “We’ll discuss your performance after this is over.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your money’s on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can.
To his credit, Jack doesn’t cause a scene, but he doesn’t back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking:
“Do you really wanna do this right now?”
Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs.
Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you don’t bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. He’s never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew they’d ask and appropriately prepared him for.
“So. Dr. Abbot—”
“Just Jack is fine.”
“—How long have the two of you been dating?”
“A month and a half.”
“Why’d you start dating?”
You take a generous gulp of your wine.
“Because your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.”
“Do you think she’s pretty?” One of your brothers chimes in.
Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. “I’d have to be blind and stupid if I didn’t.”
You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes.
That’s going in the mental folder.
“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”
“Pretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Honorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.”
You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine.
The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the “got a limb chopped off” bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.
Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before we’re in the clear.
“Mr. Abbot—“
“Either Doctor or Jack works.”
Ooo. There was some bite in that one.
Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. You’ve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better.
But Jack isn’t his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions.
This no doubt infuriates your father. He’s always hated it when he couldn’t tear somebody down to his level. A true coward.
“Jack,” Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, “You’re a smart man, yeah? Haven’t you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?”
Yikes. Questioning Jack’s competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. It’s really hot.
Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe.
“War doesn’t really lend to longevity. I’ve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.”
For a moment, it doesn’t feel fake. There’s raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on.
But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, he’s passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesn’t bring up any argument-starting topics, doesn’t rise to bait when it’s thrown his way.
He’s perfect.
Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesn’t even look.
Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your father’s attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. It’s probably the third time she’s actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since it’s positive, you’ll let it slide.
Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jack’s hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and you’re being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car.
“Wow,” You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. “I think that’s the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. You’re really good at this.”
Jack doesn’t respond though. Doesn’t make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and he’s staring straight ahead.
“Jack?”
“They didn’t even talk to you.”
You blink.
“What?”
“Your family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didn’t even ask you any questions.”
You snort. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”
He hasn’t started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He can’t be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?
“You ordered a salad.” He says, a very prominent frown on his lips.
“So? It wasn’t too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I would’ve looked at something cheaper, I don’t know why salads are so expensive—“
“Please don’t apologize for ordering a salad,” Jack says, voice pained, “Especially because I know you hate salads.”
Oh.
“How do you know that?”
“I overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.”
Your cheeks heat. “I never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.”
“You hardly ate anything during lunch.”
“My family tends to have that effect on my appetite.”
Jack does not look placated. He doesn’t take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed.
Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.
“…Mel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?”
He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.
(It’s not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)
“Of course I remember.”
There isn’t much to say after that. You’re not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error you’ve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that you’re still present.
The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesn’t.)
But then he does glance over. He just doesn’t look at your phone.
Jack just keeps looking at you.
He’ll look over, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something, and then he’ll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact.
He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking.
“You’re so much more than them.”
Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold.
“What?”
“Your family,” Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part “Your parents. I hated watching you… disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.”
You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat.
“Listen,” You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, “Thank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shifts—“
“No.”
Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly.
An old habit.
Something flashes across his face —gone before you can decipher it— and he noticeably forces himself calmer.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.”
Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. “I really can’t ask you to—“
“It’s a good thing you’re not asking me then.”
“Jack—“
“Please.”
You’re stunned silent at the rawness in his tone— the pain.
He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging.
“I don’t know how you do it,” He continues, jaw working, “I can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.”
You shrug uselessly. “Is there another option?”
Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes he’d followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you that’s made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. There’s no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress.
At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.
Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where you’re getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him.
(As an ED resident, you’ve seen child abuse cases. You’ve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes.
You know your family isn’t great. But there aren’t any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)
You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you haven’t done something wrong, but you feel like you have because he’s upset so maybe you can make it better?
“You have that look on your face.”
You frown. “What look?”
“The ‘I’m gonna apologize for something stupid’ look.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it,” Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, “Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
“It’s freaky when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You always know what I’m thinking.”
Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets.
Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: “Why are you upset?”
