Bed Chem (Jack Abbot x Michael Robinavich x Reader) +18
Summary: At Javadi’s birthday party, Robby and Abbot share a thing or two with you.
Word count: 2K
Warnings: MINORS DNI! Penetration, anal sex, double penetration, Robby and Abbot kiss each other too, no reader description. Just filthy nasty stuff. NO USE OF Y/N.
A/N: I know it’s been a while, I know it’s totally out of my niche but things are a bit hard for me right now emotionally saying, and The Pitt it’s just a very important hyper fixation of mine at the moment. In my masterlist you’ll find Joel Miller content and everything else! I promise I’ll manage through the asks and requests in general. Thank you for reading it!
You know you shouldn’t have had more than one beer. More than that, you know you shouldn’t be pleased with the little attention Michael Robinavich gave you. He was like that with everyone, even in the ER, even when everything seemed to be collapsing on top of him.
You try not to think too much about it. He is always with Jack Abbot, the night-shift doctor who seems to hate everyone. That PTMC gathering wasn’t supposed to be anything special; it was a mix of Javadi’s twenty-first birthday celebration and something else organized by Perlah and Princess with Trinity’s help. It’s strange seeing all of them in normal clothes around that big bar table, especially when you’re feeling extremely out of place.
You were a new resident, a few years ahead in medical school, and you still weren’t sure whether emergency medicine was really your thing. You kept telling yourself you still had time to figure it out, and that no one expected you, at twenty-two, to know everything about life just because you were considered a prodigy.
When Robby briefly made small talk with you and you were already slightly tipsy, it felt like more than it really was. Trying to regain your composure between long sips of cold sparkling water, you couldn’t help staring at the two men whenever they weren’t looking, certain you were going unnoticed.
But you weren’t.
Jack and Robby could feel every glance. They could sense how you constantly seemed curious, as if you were trying to unravel some secret about them.
And maybe you were.
Perhaps you were being magnetically drawn to both men and couldn't even grasp the scale of it, how even the air seemed thick with both of them around you, even with a few people in between.
“You look distracted,” Javadi said, sitting down beside you while holding two drinks. When you turned them down, she promptly downed both at once.
“I think I’ve had too much, that’s all,” you said, spinning the empty water bottle between your fingers.
“You’ve only had two beers,” she noted, as if it were obvious and pathetic.
“Maybe it’s the Pittsburgh brew. It’s too strong,” you tried to lie, and she laughed before getting up to mingle with your coworkers.
Victoria was one of your closest friends there, whether it was because you were nearly the same age or because she almost always worked double shifts to avoid having a decent conversation with her mother, who was also a PTMC doctor.
You decided you needed to go to the bathroom; the live music was too loud, and you were weighing the idea of going home to reflect on your spiral of disturbing and delicious thoughts about Jack Abbot and Michael Robinavich.
At the same time, of course.
Because that’s just how you were. A disgusting crazy bitch.
You washed your face with cold water at the sink, stared at your pathetic reflection for a few seconds, and then took a deep breath before grabbing the doorknob to leave and finally call a taxi home. Maybe if you were more sober you could have walked, but you didn't want to risk it. The moment you opened the door and stepped out, your body collided with something taller and stronger, sending you staggering back.
You processed the moment for a few seconds, your brain completely short-circuiting as you realized Jack Abbot was standing in front of you, his expression unreadable and his arms crossed. He didn’t seem like the gentle type, but there was something strangely attractive about him, and his cologne had already clouded your senses completely.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you said, tripping over your words. “I just… I… I need to leave.”
“Are you sober enough for that?” he asked, looking slightly concerned now.
“Fortunately,” you replied, feeling your senses completely sharpened now, partly from the collision, partly because being near him was extremely intense.
“You were staring, you know? Out there,” Jack said, making your cheeks turn a shade of scarlet that couldn't be seen thanks to the bar’s dim bathroom lights.
“It wasn’t my intention.” You were about to apologize again, but your eyes unconsciously sought his, and for a moment everything seemed far too quiet until another voice pulled you out of your bubble.
“Everything okay over here?” Robby asked, approaching the two of you. You opened and closed your mouth several times, trying to find a sentence that didn’t sound completely stupid, and obviously, you failed.
But Jack Abbot laughed. That delicious sound, almost as if he were the biggest scoundrel in the world.
Which you were certain he was.
“She was staring.”
“I know,” Michael said, sharing that same sly tone of voice.
“It wasn’t my intention,” you defended yourself, feeling the heat spread from your face to your body.
“It seemed like it was.” Jack took a step forward, closing in on you, and some dark corner of your brilliant mind began sending impulses to all the wrong places. “And we don’t like that, do we, Michael?”
“I think you should be taught a lesson, sweetheart,” Robby replied, both of them surrounding you.
“What do you mean by that?” you asked with a trembling voice, certain that this was a complete delusion of your perverted mind.
“Oh, you know very well, sweetheart.” Jack’s voice was the last thing you heard before he pulled you into an intense kiss.
His tongue invaded your mouth perversely; he tasted of beer and tobacco and seemed determined. You didn’t resist, in fact, you had been dreaming of this for too long to deny the doctor anything at all. Then, Robby was suddenly behind you, boxing you in and leaving you no choice but to give in. As your legs trembled slightly, he made sure to steady you, his large, firm hand on your waist.
“Share with me, Abbot.” He laughed. You were caught between the two men and could already feel your pussy getting wet, moaning against Abbot’s lips as he pushed you with Robby’s help against the nearest wall. They flanked you on either side, their kisses trailing down to your neck while their hands invaded the fabric of your T-shirt.
Abbot’s kisses moved to the side of your neck while Robby took the other side, both men acting with complete desperation as you moaned, entirely come undone.
“I-I don’t know if this is appropriate…” you moaned, practically melting in pure pleasure as Abbot’s hands slid down to your skirt, hiking up the denim.
“Easy access. Fucking hot,” he grunted, and in the next instant, all you could feel were his fingers over the lace of your panties, making circular motions against the already soaked fabric. He brought his fingers to Robby’s lips, who sucked them greedily. “She tastes delicious, doesn’t she, Michael?”
Your breath was ragged, coming in gasps, and Robby’s skillful hands undid the only two buttons on your shirt. He held you firmly in place, sliding his right hand under the fabric once more, but this time realizing you weren't wearing a bra. He let out a husky, determined groan, filling his hand with your full breasts. Unable to contain the impulse, he pushed Abbot aside for a second and adjusted his position to match your height, pulling down your top until he had a full view.
Michael Robinavich took your breast into his mouth all at once, and you saw stars. His tongue worked in circles, sucking, nibbling, and pinching your nipple, and you no longer had any strength left to resist.
“Fuck, goddamn…” Abbot groaned, taking in the view, then gripped your chin firmly, but not enough to hurt. “We’re going to fuck you right here and now and you’re going to let us, aren’t you? You’re such a good girl. You’re going to let me feel that tight pussy, aren’t you?”
You nodded your head, desperate for more, your body completely covered in goosebumps, craving more than just hot kisses that felt like the epitome of your most sexual fantasies. Abbot finished hiking up your skirt, and you heard the sound of his zipper, as well as the clink of Robby's leather belt.
For a moment, you thought they might actually share you, but when Abbot easily pulled at your panties and ripped the fabric, stuffing the remains into his pocket. Lust flooded his eyes. Robby pulled you until your back was against him, leaving you no choice but to face Jack.
“Jack is going to take care of your tight cunt, and I’m going to fuck your ass until you beg me to fill you with cum,” Michael said in his raspy voice, making you let out a long, dragged-out moan, reduced to nothing but pure desire.
You had never done anything like this before. You had never fucked anyone in public, let alone... everything else. But you wanted it. You wanted it so badly that even the slightest thought of pulling away from this complete delirium seemed incoherent; you nodded your head, whimpering and moaning at the same time, searching for more.
“Hungry girl,” Jack muttered, shaking his head with a laugh as he pulled out his fully rigid cock, dripping with pre-cum. He groaned in relief, massaging the length before stepping closer to you, using his right hand to lift your chin and steal a small kiss that felt more like he was checking in to make sure you were okay. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
That small act of affection made you sigh, sweat clinging to your forehead as you nodded. Robby pressed another small kiss to the top of your head, and in the next instant, you felt his cock against your ass. It was hot, pulsing, and making you lean back toward him.
Jack steadied your waist and entered you slowly. You were no virgin, but he was incredibly large, and you needed a few seconds to adjust; Robby moved even slower, the position making things difficult, and for a moment, only the sound of your breathing could be heard. At no point did you worry about someone walking into the hallway and catching you like this; the sensations were overwhelming enough that there was no room to think about anything else.
Abbot began to move slowly, and he and Robby found a synchronized rhythm. Robby’s hands moved greedily over your breasts, and Jack tilted his head back in pure ecstasy.
“You’re so fucking tight, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Abbot groaned. He hit your pleasure point with firm but not necessarily rough thrusts, and between them, he showered your face with kisses.
Robby bit your shoulder hard; he was completely inside, and your body couldn't comprehend the debauchery of the situation. It couldn't understand anything beyond absolute pleasure, and you knew you wouldn't last much longer, and honestly, neither would they.
“You’re so fucking hot. I’m not going to last much longer,” Robby grunted, picking up his pace as you felt your own peak approaching. “You’re going to let us come inside, aren’t you, sweetheart? You are, right?” he asked, even though he knew he wasn't giving you a choice.
Biting your shoulder even harder since he couldn't actually moan out loud, Robby was the first to finish, filling you with cum, and seconds later, triggering the strongest orgasm you had ever had in your life. But it wasn't enough; Abbot wasn't done yet. Just when you thought you had surpassed the divine sensation of it all, you came once more right along with Jack as he poured all of his cum inside your tight pussy.
“Oh, God. You’re…” He didn’t finish the sentence; your legs were weak and both of them were still inside you. Robby looked up for a moment and pulled Abbot into a wet, deep kiss, and both of them were hungrily kissing you a second later.
Ragged breaths and sweat clung to the three of you, and when Robby pulled out, followed by Abbot, you felt an extreme sense of emptiness. Their cum was dripping down your legs and your ass in an insane way. You had never come so deliciously before, and your body felt like it was recovering from what had been the best fuck of your life.
It was Michael who spoke first.
“You’re definitely coming home with us, sweetheart.”
Jack Abbot eats pussy like it's his God-given right.
Hungry, starved, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Don't come between a man and his meal.
You think he cares if you've shaved or not? Open your legs. Let. Him. Eat.
Sitting on his face isn't a suggestion. It's an order. Take a fucking seat.
Yes, he'll be able to breathe. Breathing in your scent before he gets a taste is like an aphrodisiac.
And, yes, he can and will fuck you with his tongue. He's an expert and you know he doesn't do anything half-assed.
His hands love to dig into your thighs and hips so he can move you just where he needs you. And he loves to add his fingers to stretch your sweet cunt and add more stimulation...
Speaking of stimulation, he doesn't understand men who can't find or simply neglect the clit. Correction. They aren't men. Jack is.
Don't you dare hold back your sounds. Say his name. Moan. Whimper. Anything. Be as loud as you want.
He grunts and groans, wanting you to know just how much he loves tasting and pleasing you. The vibrations and the tickle from his stubble drive you crazy.
If you don't make a mess all over him, he'll think he did something wrong and he will remedy that. That usually involves making you come again. And again.
What? He's a giver. Give it to him.
As much as he loves having you ride his face like your life depends on it, he loves to lay you down and dive in. Such a hungry man.
Pull his hair. Grip his head with your thighs. Play with your breasts. Go on.
It's a gorgeous view for him, looking up at you between your thighs. Such a sight to watch you writhe and tremble.
It's a gorgeous view for you, too, when you catch a glimpse of those intense eyes and the shine around his mouth. It's the kind of stare that makes your heart stop and race all at once.
Yes, he'll give you his cock. Just be good and give him one more.
He talks you through it, of course. You know he does. Because you're so beautiful when you let go for him. So good. So fucking good.
And just when you think it's too much, you break so beautifully. He guides you and makes sure you feel every ounce of pleasure.
He licks his fingers like he can't let a single drop go to waste, and you come back to yourself long enough to feel the head of his cock start to push in. It feels like heaven once he's inside.
And Jack? He fucking smirks.