“Because your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I can’t.”
“Oh.”
It’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad. You’ve seen bad. This isn’t it. It’s hard, but it’s not bad.
He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you.
Jack nods towards your door. “We can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.”
Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense.
Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your –quickly approaching– shift, you linger.
“How am I supposed to repay you for all of this?”
The question that’s been burning a hole in your pocket since he said I’ll do it.
He just shakes his head. Like it’s simple. Easy. “This isn’t something I want repayment for. Now go. You’re no good to me as a zombie.”
“I’ll just have some of Shen’s Dunkin.”
“He doesn’t share that shit. Besides, he’s off tomorrow.”
“Maybe I‘ll—“
“Sleep,” He points at your door, “Now.”
You smile at his insistence. He’s sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out.
Sometimes it feels like he balances you out.
“Goodnight.”
He gives you a little smile of his own.
“Goodnight.”
—
Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesn’t talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, he’s going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he won’t be around to take care of you.
So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list.
“This really isn’t a good time—“
“Robby,” Jack starts, “They didn’t even fucking talk to her.”
“Jesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.”
“They just…” Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, “…Ignored her. They talked over her, didn’t ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.“
The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robby’s moved to either the break room or an empty patient room.
“She fight back at all?”
“No. Just… grinned and beared it. It was fuckin’ unsettling, man. I’ve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMT’s who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.”
“Christ.”
“She flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.”
“Fuck. Do you think—“
“I don’t know. Maybe when she was younger. They don’t live in state, so if they are, she’s safe.”
Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “God. I don’t know what to do, Robby. It doesn’t seem like she’s got… anybody. She didn’t even understand why I was upset. She doesn’t get why that would be upsetting.”
“She’s friends with Mel and Santos, right?”
“And Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. I’ve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. She’s just been doing everything on her own.”
Jack can picture Robby nodding. “We’ve done our fair share of that.”
“Yeah, and look where that got us. I can’t just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah.”
The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand.
“She’s always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, we’re all fucked up, but watching it happen…”
“It’s different.”
“You could say that,” Jack sighs, “She soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.”
“You lost me on that last one.”
“It doesn’t… She’s not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.”
“Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“Bit late for that.”
“You could pull back.”
“Fuck no, I can’t. Then I’d be kicking the puppy.”
“She is a grown woman.”
“Who happens to look like a kicked puppy.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone.
“You finally realize how ridiculous you sound?”
Jack grunts. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”
The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. “That’s an answer in it of itself, and you know that.”
He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up.
“I don’t know, Robby. It’s just…”
“Worse than you expected?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?”
“Fuck no.”
“Exactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and he’s only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d bet money that he’s moved onto his third during this conversation.”
“I save lives too.”
“You won’t save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.”
“I would never fall asleep behind the wheel.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed.
But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he can’t stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he won’t be able to let it go.
—
The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jack’s car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help.
It’s jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if you’re being honest.
But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, you’re convinced you’ve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions:
“Did you and Jack go on a date yesterday?”
And:
“What’s Jack like on a date?”
The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you don’t answer it or any of it’s variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.
You’re not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. That’s conveniently nowhere near him.
Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, who’s pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you she’s there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and he’s never been to your apartment smelled your perfume.
(“…I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”)
It’s all too much.
Hence the avoiding.
You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but it’s oddly difficult. You’ve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, it’s the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you won’t access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled ‘For: Jack Abbot’ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner.
But you can’t. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, there’s a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack.
All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack.
You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesn’t require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack would’ve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isn’t the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So it’s something else.
It’s how they treat you.
You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, you’d also probably be upset too.
But this feels different. Jack’s reaction is different. Jack is different.
It’s just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You don’t even live in the same state anymore. It’s not a big deal.
“Why are you hiding from me in a supply closet?”
You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.
“I’m not hiding from you.”
Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “This is the third time you’ve been here in two hours.”
“So? I just want to be… on top of things. I’m a productive person.”
“You are,” He amends, “But all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.”