Nothing to see here, lovelies. Go about your business.
content: 18+ mdni, widow!jack abbot, fake dating, sexually explicit content, age gap, discussions of miscarriage, discussions of surgical miscarriage, discussions of infidelity, dysfunctional family, discussions of divorce, wedding, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, mild violence, some named family members and ex significant other
words: 26.7k
synopsis: when the wedding invitation arrives for your ex husband's marriage to your little sister, you're tempted to set fire to your entire life. your attending, jack abbot, has other ideas.
a/n: i had a blast writing this all the drama all the love all the hurt all the pining!! it's been a while since i wrote something for jack and i'm really happy to be putting this out just in time for dr abbot to be back on our tv screens!! title is based on the song me before you by bleachers. i hope you love it <3 syd (also i know i did not edit this well so i apologize in advance for the typos)
The night had already started off badly enough before you checked the mail. You'd slept through three alarms, stubbed your toe on the dresser in your rush to get dressed, and burnt your coffee all before leaving your apartment. In hindsight, you should have left the overflowing mailbox alone on your way out. You wished you could have foreseen how yanking all the pieces of mail out of the small black box that hung by the door would ruin your whole shift. Would ruin your whole week, really.
Getting into your car, you had tossed the mail into the passenger seat. It wasn't until you were stopped at a light about five minutes away from the hospital that you caught sight of the envelope. Pastel pink bows and your name etched in cursive.
Your heart dropped, eyes glued to the envelope, the rest of your body locking up, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
A horn split the air from behind you and you jerked your head back to the front and saw the green light, "Fuck—Alright, alright!"
Your knee shook the entire rest of the way to the hospital and once you were parked, your hands were so shaky as you tried to open the envelope you immediately received a paper cut. But the pain was nothing compared to the agony that you felt ripple through your chest as your eyes traveled over the invitation, gold and pink glitter floating around the car onto your scrubs.
After staring at the piece of cardstock in your hand for too long, you felt your phone vibrate. Blinking rapidly you pulled it out to see a text from Jack Abbot: You good?
Your eyes traveled to the time at the top of your screen to see you were nearly five minutes late to the start of shift. Normally you walked through those doors at least fifteen minutes early. He was clearly showing heroic levels of restraint by waiting until you were several minutes late to contact you.
Sorry, running late. Be there in 5. You texted back hurriedly and were rewarded five seconds later with a thumbs up reaction.
Taking in a shaky breath, you closed out of your messages app to dial your mom.
She picked up after the second ring, "Hey, honey, everything okay? Thought you worked tonight."
"Has Maya lost her fucking mind?"
Your mom was quiet for a few moments, "…So you got the wedding invitation then?"
"I'm not going," You said, angry tears already burning the backs of your eyes, "and to top it all off, she's getting married at the exact fucking venue I wanted to get married at but David and I couldn't afford it at the time. She knew that, she fucking knew it was my dream wedding—"
"I know, baby," your mom said sympathetically, "I don't expect you to come."
"Why would she do this?" You asked, and finally, the anger evaporated from your voice, replaced with the pure devastation, "I mean, she already fucking won, what else does she want? Having my husband and my dream wedding isn't enough for her? She needs to humiliate me in front of everyone we know as well?"
"I don't think she's doing it to hurt you," your mom said quietly, "believe it or not, I think she just wants her big sister at her wedding. She misses you."
You laughed humorlessly, straightening your shoulders in an attempt to rid your body of the despair that now saturated it, "She should have thought about that before she fucked my husband."
Your mother sighed on the other line, "I told her that you'd react like this, but she wouldn't listen to me."
"You think I'm being unreasonable?" You snapped.
"Of course I don't," She said firmly, "and you know that. You know exactly how I feel about this whole thing and so does she. It's a goddamn shame. And if she ever wants to fix things with you she'll probably have to wait until she's divorced or that son of a bitch is dead."
You snorted at that and your mother, normally a perfectly poised saint, rushed in to damage control, "Sorry, I didn't mean that, I actually think his mother's a sweet lady."
You swiped at a tear and sniffled, "Yeah, she is. Thank you for listening to me scream and cry again, but I have to go to work now, I'm late."
"Anytime, kiddo. I love you."
As you hung up, you saw another text from Abbot come in: Come find me when you get here.
You sighed, "shit."
As senior resident, you had a pretty close relationship with your attending. Professionally, anyway. But you being late was out of character for you and Jack Abbot was perceptive. He'd want to get to the bottom of whatever was wrong and no matter how you tried to deflect, you knew he'd persist.
But that wouldn't stop you from trying.
"Hey hun," Lena peered at you over the rim of her glasses as you approached the hub, "you alright?"
"Yeah, just overslept." You forced a smile, "You know where I can find Abbot?"
She directed you over towards the beds in north where you found Abbot discussing a treatment plan with Ellis outside a patient's room. When he saw you, he gestured for you wait a second while he finished up with Ellis. Once she walked off, he gestured for you to follow him.
You fell into step beside him as you walked around the ER, "Everything okay with you?" he asked.
"Yes."
You'd arrived back at the hub and Jack turned fully to you, hazel eyes laser focused on you. You hated this about him, how he demanded your eyes on his at all times so he could properly assess you, as if you were a patient in need of fixing.
"That's it?"
You shrugged, "Yes."
He tilted his head slightly, "In the entire time you've been on my shift, you've never been late. Not even once."
"Yeah," You said, annoyance coating your tone, "which is why you should cut me some slack."
"You're not in trouble," he said mildly, "I'm just checking in. You sure everything's fine?"
You sighed, "Yes."
He stared at you a moment longer before taking an iPad from the docking station, "Okay, fine. Grab a med student and handle chairs."
"Chairs?" Your eyebrows shot up your forehead, "You are pissed at me."
"No," Abbot said shaking his head, eyebrows raised as he looked up from his iPad into your face, "You were late and I need someone to triage and who better than my senior resident?"
You scoffed, and pivoted on your foot, "Unbelievable."
"Call me if you need me," he shouted after you.
"I won't," you called back.
Jack watched you go, wrangling a student by the arm as you went, and then turned back to Lena, "She tell you what her problem is?"
Lena shook her head, "No, she even fake smiled at me when she got here."
He shook his head, "There's definitely a problem though, right? I'm not imagining things?"
"She's been off for weeks now," Lena looked over her glasses at him conspiratorially, "I know you hate the rumor mill, but there is one going around that she got divorced recently. And it wasn't mutual."
He looked up at Lena, incredulous look on his face, "That's ridiculous. She would've told me."
Lena shrugged, "Look, I'm just telling you what I've heard."
Jack turned towards the door to chairs where you had disappeared and frowned. You would have told him, right? The two of you had always been professional, but he did consider you something like a friend after you had been here for nearly four years. When there were social events after work or on days off, you had always gravitated towards him and Robby. A bit older than most of the other residents and students, it was easier to find common ground with them. Things had never gotten overtly personal, but there had always been some level of sharing about personal lives. And he really thought the two of you were close enough that you would have told him. Especially if you were struggling.
"When did that start swirling around?" He asked, turning back to Lena.
"Few months ago, I think," she said, "Jesse said he overheard her take a call with a divorce attorney when he was heading out one day."
Jack ran a hand through his curls and sighed. Jesse wasn't the gossiping type and if he did, that usually meant it was true.
"Okay," he said finally, "you'll come find me if things go to shit?"
"You got it."
***
You could feel yourself slipping as the shift went on, beginning to snap at patients and beginning to snap at the med student you'd pulled, Whitaker, who wasn't even really supposed to be here. He was usually on the day shift, but the usual single med student allotted to the night shift was out on bereavement and Whitaker had volunteered to fill the gap. You liked him, honestly, even if he was a bit spacey at times, he was earnest and never made the same mistake twice.
Except today, when he got you the wrong antibiotics, not once, but twice.
"Whitaker," You said slowly, "am I not speaking clearly?"
"Wha—? I—No—I mean, yes. You are."
"Then why are these still the wrong meds?"
Whitaker was starting to get flustered and you were getting more and more annoyed— "Because I changed the order."
It was Abbot's voice that came behind you and you turned to see him standing there, arms crossed with that disappointed look on his face you had had the displeasure of encountering just one other time while working on his shift. When you had tried handling an aggressive patient on your own without calling him or security and ended up with a black eye.
"Whitaker, you can finish up here?" Abbot asked, eyes never leaving yours. When Whitaker agreed, Abbot steered you out of the waiting room by your arm back into central.
You wrenched your arm away from him, "You don't need to drag me, I can walk."
"What is going on with you?"
"Nothing," You threw your hands up in exasperation, "I'm irritated that I'm out in triage—"
"You're too good for triage?"
"I know you're doing it to punish me—"
"When have you ever known me to punish anyone?"
"You changed my order, why? You don't even trust me to prescribe simple antibiotics?"
He sighed, "We didn't have the dosage you were looking for up here, it would've taken longer to call the pharmacy and Whitaker was too scared to come back to you empty handed, so I told him to get something else. It had nothing to do with your decision making, though the way you've been treating Whitaker all shift is absolutely unacceptable for a senior resident and you know that."
You never cried at work. It was your one rule. Even crying in the parking lot felt like sacrilege. No matter how fucked up things got, and they'd gotten well and truly fucked, you tucked it away until you got home.
But with Abbot looking at you like this, his judgment heavy as stone, on top of the invitation… It was too much. PTMC had always been your one safe haven from everything, but you had managed to ruin that, too.
Abbot looked at you with alarm when he saw your eyes water and your chin wobble, "Hey, what the hell?" he said softly and then quickly ushered you out to the ambulance bay, shielding you from anyone else's prying eyes.
"I'm sorry," you blubbered after you'd gone through the double doors, "I have to apologize to Whitaker."
"Not now, later."
You leaned against the wall of the hospital and scrubbed your hands over your face, "I was so mean to him all shift."
"I know, he told me," At the look you gave him through your hands Abbot shook his head, "Not to get you in trouble, he was worried about you. Said you weren't acting like yourself. And I have to agree, you're normally a very kind and patient teacher."
His praise—which you felt was undeserved—made you want to cry all over again, but you managed to swallow past the lump in your throat. Abbot leaned up against the wall next to you and pushed his hands into his pants pockets, "So, I'll ask you again: What is going on with you?"
You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, fought the urge to self soothe by wrapping your arms entirely around yourself, "You won't let it go unless I tell you, right?"
"Damn straight," He said immediately, "We can keep it between us, but it's starting to effect your work now, so I'd like to know what's going on. And maybe I can help."
You scoffed and looked down at your feet, "No one knows besides my family and that's only because I had no choice," You swallowed, "It's humiliating. You might look at me differently."
He narrowed his eyes at you, "If you really don't want to tell me I won't force you. But I promise there's very little you could say that would make me think less of you."
You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall. You weren't sure why it even mattered to you what your attending thought of your personal life. Despite your borderline friendly relationship with Abbot, there had still always been the irrepressible urge to impress him, to make sure he both liked and respected you. Probably had something to do with your absent father, but that was something to unpack in therapy.
"I got my baby sister's wedding invitation in the mail today," You said slowly, could already feel the heat bubbling beneath your skin, "And the man she's marrying is my… ex husband."
You felt the double take that came from his direction, but you couldn't find it in yourself to meet his eyes.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat, "I—I didn't know you got divorced."
You nodded, "Finding out they were having a year long affair was a hell of a motivator to get it done quickly and quietly."
"Fuck," he murmured under his breath, "When did all this happen?"
You chewed the inside of your cheek, "They started sleeping together while I was recovering from the miscarriage."
You thought you heard his sharp intake of breath at that, but you still couldn't look over at him. The miscarriage had happened almost two years ago now and marked the beginning of your life turning upside down.
You had lost a pregnancy you didn't even know had been in your womb. Fighting with David as he drove you home in stony silence while you cried about how you couldn't understand why he was acting this way, you'd always said you didn't want kids.
How when the bleeding didn't stop, didn't slow the way it was supposed to, and you told David you needed to go back to the hospital he—the lawyer—somehow convinced you—the doctor—that you weren't bleeding that much. You thought about this moment almost daily, now. You felt so stupid for letting him debate his way out of taking you to PTMC. It had taken you hours to finally text Abbot, feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, if he thought you should come in.
He had left the hospital to come get you and you remembered his quiet anger as he condescended to David while carrying you to his truck.
In the end, surgical intervention had been required to stop the bleeding and when you woke up to David beside himself with remorse beside you, you'd forgiven him.
And yet, you'd find out much later that while you recovered from surgery, he began sleeping with Maya.
"Well," Abbot said after a few moments of shocked silence, "Knowing that you've been holding all that in for… months now, I'd say you've actually shown remarkable restraint."