You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. “Things are just… weird, okay? I don’t know how you’re being so normal about all this?”
Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it.
You can’t exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you can’t quite bring yourself to agree either– because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers you’ve had in years isn't just nothing.
It’s everything. And you, for one, can’t just pretend that it didn’t happen.
“Hey,” He calls your name softly, “What’s on your mind? What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing.”
He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so it’s just the two of you alone. “Liar.”
He doesn’t probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like they’re looking for an answer. An answer you’re too hesitant to give.
“I’m just worried.”
“You? Worried? No.”
You cut him a glare, “There’s a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.”
“Sure,” Jack dips his head, “But that’s not what you’re really worried about.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because that doesn’t address the fact that you’re avoiding me.”
You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face.
“Why do you care?”
The question that’s been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just can’t seem to get rid of. The puzzle you can’t figure out; the tune you can’t place.
You’re a logic driven person. You like knowing how things works– why they work. Why things do the things they do.
You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense.
Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense.
“Why do I care about what?”
“This,” You gesture vaguely to the air, “Me. I don’t buy that you just didn’t have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People don’t just… do that. You’re really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, we’re just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just don’t get why you’re so okay with being miserable just for my sake. I’m not that important. These stupid lunches aren’t that important.”
It’s a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man you’re harboring feelings for.
He doesn’t respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isn’t taking so much weight.
“You are important. You’re important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not ‘ruining my week.’ If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.”
“But why?”
“Jesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didn’t you?”
You snort. “Guilty as charged.”
Now it’s his turn to sigh.
“You… seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.”
You frown. “It is.”
“It isn’t. At least it shouldn’t be, but I don’t think anyone ever told you that.”
You scoff. “So this is about my family.”
He shrugs. “Amongst other things.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“They are.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“It’s not a competition.”
You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
“Because it’s a big deal to you.”
The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, you’re convinced they’d all be looking at you.
It’s Jack who speaks first though.
“I can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when it’s hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. You’re selfless and kind and I don’t think very many people give that back to you.”
A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you ‘smile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, there’s nothing to cry about.’ It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you don’t know what else to do. There’s no pre-written protocol for something like this.
“I still don’t really get it.” You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.
Jack sends you a light grin. “We’ll work on it.”
“We will?”
“Sure,” He shrugs, “Already started anyways.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” He opens the door, “Now get back out there. And bring the gloves too.”
You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where you’d left it and following him out.
The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesn’t hover, but doesn’t pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesn’t bother him.
Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because it’s something he’s doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.
You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiver– something that hit the nail right on the head.
“Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry you’re feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. It’s great but it’s also difficult, because there’s a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then there’s the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that you’re completely capable of doing things yourself.
That probably wouldn’t even work. He’d just say something infuriating and sexy, like “I know, but I want to do this for you.”
He would. He totally would.
The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring.
(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)
–
The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in… years.
The lunches are fine, but the part you’ve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. He’ll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before.
The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jack’s never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but you’re never allowed to order anything that isn’t a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since you’re the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own.
It’s as frustrating as it is hot.
But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty good– as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jack’s presence is… steadying, even when he’s not physically there. He’s always present in some way– whether it’s little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you weren’t previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what you’ll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes he’s there in your head; in little things he’s told or taught you that you remember in the moment.
It’s nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke with– someone who hasn’t looked down on you for the the way you turned out.
You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below.
At least, two peach bellinis in, that’s what it feels like.
“Honestly,” Your mother puffs, “I don’t understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.”
You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever.
Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed.
You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood.
“I have the next three days off, mom. We’ll be able to do dinners instead.”
Your mother, however, only scoffs. “That’s no good to anyone now. We’ve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule."
“I’m a doctor, mom. It doesn’t get more respectable than that.”
Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three.
Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over.
“You work in the emergency department, dear. That’s hardly stable, and stable is respectable,” Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, “No offense, Jack.”
He smiles thinly. “None taken.”
Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure.