You huffed a laugh through your nose, "You think so?"
"Yeah, I do. If I were you they'd probably both be six feet under by now."
You hummed, "I considered it when I opened the invitation today."
"Why don't you go home?" He said quietly and you finally turned to look at him, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight, "We can handle the rest of the shift without you."
You shook your head, "I feel worse when I'm not working. I'm still not used to going home to an empty apartment."
At that moment Lena poked her head out into the ambulance bay, charge phone pressed to her ear, "Incoming MVA, five minutes out."
You both pushed yourselves off the wall to head back inside, "Hey," he said, fingertips ghosting over your wrist as you walked ahead of him, "if you won't go home, will you get breakfast with me after shift?"
You bit your lip as you looked back at him, "I'm okay. Really. You don't have to babysit me."
He shook his head, "No, I'm asking for me. You wouldn't make an old man eat by himself, would you?"
He had that easy smirk on his face as he followed you inside, helped tie your trauma gown at the base of your neck. Your stomach flipped the way it sometimes did when he showed you too much attention. You had always dismissed it as a silly crush, the cliche daddy issues you couldn't quite shake even in adulthood.
"Okay," you said finally, turning back to face him as sirens called in the distance, "fine, I'll get breakfast with you."
His grin widened, "Atta girl."
And then he was darting back outside to meet the ambulance, oblivious to the way your cheeks heated and your heart fluttered in response.
***
The only thought in your head as you sat across the diner table from Jack Abbot and the waitress poured you a cup of coffee was that your lips were chapped and you'd been picking at them all shift.
After the waitress took your order and walked off, Jack's eyes traced your face and watched as you chewed on your lower lip, "Stop that," he said softly, "You've been tearing your lips up all day."
Embarrassed, you pressed your lips together and clasped your hands in your lap, "Sorry."
He frowned, "What was that?"
"What?"
"Did you just apologize to me?"
The corner of your mouth tugged up just slightly, "Don't act like you've never heard an apology before."
"I have," he smirked, "just not from you. Now I've heard you say it twice in one day."
You rolled your eyes, "Oh, that is not true."
The waitress returned with your food and after thanking her, Jack speared a homefry into his mouth before turning his attention back to you, "So," he said, "What're you gonna do?"
You frowned, swallowing the eggs you'd spooned into your mouth, "About what?"
"Your sister's wedding."
You shrugged, "Nothing. She knows how I feel, it was fucked up of her to even invite me. I'm not even gonna RSVP."
His eyebrows knitted together, "What d'you mean? You're not gonna go?"
You snorted, "A weekend full of watching my baby sister and ex husband celebrate their love and solidify their union in the place I dreamed and gushed about getting married at myself to my sister for years?" You shook your head, "No thank you. I'm not a masochist. I'll probably spend the weekend with several bottles of wine on my couch watching Vanderpump Rules."
Jack balked, his head pulling back in that way it did sometimes when he was passing judgment on someone. You'd seen him direct it at patients, other students, occasionally Robby, but never you.
"If you don't go, they win."
You sighed, "Oh, come on, Abbot. They already won."
He shook his head, "No. They're shackling themselves in a relationship built on lies and betrayal. They've lost. And seeing you happier than ever at their wedding would be great revenge."
"Yeah, well there's only one problem with that," You stole a homefry from his plate and stuffed it in your mouth, "I'm miserable."
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes assessing you, "Do you have a plus one on your invitation?"
You blinked, "Why are you asking me that?"
He cleared his throat and rested his forearms on the table and leaned toward you conspiratorially, "I just think that even if you don't feel it, think about how much it would bother them to see you show up with someone else. Happy."
Was he delusional? You narrowed your eyes at him, and in turn leaned forward towards him, "My dating life is abysmal right now. So, pray tell, who is this imaginary knight in shining armor who's going to accompany me?"
Still smirking, he leaned back in his seat and shrugged, "I'd do it."
You nearly choked on your coffee. Once you'd caught your breath, you felt your eyes nearly bulging out of your head, "What, pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend? Make them think we're in love? Why would you agree to that?"
He shrugged, "You're my best resident and I'm tired of seeing you off your game. And I already told you, I want to help."
You hummed, "By forcing me into my worst nightmare?" You nodded, "Yeah, solid plan. What could possibly go wrong?"
He sighed, "Look, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but I think you should consider that this might… Give you closure. And it won't hurt to get in a few shots yourself by bringing me along."
You narrowed your eyes at him for a few moments before laughing quietly, "This is insane."
"Well just…Just think about it before you say no, okay?"
You raised your eyebrows at him skeptically, but he was still smirking, "Okay. But don't hold your breath."
After you'd both finished your food, Jack paid despite your insistent attempts to slip your card to the waitress and drove you home.
"I left my car at the hospital."
He shrugged, "I can give you a ride in tonight."
As he pulled up to your house and put his car in park, he leaned over and squeezed your knee lightly, prompting you to look at him, "You'll get some sleep, right?"
Doubtful, you thought, but you nodded, "Yeah, of course."
His eyes narrowed and he held out a clenched hand, pinky outstretched towards you, "Promise?"
You snorted, "Seriously?"
He raised his eyebrows, pinky still held out insistently. So, sighing, you wrapped your pinky around his, "Promise."
Jack smiled and released your finger, "Get out of here then. I'll be back here at 6:30."
"Yes sir," You mocked, and jumped out of the car before he could give a snarky reply.
You wouldn't tell him, but spending time with him had done wonders for your mood. You were even considering taking him up on his offer to come with you to the wedding.
But surely, that was a disaster waiting to happen.
"I think that's a great idea!" Your mom said enthusiastically over the phone an hour later.
Your black out curtains were pulled down tight over the windows, shuttering your bedroom in darkness. You likely wouldn't sleep much, but you would still try. The only light a dim glow from your phone.
You scoffed, "You think it's a great idea to pretend to be in love with my boss at my ex's wedding?"
"I've been saying for months that you let them off too easy. And David's always asking me if you're seeing anyone. Possessive little fuck."
"Mom—"
"—Sorry, sorry. He really gets under my skin. I met Dr. Abbot, didn't I?"
"Yeah," You said, rubbing a hand over your eyes, "When I miscarried."
"He seemed nice. Handsome."
You sighed, "He's just being nice. And also, I've apparently been doing a really shitty job at work and he thinks this'll help."
Your mom hummed, "Sure, sweetie."
Already once before at your bedside after your miscarriage, your mom had implied that she believed Dr. Abbot looked at you as more than just a resident, "I'm not saying it's romantic," She had said at the time, when you had still been married to David, "I just think… He sees you as a person outside of all this." She had gestured around the emergency room.
Now, it seemed, she had changed her tune.
You looked at the watch on your wrist, illuminated in the dark to see that it was nearly noon. If you had any hope of sleep, you'd have to try soon. You said your goodbyes to your mom, and to your surprise, sleep came easy… along with dreams of freckled arms and a face with gray stubble, smirking at you slow and sweet like molasses.
***
You climbed into Jack's truck that evening, immediately engulfed by the hum of his heater, the warmth cocooning you away from the harsh winter air. You let him drive in silence, his radio quietly playing, tuned to the classic rock station.
When you pulled up to the hospital, the two of you walking side by side inside and then by the lockers, "Steak, chicken, or fish?"
You felt it when his head slowly turned towards you, eyes assessing as he draped his stethoscope over his neck, "Steak," he said finally and you could hear the smile in his voice.
You chewed the inside of your cheek as you closed the locker and turned to face him, "You understand that this is a whole weekend affair, right? It's in upstate New York. If you come you have to stick it out the whole weekend. We'll have to share a room—maybe even a bed—"
"You think I didn't already think of all this?"
He was so…unbothered. It didn't make any sense to you. That he would do all of this for you.
You ignored his question—Of course you knew he had, you knew how over prepared Abbot was for every scenario no matter how unlikely—But you thought at the very least you'd detect some discomfort, some acknowledgement that it might not be so easy. "What about the fact that I'm your resident? You're not worried about how this could effect our professional relationship?"
He shrugged, "You only have a few months left and it's not like we've ever had a normal working relationship."
You were reminded of your miscarriage. You couldn't remember everything, the blood loss had muddled some things, but you did recall the way his voice rose when speaking to David, insisting he wouldn't leave until he saw you. The way he'd so easily slipped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Then last year when you had noticed Abbot limping around the ED and trying to hide grimaces a bit too much, you were the only one he'd admit to that he was in pain. The only one he'd listen to when you demanded to take a look at his prothestic. You didn't scold him when you saw the blood and pressure sores. Just gently cleaned and bandaged them, asked him if he'd been fitted for a new socket yet since this one was obviously causing problems. It was you who gently followed up with him day after day until it healed. You were the only one he allowed that close.
He was your teacher, your boss, but the two of you had always had something a bit deeper, a bit more intimate, that you each always tried to brush off. But now, here Jack was, declaring it openly.
You swallowed and broke eye contact, "You should know that after I found out he was having an affair and with who… He tried to deflect. He brought you up, accused me of sleeping with you—"
"That's ridiculous," Jack said, sounding irritated.
"I know," You said quickly, "I'm just telling you because… If you show up to this wedding as my date, if we're pretending that we're in love, he'll probably see it as vindication that he was right. He'll probably act like it absolves him of any wrong doing."
He nodded, "Will that be a problem for you?"
You raised your eyebrows, "For me? No. Personally, I hope it eats him alive thinking I cheated on him." You shook your head, "No, I just want you to understand what it is you're signing up for. It might… put a target on your back."
The two of you were at the hub now and Jack chuckled as he picked up an iPad, "I'm not afraid of David. He's a fucking coward and he's always punched down," He raised his eyes to you and added quickly, "no offense."
You dismissed him with a shake of your head, "None taken. So it's settled then. We're going."
He nodded, a smile on his face, and reached out his pinky towards you again, "It's a date."
You tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped and your heart rate likely doubled when you wrapped your pinky around his, hazel eyes soft and gentle on yours. The moment passed quickly and then he released you, off to find Robby to start hand offs.
***
As the weeks passed and the snow thawed you were beginning to wonder what you had gotten yourself into. Your sister had texted you when you RSVP'd as if everything was fine now, saying she was so excited to see you and who were you bringing she wanted to see pics was he hot how long had you been seeing each other? She wanted to gossip with you as if nothing had transpired since the last time you talked to her, probably a year ago now. As if the last time you saw her you hadn't told her that she was no longer your sister as far as you were concerned.
You had ignored each text, telling your mom everytime you spoke to her to ask Maya to stop texting you. That just because you were coming to the wedding didn't mean all was forgiven.
"It doesn't matter what I say to her baby, she has her heart set on the fact that you coming means you're ready to be her big sister again. She won't stop talking about it."
It made you both angry and incredibly sad that Maya was naive enough to believe that you could just forgive and forget like that. You had meant what you said about her no longer being your sister. Truthfully, you still felt like you never wanted to speak to her ever again.
"And what does your husband think?" You asked as carefully as you could. It was something you had wanted to ask for a long while, what your stepfather thought of the whole thing. He had been the only father you'd ever really known after your biological father cheated on your mother and skipped town. He was Maya's biological father, but he had always treated you as his own—granted, you knew your mother wouldn't have accepted anything else. But when all this happened, you had assumed you'd lose him. After all, Maya was his real daughter.
"He understands why you need your distance, even though he hates seeing you girls fight. I've caught him more than once digging up old home videos of the two of you playing dress up or putting on plays. He misses you."
Your eyes had watered and you made a mental note to text him after, "I wish it didn't have to be like this." You'd said softly, and meant it.
But you didn't know how to be in the same room with Maya and David and not have a world ending meltdown. And you were realizing as the wedding drew closer and closer that maybe you were making a colossal mistake.
Which was how you ended up paralyzed staring at your half packed suitcase the day you were set to leave while Abbot repeatedly beeped from his truck outside.
You had left the door unlocked, so eventually after you ignored phone call after phone call and didn't come to the door, he made his way inside, calling your name.
When he walked in your bedroom and saw you, he breathed a sigh of relief, "Christ, I thought I was gonna walk in here to see you fuckin' passed out or something. What's going on?"
You chewed on your thumbnail and then shook your head frantically, "I—I can't do this. I'm not going."
"Yes you can and yes you are."
"Abbot—"
"I think it's time you start calling me Jack if you want to convince people we're dating."
You sighed and looked up at him, panic fluttering around in your chest like a trapped bird, "This is a bad idea," You whispered.
He shook his head, "If nothing else you and I are gonna have a really fun weekend away from the ER, alright? When was the last time you skipped town?"
You rolled your eyes, "This isn't exactly my idea of a vacation."
He feigned offense with a hand to his chest, "You're not excited to spend a whole weekend with me upstate?"
Despite the impending panic attack you felt brewing, you tried to banter back, "Bringing you to my ex husband's wedding wasn't exactly how I envisioned our first date, no."
You were pleased to see his grin widen, "So you've been dreaming about our first date, then?"
You rolled your eyes again and started throwing more clothes haphazardly into your suitcase, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. Ignoring how easy it was to play with him, how quickly it soothed you. With his voice in your ear, you thought maybe it'd be almost tolerable getting through this weekend. Almost.
"Shut up and help me close my suitcase."
***
As Jack pulled away from your apartment, you turned around to look in the back seat. It was filled nearly to the brim with duffel bags, first aid kits, bandages, emergency food kits, warming blankets—
"Do you know something about this weekend that I don't?" You asked as you took in all the supplies.
He shrugged, "It's always good to be prepared. Besides, do you know how many weddings I've been to where at least one drunk idiot injured themselves or someone else and needed a doctor?"
You would not admit to him how endearing—or sexy—you found it that he had overprepared like this. You turned back towards the front, "Fair enough."
After a few minutes of riding in silence, he cleared his throat, "So, what should I know? About fake dating you?"
You fought a smirk, "I don't think there's much to know. You know me already. Besides, I doubt we'll be spending much time with anyone who'd be able to spot it since I'll be avoiding Maya and David like the plague."
He frowned, "What about your parents?"
"Oh, my mom and step dad know we're not actually dating."
His head turned towards you, "So they know this is actually just a revenge tour?"
You nodded, "Yep."
"And they're… Fine with that?"
You chewed the inside of your cheek, "I think secretly they're hoping being in the same room with Maya will… help repair our relationship. Or something."
Jack scoffed, "They don't honestly expect you to forgive her, do they?"
"I don't think my mom does, no. My father cheated on her when I was really little and left us. So she… Knows how I'm feeling."
He paused, "I'm sorry, that must've been really hard on you as a kid."
You stared out the window, chewed on your thumbnail as trees blurred past your window, "I used to think, when I was a kid, that I'd never be like my mom. I saw how… hurt she was and I promised myself I'd never pick a man like my father. And David wasn't anything like my father. He was ambitious, kind, funny, romantic…" Your eyes watered, "He took care of me until he didn't. So maybe it's me, maybe I'm the problem. Maybe I was just doomed to repeat generational patterns by virtue of being my mother's daughter."
After a moment, Jack gave what sounded like an almost pained groan, "Don't do that."
"What?"
"Let him off the hook like that and put the blame back on yourself. He fucked up. Not you."
You knew there was no sense in arguing with him, convincing him that you must've done something to cause him to stray. To look to someone who was so much like you, but younger and less damaged. He could've picked anyone to cheat with, but he fell in love with your baby sister. The same sister you had cared for so vigilantly to make sure she avoided the missteps you took. So that she wouldn't have twin scars to match yours. Practically made in your image, except she was less damaged. How could you get Jack to understand what that felt like? How could you not blame yourself?
So you didn't say anything. You let the silence fall instead and tried your best to keep your sniffling to a minimum. After a few minutes Jack reached across the cabin and gently took your hand in his own.
***
A few hours and many gas station stops later, Jack pulled into the parking lot of the hotel you were staying at. You hopped out of the car first and he watched you from the rearview mirror for a few minutes before following suit.
You were so sad and quiet on the ride up he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake, convincing you to come here. But he couldn't stand the thought of you moping at home, building this wedding up in your head to be more than it was. Obviously, you had every right to be upset. Frankly, if you came to him and said you wanted to burn the whole place to the ground, he'd start googling where he could find kerosene nearby.
What he didn't want was you deciding that this wedding marked the end of your life when really, he thought it was probably liberating you. He wished he had known when you were getting divorced because he would've thrown you a party. He would never suggest that you were lucky for the way things had played out, but he was relieved on your behalf that it had all happened so early in your marriage, in your life. You had so much left of it. He wanted you to see that, that it was possible to be happy again even after your whole world had imploded as violently as it did.
He hated that you had so much shame wrapped up in the dissolution of your marriage when that fucker was the one the blame. It was horrible enough he had chosen your little sister, but the timing of it, right after your miscarriage, made his fucking blood boil. When you needed him the most he was busy warming your sister's bed. It made him sick with rage. And then to hear you blame yourself on top of it all? It was too much. Jack thought it would be a miracle if he made it through this weekend without punching the coward's lights out.
And then, to top it all off, he wondered if he had an ulterior motive for all this. That maybe he was so eager to play the part of your boyfriend because he really did want to be your boyfriend. It wasn't a novel thought, he had wondered to himself many times before if the reason he allowed you to get so close when he had historically pushed everyone else away, especially after his wife, was because he was harboring feelings for you. He had never been able to answer the question. Or maybe he was just too afraid to be honest with himself about it. For a while he had told himself it didn't matter how he felt about it because you were married. But now…Well, things had changed.
He settled his hands on your hips when he came up behind you as you were beginning to unpack the bags from the back seat, "We should probably set some ground rules before this goes any further."
You spun around, his hands still on your hips. You didn't seem bothered by his closeness, "What d'you mean?"
"Well," Jack started, feeling the heat begin to crawl up his neck at having this conversation while standing this close to you. His leg was beginning to ache from driving with the prosthetic all day and he leaned into the pain in an attempt to ground himself, "I'm a very physically affectionate man when I'm in a relationship. So, if you're uncomfortable with that, we should talk about it."
He watched the bob of your throat as you swallowed, "That's fine."
Jack hummed and looped his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and gently pulled until your hips were pushed up against his, "Maybe we should have a safe word."
"A safe word?" Was it his imagination that you sounded a bit breathless? You had only been here a few minutes and he was already in danger of crossing the line.
He nodded and bit his lip, "Yeah, so I know if I need to back off."
"That sounds… Like a good idea. Very mature."
"You pick, what's our safe word?" While walking around to you at the side of the truck, he had noticed what looked like a couple standing by the entrance of the hotel, watching. It could have been Maya and David, it could have been anyone. But on the off chance it was someone you knew, he wanted to make sure he was playing his part well. At least, that's what he told himself he was doing when he nudged his nose gently against yours.
He thought he felt you gasp against his mouth and it was taking almost everything he had not to kiss you.
"Troponin." You said, and he blinked. Confusion clouding his features.
"Troponin?" He repeated, eyebrows knitting together. He wondered if he had heard you correctly. He was this close to you, close enough to devour you, and you were thinking about a STEMI?
"Our safe word," You said and licked your lips. His eyes trailed the path of your tongue hungrily.
"You want our safe word to be troponin?" When you nodded he smiled, "Okay, troponin it is," he pressed a kiss to the bridge of your nose and then backed away slightly, "In the spirit of total transparency, I do think we have an audience."
He almost wished he hadn't told you. You had relaxed so much under his touch and he watched the tension return to your shoulders as you peered around, trying to locate the possible enemy.
But then when you saw them, beginning to walk towards you, your shoulders drooped, "It's just my mom and stepdad."
Jack watched a few steps away as your mother pulled you into a tight hug, your step dad watching with a bemused smile on his face and hands in his pockets. You looked so much like your mother. He remembered thinking it the first time he'd met her after your miscarriage and it still held true. She talked like you too, or rather, you talked like her. The same mannerisms and same lilt to your voices, the same warm laugh. If he closed his eyes, he might have a hard time telling you apart.
"Mom, you remember Jack."
He shook your mother's hand in both of his, murmured that it was good to see her again.
"And you, Dr. Abbot. Thank you for looking out for her, even outside of the emergency room."
"My pleasure, but call me Jack, please."
You introduced him to your step dad who seemed to be a reserved man of few words, but friendly enough.
"Well the two of you must've had a long drive so I'll let you get settled, but—" Your mom turned to look at you pointedly, "—We knew you were here because Maya knew you were here so I wouldn't be surprised if she shows up at your hotel room unannounced."
You frowned, "How did she know I was here?"
"Well," Your mom sighed, "It would seem that you never stopped sharing your location with her on your phone."
You groaned and clawed your phone from your pocket, "Oh, Jesus fuck—"
Your stepdad winced, "Language, please."
"I don't want to see her." You said, hands shaking as you unlocked your phone, undoubtedly trying to quickly stop sharing your location, "Can you please tell her I don't want to see her right now? I'm not—" Your voice sounded close to breaking, "Please, I'm not ready to see her."
Jack's hands itched to reach for you, but he clasped them behind his back instead. As far as your parents were concerned the two of you were not really dating, he was just here as a friend. He didn't want to make anything more complicated for you. But still, he felt like you were still in the ED, and thus his responsibility. He wanted to fix it.
"We'll tell her," your stepdad said softly, "But it's her wedding, you'll have to talk to her eventually—"
"I know that," you snapped, then immediately softened, "Sorry, I—It's been a long day. I'll talk to her, I promise. Just not today."
The three of them began hushed conversations that were becoming more and more strained. You had downplayed to him what your stepdad was hoping for, he thought now. You had been here only a few minutes and he was already laying into you about how "that's your sister" and "you're her big sister you should be the bigger person" and "you can't ignore her forever."
You absolutely could, if that was what you wanted. And Jack understood the man's stake in it. It had to hurt watching the girls you raised become estranged. But had he sat his other daughter down and explained to her the consequences of breaking your trust like that? Of betraying you like that? It sounded like the two of you had been close, best friends. Not only did she sleep with your husband, but her actions had resulted in you losing your best friend. You had a traumatic surgery and you ended up cheated on and divorced within a year and you hadn't been able to talk to your best friend about it. It was cruel to now ask you to be the bigger person.
Jack began walking back towards the back of the truck so he could continue unloading your baggage, heavily favoring his right leg. He was in a decent amount of pain, but he may have been playing it up so—
"Jack, is your leg bothering you?"
You were by his side in a moment, taking bags he had unloaded and carrying them on your shoulder.
"I'm fine," he said, "Just a little sore from driving all day." You started rummaging through his back seat, "What're you looking for?"
"Your cane or crutches or something—"
He scoffed and gently pulled you from the car, "They're in my duffel, I don't need them right now."
"But—"
"Sweetheart—" Your mother interrupted, "Your dad and I are gonna go, we'll see you at breakfast?"
You nodded and quickly hugged them goodbye and Jack felt immediate relief at their absence. They were nice enough people, especially your mother who he could tell was more on your side about the whole thing, but they were still being too hard on you in his opinion.
Once inside the room, Jack sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his prosthetic with a soft groan. He didn't look up, but he felt you watching him, knew you were trying to think of some way to help.
"Can I get you anything?" You asked finally.
He shook his head, massaging his limb gently, "No, I'll be fine after a hot shower and working some lotion into my leg."
"Oh, that reminds me—" You walked off towards the bathroom and then returned a few seconds later, "—Good, they remembered. I called a few days ago to ask them to put a shower chair in here. Just wanted to check so I could call down if they forgot."
Jack blinked, "Well, that was… Very thoughtful of you, thank you."
"Least I can do," You sighed, "After the ledges you're sure to talk me down from this weekend."
Digging into your pocket, you pulled out an unopened pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter.
"What the fuck?" Jack laughed, "You don't smoke."
"I know, I thought it was a great weekend to start—Hey!"
Jack had snatched them from you before you had the chance to unwrap them, "Do you know how fuckin' hard it is to kick a nicotine addiction? Do you?"
You sighed, "You're really gonna lecture me about this?"
"Yeah, I absolutely am. I'm not gonna watch you be self destructive all weekend. That's not why we're here. It's so you can see how better off you are."
You pushed your lower lip out into a pout, "You don't think I deserve a cigarette in this situation?"
Fuck, why'd you have to go and do that? It was unfair. Now all he could think about was your lower lip between his teeth— He could not let you know how easily you could wrap him around your finger. Clearing his throat, he pushed the packet of cigarettes into his pocket, "You take the shower first, you'll feel better after. I'm going to hide these while you're in the bathroom."
You looked for a moment like you might argue, but then your eye caught on what looked like a welcome basket on the dresser, filled with snacks and—wine, "Fine. Have the cigarettes. But I will be opening the wine after I get out of the shower."