So you keep drinking your bellini’s and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary.
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?”
That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. That’s a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man.
“I have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. I’ve moved on.”
Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. “You could teach her a thing or two about moving on.”
Your blood runs cold.
Jack sets his glass down. “And what do you mean by that?”
It’s your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasn’t enough.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. She’s had exactly one boyfriend before you– what was his name honey?”
“Christopher,” You answer hollowly, stomach churning.
Your dad snaps his fingers. “That’s it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a party– finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!”
Your family laughs, but Jack doesn’t.
“Where’s the funny part, in all this?”
Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. “When she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.”
Your dad nods in agreement. “We had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.”
Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch.
“He cheated on me with my best friend.”
At that, your mother frowns. “That’s not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didn’t know you were still together.”
“I wasn’t distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.”
Your brother rolls his eyes. “Med school was all you talked about. It’s not like you were putting out.”
Your mother snaps her fingers once. “That is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.”
“Come on, mom. It’s true. Everyone knows–”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, “But the hospital just texted. There’s an emergency, and we’re needed, so we have to go.”
Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober.
Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and you’re sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) you’re both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service.
By the time you get to the car, you realize that you’re about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment.
“Jack,” You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, “I think I’m too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?”
“There is no emergency,” He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, “I made it up. I figured you’d be okay with ducking out of there.”
“Oh. That was nice of you.”
He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. “Told you I would handle things.”
You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. “I hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where it’s okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didn’t even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didn’t fuck up my score.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Christopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. I’m so glad I don’t live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause they’re my family, but everything is just so much easier when they’re not around.”
“You’re allowed to hate them, you know.”
“I know,” You say, fiddling with a hangnail. “I know I probably should.”
You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. “I always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day they’ll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
You frown. “It’s not? It kinda seems stupid. You’d think by now I would know better.”
“No,” Jack eases the car out of the parking space, “We’re biologically wired to love our families. It’s the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain can’t compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just… don’t. Not in any of the right ways.”
You blow air through your lips. “I think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.”
Shit, that sounds so whiny. “But it turns out it wasn’t so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and I’m pretty sure I’m friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. She’s cool.”
Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light you’re currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his face— a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. It’s the only evidence that he’s not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.
Then the light turns green, and his face isn’t illuminated the same.
“And what about me?”
Oh. Well. That’s a loaded question.
The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. “I don’t know what to think about you.”
“Oh really?”
“Mmm. Nope.”
“How come?”
"You're so–” You gesture vaguely, “Confusing. I can’t figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think I’m wrong.”
“You think you’re wrong?”
“Still can’t figure you out.”
“And how can I show you that I mean it?”
That’s. Hmm.
“I don’t know. I think what you’re doing is working,” You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding you’re too tired to care, “It helps that you’re really hot.”
His lips twitch. “Oh, does it now?”
“Mhm. You’ve got this whole… capable thing about you. It’s hot. Competency is in.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. You’re so…”
“Competent?”
“That’s the word.”
If he’s at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didn’t show it.
“You should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.”
“Are you like Bob the Builder?”
“I’m a doctor, so no.”
“You’re kind of like Bob the Builder.”
“Whatever you say,” He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, “Before I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didn’t even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.”
“Are you gonna be mad at me if I say no?”
“No.”
‘Then yes.”
“You sure? I wasn’t lying.”
“I know. But I like your cooking.”
You spend the drive to Jack’s continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. “For any alcohol excursions.”
It’s freaky how prepared he is for every situation.
When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when you’ve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment.
His gigantic apartment.
“Woah,” You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, “I didn’t know they made apartments this size.”
“Its not that big.”
“I think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.”
You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and he’s immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.
You decide to unpack the moment when you’re sober.
“One, it’s not that big, and two, that’s what you get for renting a studio apartment.”
“Like you could afford better when you were an intern.”
He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. “If you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.”
You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?
“Only if you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t. Stay there.”
Jack’s only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.