Jack fought a smirk, "Only if you let me order us some room service. You've eaten nothing but jerky and Red Bull all day."
You glared at him from where you stood, arms crossed over your chest before turning on your heel towards the bathroom, "Fine, fine. Whatever. But only because I'm starving, not because I think you're right."
He watched as you sauntered into the bathroom, holding your bag of toiletries and a change of clothes. Then, with a sigh, he laid down flat on the bed.
"Abbot, you are so fucked," he murmured to himself. Then he propped himself up and reached for the phone on the nightstand.
***
Troponin. Troponin. It was so stupid, that that had been the only word you could think of.
A safe word. The very implication meaning that there could be a scenario where Jack Abbot could touch you and you wouldn't like it. Absolutely absurd.
No, the only real, looming danger of this weekend was that Jack Abbot would touch you and you would like it too much. You didn't think he knew it yet, but Jack had the power to break your heart even more than it already had been. You were afraid of him, but not for reasons he'd understand.
Jack was sound asleep next to you, snoring softly. The moonlight that spilled through the balcony doors lit up his watch enough that you could see it was a bit past 3:20 AM.
There hadn't been much back and forth about sharing the bed. Jack had said when you got out of the shower that he didn't mind calling and asking for a cot, but you had waved him off. Besides which, if you were going to be convincing that you were actually a couple, on the chance that your sister stopped by unnanounced you didn't want her seeing you were sleeping separately.
So you had each climbed into opposite sides of the bed, bid each other goodnight, and that was that.
Between being a night owl by default and the number of Red Bulls you'd had that day, sleep wasn't an option for you. You would've been surprised that Jack was able to sleep at all, both of you accustomed to working through the night, if you didn't also know he had a prescription for his insomnia.
So it was just you wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about troponin. A protein used to detect heart damage. Faced with the impossibility of the weekend, seeing both your ex and your little sister for the first time since you found out about their affair, all with your attending by your side, pretending to be in love with you, you thought it likely you might end this weekend with an abnormal troponin reading.
That's ridiculous, he had said when you told him David had accused you of sleeping with him. And while it may have seemed ridiculous to him, you understood why David had thought it. The hero worship was likely blatant in your voice and on your face whenever you talked about him.
You turned your head to the side and looked at Jack's sleeping face. Peaceful, wrinkles smoothed out. His silver stubble glinted in the moonlight. You liked when he grew it out like this, just a little bit.
You would never admit you were in love with him, but weren't you, just a little bit?
You blew out a long breath and turned your face back towards the ceiling. It was going to be a long weekend.
***
"I feel like I'm gonna be sick."
Jack turned to look at you as you said it. You were walking to the welcome breakfast, which was being held at the venue. It was a winery draped in greenery and curtained by trees. The couple would be married in the garden that overlooked the pond outside.
"Do you need to sit down?"
You shook your head and stopped walking, "I feel like there's a boulder on my chest," your breathing quickened and you brought your fist to your sternum, rubbing clockwise, as if it would free the pressure.
Jack stepped in fromt of you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, left hand sliding below your jaw to your neck so he could feel your carotid. Your pulse jackhammered against his fingers and sweat glistened on your forehead and upper lip.
"Panic attack?" He asked softly and you nodded, "We don't have to go in right away, we can be late. Take a lap around the pond."
You shook your head, "No, no Maya's in the door she's watching us. I don't want—Ah, fuck David's there too."
"Hey, look at me," Your eyes darted to his and he shook his head, "Don't look at him. What d'you wanna do?"
"Well I want to go home, but that's not happening."
Jack smiled, "Okay, let me rephrase that, what do you need to get yourself in there?"
Your chin was wobbling as you looked at him and you shook your head slightly, "I don't know, I don't—" Your eyes trailed over his shoulder.
Jack angled himself in order to block your view, "Hey—" Your eyes met his again, wet and frantic, "It's just you and me right now. They're not as scary as you think they are. You've built them up to be these scary monsters in your head and what they did to you was monstrous, but they're still just people. They should be afraid of you. Do you want to piss them off?"
Finally, your lip curled up the tiniest bit, "Yeah."
"Great. What should we do then? What would piss them off?"
You bit down on your lip gently and tilted your head. You seemed a bit shy, a feeling he wasn't used to seeing on you.
"Could you kiss me, you think?"
Immediately, Jack felt heat spread through his chest. He smirked, hoping he looked more nonchalant than he felt, "Are they watching still?"
Your eyes darted over his shoulder and then you nodded.
Hands still on your cheeks, he moved one hand to cup the back of your neck and gently pull you to him. His heart raced as he tasted you, slowly explored your mouth, relished in the way it felt for your lips to move against his.
It took enormous effort for him to pull away from you, but he managed it. Your pupils were blown out and you seemed a bit breathless, but he wasn't sure if he was just seeing what he wanted to see. You had only asked him to kiss you to make your ex jealous, he reminded himself.
"What do you think? Did it work?"
You peered over Jack's shoulder and nodded, "David stormed off. Maya's still there."
Jack hummed, running his fingers over your cheeks one last time before dropping them, "She probably wants to talk to you. Are you ready?"
You inhaled, slow and deep, "Will you hold my hand?"
Jack felt himself melt. He thought there was little he wouldn't do for you, "Of course," he slipped his hand into yours, ran his thumb over the soft skin on the back of your hand, "Remember, you've done nothing wrong. They should be afraid of you."
You kept pace with him, the venue looming ever closer in front of you, "Right."
Jack squeezed your hand reassuringly as you approached your sister, and shit, did your mother have strong genes. Even only being half sisters, the two of you were nearly identical, though there were obvious differences to Jack. Your sister was perfectly manicured, nails done, lips glossed. She obviously had some sort of workout regimen if her toned arms and legs were any indication. Likely pilates, he thought.
Obviously, Jack found you gorgeous. He knew your bitten down nails and often chapped lips were a symptom of the job—Long, manicured nails often led to broken gloves and who had time to constantly reapply chapstick in the ER?—But there was something to the two sisters standing side by side. He could see the stress and heartbreak of the last year on you whereas your sister looked nonplussed. Whether that was just an image she wished to project on her wedding weekend or if she really felt no remorse, he wasn't sure.
But he wasn't in the mood to give her the benefit of the doubt. He disliked her instantly on principal.
Her throat bobbed as you approached. You came to a stop, a roughly three foot buffer between you. The two of you seemed unsure what to do next, staring at each other, both of you glassy eyed.
And then, without warning, Maya threw her arms around your neck. For a moment, you froze, and then you released Jack's hand, slowly easing your arms around her. He watched your face crumple just slightly, half hidden by Maya's shoulder.
"I'm so happy you came," Maya said, and Jack had to strain to hear it, her voice muffled by your shoulder, "I couldn't imagine getting married without you here."
You didn't say anything at all, but you kept holding her, that bereft look in your eyes.
Maya pulled away, a smile on her face, though tears began to cascade over her lash line. Then she turned to Jack, "And Dr. Abbot, I'm glad you're here too. You know, I always said there was something more between the two of you, the way she always talked about you."
You were despondent, eyes aimless as you stared at nothing. Jack turned his attention to Maya and he didn't smile, "It wasn't like that."
Her mouth fell open, maybe realizing her mistake, the implication, "Oh—Oh n—no, of course not—"
"Jack," you said softly, "save me a seat inside?"
He knew he had just got done telling you they weren't monsters, but he was ready to take it back. He didn't want to leave you alone with her. He had encouraged you to come here and now he thought maybe he'd been wrong.
But he nodded anyway, walked into the venue with his hands clasped behind his back. You weren't his. He kept forgetting that. He was acting like a fucking guard dog and you weren't even his to defend.
It was barely 10 AM and Jack strode over to the bar.
***
"I really am so happy you're here. Mom said you wouldn't come, but I knew you would— And this place! Isn't it gorgeous?"
Maya babbled on and on while you felt… Empty. She was discussing wedding planning with you as if nothing had changed. You remembered sitting with her on your living room floor after you'd gotten engaged, scrap booking your dream wedding.
You wished you could dig up that scrap book now because while you had had to settle and compromise on most things, it seemed that she had gotten everything.
The venue, the welcome breakfast in the tearoom, the open bar— You bet from the floral centerpieces on each table that she'd even gotten the same florist.
You had ended up getting married in a courthouse with a small dinner party afterwards. It was all you'd been able to afford between law school and med school.
Still, it had been the happiest day of your life because you loved him. You would have done anything for him.
And now you saw that same pure giddiness on your sister's face.
"Look, Maya, I don't—The last time we talked, I'm sorry I was so harsh, but I meant what I said. I'm not here to make amends."
She stared at you, almost disbelieving as the happiness began the melt off her face. You almost felt guilty, "Then why are you here?" She asked, bitterness slipping into her voice.
"I don't know. To get closure." You shook your head, "Maybe there's also a small part of me that thinks I can convince you not to go through with it."
Without hesitation, Maya stepped away from you, "I've had this conversation with mom already several times. Just because he wasn't good for you doesn't mean he's not good for me."
You tilted your head slightly and felt the tears burn the backs of your eyes, "You think you're the exception to how he treated me? Did you know you weren't the first woman he stepped out on me with? You were just the final straw."
She was shaking her head rapidly, "No, no, that's not true. He left you. He said—He said you wanted to make things work after… After you found out, but he wanted to be with me."
Your breath shook, "Well he lied to you. I told him that same day I found out that I was calling an attorney and he got down on hands and knees and begged me to stay—"
"You're lying!"
"—Ask mom! I stayed with her and dad that night, she sat next to me when I called the lawyer."
Maya shook her head, "Mom has not been subtle about how she feels about everything. She's just as bad as you, trying to convince me to leave him—"
"That's because we both know how it feels to love a man like David and we're trying to spare you from that—"
"I'm not a fucking child!" Her voice came out shrill and startled the couple that happened to be walking by at the time. But Maya, always perfect, flashed a perfect smile at them and recomposed herself before turning back to you, "I know it's difficult for both you and Mom to believe but I'm happy. And I'm sorry for how things played out, really and truly, I can't apologize enough and I feel sick about how I hurt you, but I don't regret it. He's the love of my life."
There was a pit in your stomach, but you knew when a battle was a lost cause. She really and truly believed he was it for her. And maybe he was, maybe she was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. But you had a difficult time believing that your sister was capable of reforming a man so quickly. Once a cheater, always a cheater. There was a reason that was the saying.
You swallowed and looked down at your feet, "Did you at least get a good lawyer for the prenup?"
"The… prenup?" The uncertainty in her voice made you look up. Her eyebrows were knitted together and she shook her head, "What're you talking about?"
You blinked for a moment, sure you must've misheard, or maybe she had misheard you, "The prenup. He made us do a prenup before we got married, said it was only practical. It was why the divorce was finalized so quickly."
You watched as her face transformed, defensiveness replaced with something that looked a lot like pity, "We don't have one," she said softly.
Confused and a bit nauseous now, you shook your head, "That… That doesn't make any sense. He was so insistent on it when we—Are you sure?"
She nodded slowly, "I'm sorry. But it really is different between us. I'm sure of it."
The room was spinning and you felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you. You were freefalling.
"That makes sense, actually," you said eventually, beginning to step away from her to go inside, "I've always been the person people use for a trial run. Just didn't realize my husband was rehearsing marriage on me."
Maya called after you, but you had heard enough. You needed to get away from her. To get away from David. You didn't hear Jack when he called after you and you didn't notice him trailing behind you while you looked for somewhere to hide. Somewhere safe to fall apart.
But when you found an empty room, likely the bridal suite that Maya would get ready in tomorrow, you moved to close the door— But found Jack's foot shoved between the door and the frame.
"Hey—what's going on? Can I come in?"
Immediately, you felt yourself soften at his voice. You felt nearly conditioned at this point to feel relief and comfort at his presence. There were many times during your residency where that voice had calmly talked you through a very scary case or his warm hand had guided you through an intense procedure. He was like a balm to your nervous system.
So after just a moment, you pulled the door back and let him in.
"What happened?" He asked as he closed the door behind you.
You shrugged helplessly and felt the tears begin to fall, an unstoppable wave behind your eyes, "They—they didn't get a prenup."
Jack frowned, "Okay…I don't understand."
You looked up at the ceiling, a halfhearted attempt to stem the flow of tears. All of this had been a terrible, awful idea, only spurned on by your schoolgirl crush on your attending. And now he was seeing you like this, humiliated. It seemed every time you thought you'd hit rock bottom, the ledge would collapse beneath you, revealing several more stories to go.
"Before we got married he insisted on a prenup. I didn't really mind it, I thought it was pragmatic at the time. Very modern," You sniffed, "and in the end it made the divorce a lot easier. But he didn't make Maya sign one." You scrunched your mouth to the side in an attempt to stop your lip from wobbling, "I don't know why it hurts so much. Of all the things he's done to me, I don't know why it bothers me so much that he didn't have her sign one—That he must think she's it for him and he didn't think that when he married me.
"And if that wasn't bad enough," You continued after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes, "He lied to her. Told her he was the one who ended it between us because he wanted to be with her." The memories flashed behind your eyes as you spoke, finding them in bed together, David chasing after you when you fled, tears streaming down his face as he got down on his knees and swore it was a mistake, "He begged me to take him back. Not even just that once, but for a while afterwards. He stalled on signing the papers for weeks. But he somehow convinced her that it was him who asked for the divorce so he could be with her."
When you were brave enough to look up at Jack, he was just watching you quietly, arms crossed, "It just feels like…" You said slowly, "It would be so much easier if she was just the other woman, but he did give her the wedding I always wanted and he didn't make her sign the prenup and it feels like maybe he did just upgrade to a newer model—"
"That's not true—"
"—And then I feel awful for not wanting that because that means in a few years he'll probably hurt my sister the way he hurt me. But the alternative is that I just wasn't enough for him, I wasn't a good enough wife and she is. And either way I'm still the one alone and heartbroken and miserable."
The more you spoke, the more frantic and rushed your speech became and you couldn't catch your breath.
"Okay—Can I—? Is it okay if I hold you for a minute?" Jack asked, arms already outstretched.
In the back of your head, you knew it was dangerous to keep seeking out his touch for comfort. But here he was offering and you were at risk of falling apart. So you nodded, let yourself fall into his arms, his body warm and solid against yours. You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around his waist in turn, further closing any distance between you.
"We knew this was going to be difficult no matter what," He said softly, running a soothing hand from your neck down your back, "But you need to remember that the decisions they made don't reflect back on you."
You scoffed, "Oh, they don't?"
"No!" Keeping his arms around you, he pulled back from you so he could see your face, "Fuck them. I don't care if they're fucking soulmates, it doesn't justify what they did to you."
You rolled your eyes and shook your head and Jack gently grasped your chin, pulling your face just slightly down so your eyes met his. His eyebrows were raised and the way he was looking at you so intently, his face so close to yours had your heart in your throat, "Maybe you don't believe me right now, but I'm gonna do my damnedest to get it through that pretty head of yours this weekend that you deserved better. You deserve the world. Nobody deserves what they did, but especially not you."
His closeness was so soothing to you, you rested your forehead against his, "Why're you so nice to me?"
He hummed, "Because you're one of my favorite people in the world and it makes me… fucking irate to think that you don't know how incredible you are."
Suddenly embarrassed by the way his words made your stomach flip, you buried your face in the crook of his neck instead, "You're one of my favorite people, too."
His arms tightened around you and he kissed your head, "You ready to go get a drink?"
You sighed and pulled away from him, "God knows I need one."
With that smirk on his face that made your knees weak, he led you back out by the hand, turning his head back over his shoulder to give you a quick wink. With him by your side, real date or fake date, you thought maybe people would see you as worthy. If someone like Jack Abbot could love you then maybe you weren't the pathetic mess that they all thought you were.
***
"You doing okay, baby?" Your mom asked immediately as Jack led you over to her table, "I saw you rush by after talking to Maya, you seemed upset."
Jack pulled your chair out for you and as you sat down he gently squeezed your shoulders, "Better now," you said honestly as Jack sat down next to you.
"You wanna talk about it?" Your mom reached to squeeze your hand.
You shook your head, "No, I'm good. I promise."
Jack leaned over to you, lips brushing against your ear in a way that sent chills down your spine, "David just walked back in the room. He can't keep his eyes off you."
You turned your head so you were nose to nose with Jack. You expected him to put space between you, but he remained there. You were both surprised and pleased to see his pupils dilate in front of you.
"Well," You reached out and ran your fingers through his silver curls, "We should make sure we give him a show then, yeah?"
A wolfish grin spread across his face and he took your hand, pressing your fingers to his mouth before curling his pinky around yours, "Let's make it one to remember."
For the rest of the breakfast, Jack hand fed you cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, kissed on your shoulders and neck, and kept a firm hand on your thigh, a hand that steadily wandered higher as the morning waned into afternoon.
"I'm gonna go get us another round of drinks," You said quietly in his ear.
"Okay," His eyes trailed down your face until they landed on your mouth. You watched, arousal spreading like fire through your veins as he bit his lower lip, "Gimme a kiss first?"
You were pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk enough to not feel the fear of your own desire. Things were getting precarious. You wanted him too much. You had had just a taste of him earlier and you were greedy for more.
But you knew, somewhere, David was watching. Maya was watching. You could worry about your feelings for Jack later. When you kissed him this time it felt full to the brim with tension, Jack moving his hand to the back of your neck so you couldn't move. It sent all your neurons firing, the smell of his aftershave and the taste of wine on his breath.
You felt almost dizzy by the time you pulled away from him and headed to the bar.
***
Jack was in his own head as he watched you walk off to the bar. It was a good thing you weren't looking at him because he was sure there were hearts in his eyes right now after getting to kiss you twice this morning. He was aware that he was toeing a line with you, that you were likely only humoring him to make your ex husband jealous.
But he couldn't help it. Especially after you'd been crying to him just a bit before. He wanted to make you feel loved and wanted, it was the least he could do for you this weekend.
"So, when're you gonna tell her?"
Jack turned to look at your mother who was now leaning across your empty seat to talk to him, a knowing smile on her face.
"Sorry?"
"When are you gonna tell her that you're not pretending?"
Well, shit. He thought maybe he was just coming across as a very convincing actor, but your mother had seen right through him already. Jack laughed nervously and shook his head, "I just… I just want her to feel good, that's all. She deserves better."
Your mother hummed, "No, I think you're exactly what she deserves. Handsome, intelligent, and most importantly, you've always looked out for her. I think you'd find she feels the same."
Jack shook his head as his eyes wandered back to you, "She's still in love with David."
"She's in love with the future she almost had with him. But I think a future with you would be even brighter."
He ran a hand along his jaw, "She doesn't need me or anyone else for that, she's created a bright future for herself all on her own."
Your mom's grin widened, "The fact that you know that just reinforces how good for her you'd be."
Jack was smiling, but he sighed. Your mother meant well and he knew the two of you were very close, but nothing was going to happen between you beyond the show you were putting on this weekend.
He was old, sad, widowed, an amputee. He wasn't even close to the man you deserved.
He wouldn't sit and explain all that to your mother. Besides, you were on your way back to the table now. He surprised himself with the force of his own grin when he met your eyes as you walked back over.
You were too good for him, but that wouldn't stop him from savoring every second pretending you were his.
***
After breakfast had morphed into lunch, everyone broke off to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.
Still buzzing, you and Jack stumbled arm and arm back to your hotel room. Immediately, Jack sat at the edge of the bed and pulled off his prosthetic and liner, groaning with relief as he did.
You bit your lip, "Can I help?"
He looked up at you and shook his head, "You don't have to—"
"I want to. Please."
He must have been more innebriated than he thought because eventually, he gave in, watching you intently as you wiped down his leg and then his prosthetic. All he could think as he watched you was that no one had taken care of him like this since his wife.
You warmed lotion in your hands before gently massaging it into his leg and he couldn't hold in the groan that clawed up his throat.
He heard a chuckle from you and finally had the good sense to be embarrassed, "Sorry," he said quickly, "I'm just—I'm not used to anyone else—"
"It's okay, Jack. You don't have to explain." You finished massaging the rest of lotion into his skin and then leaned back on your heels, "Is that better?"
He nodded, "Much."
You sat on the bed next to him and without thinking much about it he slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you back until you were both laying flat against the mattress.
You burrowed closer to him, head on his chest, "Thank you for everything this morning. I don't know how I would've gotten through any of it without you."
He pressed his cheek into your forehead, "It's me and you this weekend. I'm here for whatever you need."
You propped yourself up to see his face, "I don't know of anyone else in my life who would've volunteered to come do this with me."
"Why not?" He smirked, "It's a pretty good gig. Paid for hotel and food and drink. I get to kiss a girl way out of my league all weekend long."
You tilted your head a bit to the side, a look on your face he usually associated with when you ran a list of differential diagnoses in your head. You were focused, assessing—On him, it seemed.
"I won't forget it," You said finally, "What you've done, what you're trying to do for me."
"Sweetheart, I'd do a hell of a lot more to make you see how wonderful you are. And I mean that."
He watched your eyes grow wet and then you sniffed and looked away from him, "Um, I'm gonna jump in the shower now, if that's alright with you?"
He nodded slowly, "'Course."
As soon as you removed yourself from his arms, he missed you. If things were different, if you were actually a couple, he likely would have followed you into the shower. As he listened to the spray of the shower against the walls and your soft humming, he closed his eyes and imagined himself in his shower chair, you stradling his lap.
When you walked back into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around your still wet body, Jack had to wave you off when you rushed to help with his crutches so that you wouldn't notice the tent in his pants.
He felt ashamed of himself when he finally did get in the shower and continued with the fantasy, grunting softly as he came down the drain, wondering what it would have felt like to spill inside you instead.
***
Your breathing was still erratic as you arrived to the rehearsal dinner, but knowing Jack would be next to you the whole time was a relief.
When your knee began jumping under the table as speeches were beginning to start, a warm hand engulfed your leg and squeezed gently.
"I think maybe I should step out," You whispered when your ex father in law began to stand, headed for the microphone. You felt nauseous. You hadn't prepared for the fact that people who used to be your family and friends, who had made speeches at your wedding would now be making speeches about your sister.
Before you could high tail it out of there, your ex father in law was speaking and though Jack was in your ear asking if you needed some air, you were transfixed. Unable to stop listening. He talked of the last year as if it was a revelation for his son. There was no direct mention of you, but instead a "black spot" in David's life for more than a decade. His father watched him wither under your love like a neglected house plant. It was only when your sister entered his life—conveniently no mention of how they had met—that he began to really flourish. That David grew to be a man his father was proud of.
You were gonna be sick. You were hurt, but mostly angry. You had thought your relationship with David's family had been good. But clearly, they had fallen in love with Maya and become disillusioned with you. Just like David.
In your cloud of rage, you pushed back from the table, chair scraping loudly against the wood floor and stood. You realized heads had turned to you at this point, but you didn't care about that much right now. You needed to get out.
As you spun on your heel to flee, you heard your father in law make a stupid joke to redirect everyone's attention away from you. You thought maybe you heard Jack call after you, but you kept walking, blood pounding in your ears.
The late spring evening air had a chill to it now that the sun had set. You walked some distance away from the building, still shaking, before reaching into the pocket of your dress and pulling out your pack of cigarettes and lighter. Jack hadn't put much effort into hiding them and you'd found them earlier in his nightstand while he was in the shower.
You weren't a smoker, but during med school you had been known to smoke the occasional cigarette while drunk. You thought as you went to take a pull that your lungs might forget the habit, force you to choke the smoke back up, but it went down smooth. Like riding a bike.
"I thought you'd quit those once you started your residency," The sound of David's voice behind you had your shoulders tensing.
"I'm having a mid life crisis," you managed to deadpan and brought the cigarette back to your lips.
"Well," He stepped next to you, but you avoided looking at him. It would be the first time you saw him up close like this in a little more than a year, "Maybe with it you'll finally grow out of making everything about you."
He wanted a fight. You wouldn't rise to the occasion. It was amazing, really, that after everything he had come out here to fight. You wouldn't give it to him.
"You've really upset Maya today. I thought you were here to support your sister, but it seems like you're just hell bent on ruining her day."
"Yeah, well, she ruined my life so the least she can do is give me a day."
He scoffed, "You love to make yourself the victim, but you cheated too. And you had the audacity to fucking bring him here to rub it in my face."
You hummed, "We only started seeing each other six months ago. I never cheated on you," Finally, you turned to look at him and it hurt as spectacularly as you thought it would. It felt like fireworks erupted in your chest. There was the tiny mole on his jaw that you used to kiss every morning. There was the curl on his forehead you used to brush out of his eyes when he went too long without a haircut. "But if I had cheated on you, would it really bother you? Or would it just be a weight off your conscience to think maybe you didn't hurt me as badly as you did?"