He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. I’m gonna change too, and then I’ll heat up the food.”
Jack shows you the bathroom (you don’t bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, that’s for when you’re significantly more drunk than you are now and when you’re not in his fancy-ass apartment.)
Because he’s a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, he’s already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and he’s a man. They’re an inky black color with tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that.
“Looking at the sparkles.”
“Oookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?”
“You made vodka pasta?”
He shrugs. “You said you liked it.”
You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. “The pasta, please.”
Suddenly exhausted now that you’re in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But you’re not going to fall asleep. You’re not.
“Don’t fall asleep. You need to eat something first.”
“M’ not fallin’ asleep.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?
“What’re’you’ making?”
“Just a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.”
“Oh. How come?”
“Because I don’t want you to throw up.”
“I promise I won’t throw up on your furniture. I don’t usually throw up when I’m hungover.”
“You drink often?”
“No,” Your head lulls to the side, “I’m too busy. I’m actually not-so-secretly very boring. I don’t really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.”
“Thought you went to that thing with King and Santos?”
“Yeah, but that was ‘cause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didn’t want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, “Makes me feel better when you’re around.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being.
“Sorry I couldn’t finish it,” You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, “I feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.”
“It wasn’t that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. I’ll send it home with you.”
“Mhm.” You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit.
Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm.
“Come on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, don’t you?”
“No,” You shake your head, “I wanna sleep right here. It’s comfortable.”
“It won’t be when you wake up.”
You whine, curling away from him.
He just puffs another little laugh. “You can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You can’t sleep on the kitchen island.”
“Why not?” You finally lift your head, “And why is your bed an option?”
“One,” He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, “Because the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
“Why? Is your couch uncomfortable?”
“No,” He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, “It’s just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.”
“I like sleeping on couches.”
He shoots you a look over his shoulder, “I’m sure you do. But you’re still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.”
You prop your head on your hand. “Who said I’m even staying here tonight?”
Jack closes the fridge. “Do you want to? Because I don’t care either way. We both have tomorrow off.”
“It’d be weird to wake up here.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my boss.”
“And I’m faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure we’re past coworkers.”
“What would we even do in the morning?”
“Sleep.”
“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re my guest–”
“You’re already doing so much for me,” You blurt, stomach clenching, “I– You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?”
Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs.
“Only because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isn’t uncomfortable. I’ll help you make it up.”
Jack’s apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopher’s room at his parent’s house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucket– “Just in case those bellini’s don’t love you back.”
The sight of it all is almost too much. It’s just so much care. All of it. The fact that he’s helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasn’t judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets and–
“You okay there?”
“Mhm,” You hum, “Just thinkin’.”
He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jack’s middle and burying your face in his chest.
“Thank you,” You say, voice muffled by the fabric, “For doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.”
Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact –a line you were previously too scared to cross– but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because you’re never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him.
Jack’s hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline.
You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.
“I will always,” He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, “Look out for you, baby. I’m always gonna be right here.”
His arms tighten around you, drawing you in— closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you can’t help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him.
“You smell good.” You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment.
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Good. Like man.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. “Thank you sweetheart.”
“Why do you call me sweetheart?”
“Because you’re a sweetheart.”
“I am?”
“Don’t play dumb now,” He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so you’re forced to look at him, “You know you are.”
You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, “I don’t know. I was just making sure.”
“Mhm.” He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.
You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jack’s eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place.
It’s possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating
And you love it.
Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn.
“Okay,” He huffs, taking a step back, “Time for bed. Get going.”
Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it.
The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together.
He waits until you’ve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to “Wake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.” It’s a very Jack thing to say.
You’re out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other.
Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can.
–
Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you that’s she’s sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesn’t want to unless you’re ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, it’s time for the next annual lunch circuit.
You’re a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. “So it can feel like a real family dinner.” While you know that there isn’t any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way you’re cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again.
You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then he’d gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that you’re having dinner at his place.