He shook his head, "I'm not blind, the way he came in our house that day—That wasn't the way a leader treats their subordinate. Not unless they're fucking."
"He was trying to save my life," You ground out, and with it, your cigarette, "something you should have been just as concerned about, you know, as my husband."
As you turned to leave, you felt his hand circle your wrist and you snapped back towards him like a rubber band. You were briefly shocked at his touch, not afraid necessarily, just surprised that he was trying to prevent you from leaving.
"You had a miscarriage," he said, and you felt his hot breath fan your face, the sickly sweet smell of bourbon flooding your nostrils, "you weren't fucking stabbed."
For a moment, his words took you back two years ago, to texting Jack, alone in your bed. How even to him you tried to sound dismissive. It's probably nothing but… Tell me if I'm overreacting… I feel a little lightheaded, but I can probably sleep it off. How much of a burden David had made you feel like, that you felt you should downplay everything to Jack. The pain you were in, both physically and emotionally. How excruciating the loneliness was, how clearly repulsive David had found you.
You thought maybe you would've preferred being stabbed. Maybe it would have come with less complicated emotions. Maybe your husband would have taken your pain seriously. Maybe he would have laid in bed with you and comforted you instead of sexting your sister.
"Hey sweetheart," Jack's voice floats through the air before you can say anything else to David and he drops your wrist, "Everything okay?"
You took a step back from David, into the warmth of Jack's chest, "Fine, I was just taking a smoke break."
That earned you a double take, but he must have decided it wasn't worth scolding you over in front of David because he turned his attention back to the man in front of him, "Your mother's looking for you, why don't you head back inside? I'll be right behind you."
You frowned and turned back to him, but he just winked at you in the moonlight and then nodded his head back towards the building.
***
Jack had been watching you and David from a distance as soon as you'd left. Frankly, he hadn't wanted David to speak to you alone at all, especially after the speech his father had made, but you didn't run away when David approached you. And he knew you could handle yourself, had watched you do it with difficult patients. You would even hold your own around him on the rare occasion the two of you butted heads in the ER.
But there was something about the way your body language shifted when he was around. You tensed and then seemed to curl inward on yourself. Like you were afraid of taking up too much space around him. He'd never seen you like that around anyone. It was what made him stay, watching you both carefully, just in case.
He waited patiently. Until you turned to leave and David stopped you.
You weren't helpless. Jack knew you knew how to get out of a hold like that. You had told him once before you took self defense classes pretty regularly and you tried to convince the nurses to go with you when you could. You could've thrown David on his ass easily.
But you didn't, you just wilted further. It infuriated him, just like it infuriated him when you had the miscarriage. There was something about David that turned you into someone he didn't recognize. He wondered if David knew it, if he realized how vibrant you became when you pushed yourself out from underneath his thumb.
When you let him keep you there, keep you from leaving, Jack couldn't watch it anymore. He knew you didnt need rescuing, but the blood was roaring in his ears and suddenly his legs were moving of their own volition and then— Hey sweetheart.
You seemed relieved by his intervention, and that bothered him even more. Because you could have left at any time, but David made you feel trapped.
He watched you walk away after he'd told you your mom was looking for you—a lie—and then turned back to David, "You touch her again," he said quietly, "and I'll break your fucking neck."
David laughed and ran a hand along his jaw, "Threatening a man on his wedding weekend. Very classy, Dr. Abbot. And bold considering you had an affair with my first wife."
Jack shook his head, "I never touched your wife inappropriately while you were still together. Unlike you, I greatly respect the sanctity of marriage."
For the first time, David's projected mask of casual indifference slipped. It bothered him immensely to be accused of anything immoral and it seemed no one in his life, except you, had pointed out to his face that he had. It didn't bother him that he had hurt you, Jack realized, it bothered him that anyone else thought less of his values. Or worse, thought he had none at all.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jack smirked as he backed away, "That was your one and only warning. Congratulations, man. I hope the second marriage sticks better than the first."
When he found you back inside, you were sitting with your mother, heads huddled together as you drank a dirty martini. He sat in the empty seat next to you and reached for the pack of cigarettes you'd left on the table.
"Hey—" You said indignantly, but Jack pocketed them before you could reach for them.
"You weren't supposed to have those." He said, eyebrows raised.
You pushed your lip out in an exaggerated pout, "But they made me feel so much better."
"Hm," Unable to resist, Jack ran a thumb over your lower lip, "so much better that you forgot your self defense training when he grabbed you?"
He had said it softly enough that only you could have heard, but you still found yourself glancing around, "He wouldn't have hurt me."
"That's not really the point though, is it? Why do you still let him make you feel small?"
Your eyebrows knit together and you shook your head, "I—I don't do that."
He nodded, "Yes, you do. I don't see you behave like this around anyone else—you shrink."
You pulled back in surprise and scoffed, "He was my husband." You said simply. As if it explained everything.
"So you just roll over and submit to him because he was your husband?"
Too far. He had pushed too far. He watched the wall go up behind your eyes, your features turned stony, "I need another drink." You said coldly and jumped up before he could say anything else.
"Fuck," Jack murmured, hesitating for only a second before jumping up to follow after you, "I'm sorry," he said sidling up next to you, "I didn't mean to upset you."
You were eating the olives from your empty martini glass as you waited for another, "Everyone is watching me today and will be watching me tomorrow. Picking apart my every move, foaming at the mouth hoping that I implode."
Jack glanced around and for the first time saw what you saw. At any given time there were at least four sets of eyes on you, whispers behind hands.
"I don't need you picking me apart as well."
He turned back towards you, "I didn't mean it like that. I just… feel very protective of you and I don't like the idea of anyone making you feel less than. Even if they were your husband."
You nodded and then thanked the bartender when he handed you another martini. With your free hand, you held out your pinky to Jack, "It's me and you, right?"
Jack smiled and nodded, wrapping his pinky around yours, "You and me."
There was a vulnerability in your eyes as you looked at him, a fragility you hadn't yet shown him until now. He was just now realizing how much of a show you must be putting on for everyone—for him. He didn't want you to hide from him.
Maybe you initiated it because you were drunk, but Jack didn't stop you when you slowly inched your face close to his. Mouths centimeters apart, he cupped your cheek with his hand, felt it when you leaned into his palm.
"Jack?"
"Hm?"
"I really like kissing you," you said softly, "probably more than I should."
His stomach flipped and he wet his lips with his tongue, "I really like kissing you, too. Definitely more than I should."
He felt it when your breath stuttered against his mouth, "Good."
It felt like a relief, admitting that. He had his suspicions you weren't kissing him back just for show, but to hear you say it outright electrified him. With your mouth on his, warm and tasting of olives and vodka, he didn't notice the likely dozens of eyes that must've been on you.
Jack hadn't dated since he lost his wife. He'd maybe shared a drunken kiss with a couple of women at a bar, but nothing beyond that. He hadn't wanted to. There had never been anyone else that he wanted to get lost in like that.
But kissing you now, his longing burst from him. Tongue sliding into your mouth, his heart felt like an open wound. Would you help him suture it closed? Or would you rip him open and dig deeper?
Tearing himself from you, he pulled back enough to look into your face, "Do you want to… Go somewhere else? Alone?"
Your fingers raised to your swollen lips, you looked around at all the people who were now acting like they hadn't been watching. Your eyes stopped on David for a moment as he brushed Maya's hair off her shoulder and kissed her bare skin.
You cleared your throat and turned back to Jack, "Yes."
***
Your heart was racing as Jack led you by the hand down the hall until you were in the bridal suite again, Jack pushing you against the door to close it.
His mouth was hot and insistent on yours, low groans deep in his throat stirring the fire in your belly.
It felt euphoric, being able to touch him and taste him like this. Though, every second, was the gnawing thought in the back of your head that this was only situational.
He didn't want you, not really, not fully. He just was caught up in the moment. You knew you weren't a bad kisser and you suspected Jack's private life was fairly nonexistent since his wife passed. He had only taken off his wedding band a couple months ago. Taking all that into consideration, he was just having some fun.
The problem, of course, being that you wanted more than that. Being newly divorced you guessed you should have wanted something uncomplicated, but you knew if it was Jack who was involved, you'd only want unfettered devotion. You cared for him far too much, there was no world where your heart was capable of being casual about him.
But fuck, you wished you could turn your brain off and just focus on the way it felt to kiss him, the way his hands on your body felt like heaven. He hitched your hip up to meet his, one hand roaming up your dress, your head falling back while he kissed your neck.
When he pulled back from you, you chased his mouth and he smirked. Repeating the movement, he leaned back into you before pulling away while you chased him.
You couldn't help the whine that slipped from you, "Fucking tease." You grumbled.
Jack brought his fingers up to his mouth and you watched, jaw going slack as he sucked two fingers in his mouth.
When he brought them back out, they glistened with saliva and you swallowed, eyes following as they went down—
"Eyes on me, sweetheart." Jack said softly and your eyes snapped back to his, even as you felt his hand beneath your dress. His deft fingers shifted your panties to the side and your eyes stayed locked on his as he gently slipped a finger inside you.
Your eyelids fluttered at the pleasure and Jack's sigh fanned your face, "That feel good, baby?"
You nodded, barely able to keep your head on straight. He was so close to you, you could smell the liquor on his breath, heady and intoxicating. You wanted him so badly, you ached, it wasn't enough with his fingers inside you. You felt greedy, you wanted to feel him wholly.
Your hands twitched, wanting to unbuckle his belt, see how hard you had made him. But along with the desire, panic was brewing. Through your haze as his fingers slowly thrust in and out of you, a thumb lazily circling your clit, you were panicking.
There had only been one serious relationship in your life and it had been David. Before David, you had done the hooking up while in college, the one night stands and friends with benefits. But it had never been enjoyable, you had never been able to come. For a while you thought maybe there was something wrong with you. Maybe you just didn't like sex.
But as you began dating David and then sleeping with him, you realized that wasn't it at all. It was just that you needed an emotional connection to get off. You needed to be attracted to someone's heart, you needed to trust them to get there.
And now with Jack's fingers inside you, it fucking terrified you how quickly your peak was approaching.
He was more than likely just trying to get his rocks off and you were falling in love with him, you could feel it. You were in danger of getting broken if you didn't find an escape hatch soon.
"Fuck—" Your walls were beginning to flutter around his fingers—It was becoming hard to breathe—
"There you go, sweetheart, I can feel you, go on—"
Swallowing, you put a hand on his wrist and pushed lightly, "Troponin," you gasped.
Immediately, Jack froze. Embarrassed, you avoided looking at him as he pulled his fingers from you and stepped back. You mourned the loss of his touch immediately.
"Sorry, did I—Did I hurt you?"
"No," you shook your head quickly, "No, you did nothing wrong. I just, um—" You grasped at nothing for the words, for what to say, heat spreading up your neck to your cheeks.
"It's okay, you don't have to explain," He said quickly, but you heard the disappointment in his voice, "I'm gonna step outside so you can straighten yourself out."
He was gone before you could say anything else and you were alone. Straighten myself out, you thought as you pulled at your panties and dress, putting everything back the way it should be. If only it were that simple to straighten out your head, your heart.
This whole thing, coming to the wedding, bringing Jack here, had been stupid. Reckless.
At this point, there was no way you left this wedding better off than when you came. Your eyes burned as you braced yourself to go back out there.
Jack had said you didn't have to explain, but didn't you? Didn't you have to give him some excuse after the confusion you'd certainly just caused?
But when you came back out, he was waiting with a smile. The only way to tell something had changed was just his subtle check in with you to see if he could put a hand on your back or hold your hand.
After another couple of hours of socializing and another drink or two, you were leaning your back against his chest. He kissed the side of your face and then leaned into your ear, "Time to get you to bed?"
When you nodded, he gently led you around to your parents so you could say goodnight before beginning to walk you towards your hotel.
"Jack, I'm really sorry about earlier—" You started when you were outside, the only sound was of the cicadas chirping and the muffled music and talking from the rehearsal dinner behind you.
"You have nothing to apologize for, I moved too quickly. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."
You bit your lip. You wanted to tell him that he hadn't moved too quickly, that actually you wanted him so badly he hadn't moved quickly enough.