“Jack,” You’d gaped at him, “It’s fine. My apartment isn’t that small, and you don’t have to help move the furniture if you don’t want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really don’t think you want to host my family.”
“Sweetheart, it’s just logic. You’ve seen my place.”
“Okay. No need to rub it in.”
He’d just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. “Come on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.”
“Do you have a death wish?” You hiss, “That’s asking for torture.”
Jack had just shrugged. “Would having it at my place be easier for you?”
“...Yes?”
“Then we’ll do it there. You’re off in a bit, right?”
You’d nodded.
He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “That’s my spare key. I’ll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. I’ll be home soon.”
Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish.
The line between real and fake has become so blurred you’re not sure if it ever was there to begin with.
He’s started calling you sweetheart more and more often– sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie you’re selling. Is it still a lie if it doesn’t feel like one anymore?
The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you can’t help but pace the length of Jack’s kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (“I’m not wearing slacks in my own home, and I’m not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.”) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety.
“Take your shoes off if you’re going to pace. You’re gonna give yourself blisters.”
You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle.
“Things have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think she’s just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that she’s upset about?”
Jack begins preparing the wine –your mother only likes red– for decanting. “I think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldn’t be able to hide it.”
“True. But what if?”
“I’m not going to help you spiral.”
“Why not?” You whine.
He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. “Shoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.”
You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt.
When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention.
But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables.
The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyone’s flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times.
Pretty soon it’s all just… over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesn’t matter, and then it’s just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that.
There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.
You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.
You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.
You’ve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you go and change, huh?”
Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. “But I want to help you clean up.”
“You can,” He soothes, “After you change.”
“But–”
“Hey,” He interrupts, “No. You’ve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. I’ll wait for you.”
Jack keeps his word. He’s leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your –now bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with you– face.
He looks up when the door opens. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesn’t push for conversation.
Cleaning up doesn’t take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesn’t want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there aren’t any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food.
It can’t just be over like this. It can't.
When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.
“So,” You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, “That’s it then.”
“So it is.”
“Guess I owe you big time, huh?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t care about that.”
“Right,” You look down at your lap, “Yeah. Sorry.”
You lapse into silence.
Jack sighs. “Sweetheart–”
“Was it fake to you?” You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, “Were you– did you mean it?”
It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending.
It felt real.
It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.
Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.
When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping there’s answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, he’s grinning.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
He dips his head once. “Yes you do. You’re a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.”
Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like you’re liable to somehow float away if you don’t dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight.
“What if I’m wrong?”
“You won’t be.”
A scoff escapes your lips, “You can’t know for sure.”
He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm.
“You do.”
Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jack’s gaze on you.
“I think…” You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, “I think you might like me.”
“You think,” He drawls, “I might.”
“I don’t want to be wrong!” You cry.
Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh.
“Come here.”
You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain you’d walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you.
Jack does love to prove you wrong.
“Soo,” You start, still hesitant, “You do like me.”
Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something you’re starting to recognize as fond. “Yes.”
“More than a little?”
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t faking anything. You were serious about the— You know.”
“Use your words.”
“The flirting.” You clarify, ears burning.
“All correct,” He nods, “Though I would have said it differently.”
You frown. “And how would you have put it?”
“I would have said,” He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, “That you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.”
You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work.
You frown.
Wait.
“Have you known I liked you this whole time?”
Jack snorts. “Overheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.”
He’s known since the second week?
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. Except Robby. He’s been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.”
“Oh my god.”
“I thought it was cute,” He smoothes a hand over your hair, “You were so much more nervous back then. You’ve come a long way.”
You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jack’s having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place.
“Can you take a compliment?”
“No.”
He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. “We’ll try again later.”
“Am I– Can I stay here tonight then?”
“Of course,” he murmurs, “My one condition is that you’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Fine,” You sigh, long and drawn out, “I suppose we can share.”
“How kind of you to share my bed with me.”
“I have been told I’m kind.”
You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips.
It’s just like your dream.
Only this time, it’s real. And Jack is kissing you back.
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