"You didn't make me uncomfortable," You said slowly, "What you said earlier, when you said you didn't understand why I let David make me feel small—"
He sighed, "That was out of line—"
You moved in front of him and shook your head, "It wasn't. You were right, that's how our relationship always was. I let him… Tell me what to do, when to do it, I let him talk down to me, I let him do anything. He was the only relationship I ever knew," You blinked, tears blurring your vision, "I thought that was being loved. I still think that, sometimes. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and I know it's fucked up, but I thought to myself 'He still cares. He still loves me.' Sometimes I think maybe I should have forgiven him when he cheated on me. At least then I'd still have just that little bit of love." Your face crumpled, the emotion swelling even as you tried to stop it, "I'm just so fucking lonely. But I don't know how to be with anyone who's not him."
Jack's face softened and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest, "It's okay, baby, I've got you," As you cried into him, he kissed the top of your head, "It's gonna be okay."
When you got back to the hotel room, it was Jack who sat you at the edge of the bed and took a facecloth and your micellar water and gently removed your makeup while you cried, the most tender look on his face. He got your toothbrush for you, a cup to rinse and spit in after. And then with the softest voice, asked you if it was okay if he helped you out of your dress.
He tucked you in, following on his side a few minutes later.
You were still crying silently when you felt him next to you, careful to keep his distance. After the gentleness he'd shown you all night, even after your blatant rejection, your restraint was frayed.
"Jack?" You said after a few minutes.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think…Could you hold me?"
Without hesitation, you already felt him shifting on the bed, "Of course," He slung an arm around your middle and tugged you to his chest.
You closed your eyes and focused on the warmth of his body behind yours. Without meaning to, your hand grabbed ahold of his and you tucked his arm even tighter around you. You brought his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his calloused palm.
He sighed in what sounded like contentment into your neck and pressed a kiss just below your ear.
When you were about to drift off to sleep, comforted by the warmth and solidness of Jack behind you, his scent enveloping you, you thought you heard a muffled, rough "love you."
He was likely already half asleep, maybe thinking of his wife. But for just a moment, as you slipped further into sleep, you allowed yourself to believe he was talking to you. That you got to fall asleep like this every night, wrapped in his arms, safe and loved.
***
Jack wasn't sure what he should be feeling when he woke up the next morning, still wrapped around you. You were still sleeping when he woke, the sun streaming in from the windows haloing around your head.
As his eyes carved paths down your face, the curve of your neck and shoulders, he felt overwhelmed with adoration. He wanted to stay like this forever, transfixed by the peaceful expression on your face. Unable to resist, he gently stroked a knuckle against your cheek. You didn't wake, but you hummed softly at his touch.
Man, was he in love with you. He knew especially after last night that you'd likely never return those feelings. You were still hung up on David and even if you weren't, you deserved something that was uncomplicated. Not a traumatized, widowed, amputee, vet who was pushing fifty. He was grateful just to be your friend and to have this weekend with you to play pretend. He'd lock the memories carefully away when you returned to Pittsburgh, only to revisit when he was alone and wistful.
You interrupted his thoughts with a heavy sigh, blinking slowly until you woke fully. You shifted in his arms until you saw him, awake next to you, and smiled.
"Good morning," you murmured, voice raspy from sleep. He wished it didn't, but the sound of your voice the first thing in the morning had him wanting to do unspeakable things with you in this bed.
"Morning," he said softly, smothering his desire as he pulled his arm away from you, "How'd you sleep?"
"Good," You said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and then stretching your arms over your head. He pretended not to notice the way your nipples peaked beneath the thin cotton of your shirt, "You?"
He nodded, "Good. How're you feeling about today?"
You inhaled and exhaled slowly and then shook your head, "I don't know. I'm not looking forward to it."
He nodded, "Do you wanna go home?"
You frowned, "After all this, you would drive me home right now?"
He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, "I think maybe I was wrong about this whole thing. You've been hurting the entire time."
You shook your head, "Not the entire time," you said softly and squeezed his hand, "Anyway, I spent a fortune on a dress and I look hot as fuck in it so I can't let it go to waste."
Jack smiled slowly, "You're sure?"
You nodded, "I don't want to give them the satisfaction of leaving early."
He nodded, "Alright, let's get ready then."
You weren't kidding about looking hot in the dress. It was black and clung to your every curve, flowing out just below your knees.
"What do you think?" You asked, moving to bend down to put your shoes on.
Jack was faster though, sinking to a knee at your feet with a heel in his hand and gesturing for you to lift your foot into it, "I think," He said, buckling the strap around your ankle, "You look breathtaking."
Having helped you into your shoes, he straightened to standing, letting his fingers trail against your calf as he did. Face to face with you, you reached out to straighten his tie, which he thought was mostly just an excuse to step closer to him. His tie was already straight.
"You look good in a suit, Abbot." You said, smoothing your hands across his shoulders before meeting his eyes.
Pleased, he smiled and ran a hand along his jaw, "I was thinking about shaving—"
"No, don't—" You said quickly, causing him to meet your eyes in question. You bit your lip and looked away, "I just, um, I like the… scruff."
You were a tough puzzle to crack. Clearly, you were into him, physically anyway. Yet you had cut it off when you got too close to the edge. He knew he hadn't imagined your moans and the contracting of your walls around his fingers. You had been close and something about that had spooked you. Your explanation had been David, and he believed that for the most part, but he couldn't stop noticing the way you reached for him when you were scared or uncomfortable. How you had asked him to hold you the previous night. The physical intimacy between the two of you that had grown over the last two days seemed to soothe you.
And maybe that was all there was to it. That you were lonely and you trusted him and his touch made you feel safe. Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see when he thought there was a bit more to the way you looked at him.
His mouth twitched, "Alright, no shaving, then."
***
The ceremony was difficult to sit through. You and Jack had done a shot of tequila before walking over, which had been helpful in loosening you up, but still. You looked almost anywhere else the entire time. Tried to ignore the nearby gushing of guests of how beautiful Maya was and how great they looked together and David tearing up when she walked down the aisle.
The vows were the most difficult to sit through and thankfully, you couldn't recall what had been said. The entire time, Jack's hand had been on your knee. But when that hadn't proved to be enough of a distraction, he had taken your hand and started thumb wrestling you. By the end of the ceremony you were having such a difficult time not laughing, people's heads were beginning to turn towards the two of you.
Once you'd made it to the reception, Jack had immediately tugged you to the bar— and was promptly disappointed when the bartender refused to serve you shots.
"Really, man? This is the bride's sister—"
"Jack—"
"I'll tell you what," Jack fished out his wallet and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, sliding it across the bartop, "Can we have those shots now?"
Your head swiveled as you watched the bartender pocket the hundred to see if anyone else was watching. Jack turned back to you, "What kind of bar doesn't serve shots at a wedding?"
You scoffed, "Have you been to a wedding in the last ten years?"
He turned to you, frowning, "Are you implying that I'm old?"
You smirked, "I didn't say that. Every wedding I've been to in the last decade that had an open bar refused to serve shots."
He narrowed his eyes, "That's insanity."
You shrugged, "As an emergency physician I would think you could understand why that may be the case."
"Eh," he shrugged, "Weddings should be a little messy. What's a wedding if your uncle doesn't get a little too drunk and start a fist fight with your third cousin?"
You laughed as the bartender slid you each a tequila shot, lime wedges on the rims. You took the lime off and turned to Jack, "Cheers," you said, clinking your shot glass against his.
After you both had slammed empty shot glasses back on the bartop, you were wincing as the tequila burned a path down your throat.
Jack winced too and then gestured yuou over with his hands, "C'mere."
You frowned, but stepped to him nonetheless, "What—?"
His hand cupped the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a bruising kiss. At first, the surprise of it had you tensing, but then you went molten in his arms, his tongue licking languid strokes in your mouth.
As quickly as it started it was over and you felt dizzy as you pulled away, clearing your throat, "What was that for?" You asked, conscious of the heat in your cheeks.
"Needed a stronger chaser," He said and winked at you, "lime wasn't enough."
Smirking, you let him lead you away from the bar and to your table. What the fuck were the two of you doing?
***
You probably should have been more careful about your drinking. Drinking when feeling vulnerable and sad and also wistful had never ended well for you. You were staring at Jack for too long, which for his part, he seemed to find amusing.
"I look that good, huh?" He leaned in and joked, nudging his nose against yours.
You had nodded, biting down on your lip, "You look sinful."
And it was true. As the night progressed, he had removed his jacket and tie, unbuttoned a couple of buttons at the top of his shirt and you could see some of his chest hair peeking out. You had an idea of what he was working with, broad chest and muscled arms that you had long admired in t-shirts and scrub tops, but tonight you felt like ripping his shirt off entirely. You wanted the buttons to pop and you wanted to ravage him.
You were drunk enough that the fear had seemed to leave you and Jack was a welcome distraction from everything else. But when the home videos started playing after they had cut the cake it was difficult to keep a smile on your face.
"You were adorable," He whispered in your ear, arm resting on the back of your seat. A video was playing of you helping your dad teach Maya how to ride a bike, "And a great big sister," You were about seven years older than Maya and had taken a lot of pride in being a big sister.
You inhaled slowly through your nose and pushed the ice in your glass around with your straw, "Yeah, and look where that got me."
Jack tilted his head, "Come on, don't do that."
You shrugged, "It's the truth." You felt the tears pinpricking the back of your eyes. This was what the alcohol did to you, brought everything you tried to bury to the surface. "I did everything for her and she stabbed me in the back. Sorry," You said immediately shaking your head, "I just need a second."
You pushed away from the table and went to collect yourself outside. Your hands shook and you cursed lowly under your breath. When you heard heels clicking behind you, you expected to see your mother, but when you turned it was your sister following you outside, white dress billowing behind her like an angel.
"Hey, are you okay? I saw you run out—Oh, you're crying."
You knew immediately that Maya had no idea how to comfort you. It was always you comforting Maya. And even after everything had imploded with you and David, you had never cried in front of her.
Awkward and stilted, she tried to wrap her arms around you, but you shrugged her off, "Please don't touch me."
"I'm just trying to help—"
"Don't you think you've done enough?" You snapped.
She scoffed and took a step back, "God, can't you just for one fucking day get over yourself? Today is supposed to be about me."
You laughed and shook your head, "Every day of my fucking life from the day you were born has been about you!"
"Oh, God, I'm so fucking sorry for the crime of being born—"
"That's not what this is about and you know it. Even my marriage ended up being about you—"
"I'm sorry he wanted me and not you! But that's not my fucking fault! Get over it!"
You scoffed, "Me? You want me to get over it? You stole my fucking husband—"
"You can't steal someone who doesn't want to be stolen!"
"Oh my fucking God," Your rage felt like a living thing in your chest. For a moment, you forgot where you were and it was just you and Maya. "Are you ever going to take accountability for what you did to me? Don't you think it's time you finally grow the fuck up?!"
"That's enough!" David swept in and placed himself between the two of you, Maya behind you, and lowered his voice to a hiss, "People are fucking staring, could you shut the fuck up?"
It was the alcohol, it had to have been. You never would have been behaving this way if you hadn't been innebriated to the level you were. But the rage you had suppressed for months and months was finally bubbling to the surface and the alcohol was like gasoline on the fire.
"Go fuck yourself," You said to David before you spat on his shoes.
Turning, you intended to leave and go back inside, but then your arm was being grabbed and pulled so aggressively, you thought your shoulder might pop out of your socket.
"Did you just fucking spit on me?" You were face to face with David again, his hand still gripping your arm no matter how you tugged.
"You're hurting me." You said calmly. If you were less drunk you might've been able to use those self defense classes Jack had mentioned last night to get out of his hold. But your brain was muddled and all you could focus on was your anger.
"Dave, let her go." Maya was saying in the background, but David wasn't listening.
"Hey!" That voice, you would recognize anywhere. But you were only used to hearing it that angry in the emergency department. With an unruly patient or fighting with admin. But Jack was pissed now as he stormed outside, laser focused on David and where his hand gripped you tight enough to bruise.
Upon seeing Jack, for his part, David immediately dropped you. But that did nothing to deter Jack, who although a couple of inches shorter than David, had no problem getting right in his face, "What did I fucking say to you last night, huh? You think this is a game?"
"Jack—" You said gently in warning, but he was lost to you.
David smirked down at Jack, "You gonna throw fists at my wedding, old man?"
You hadn't ever seen Jack this angry before and you were worried that he would start throwing punches. He fisted the lapels of David's suit in his hands and spun until he slammed David's back into a wall.
"Jack—" You said more insistently, a little more desperate since you heard Maya getting hysterical behind you, "It's fine he didn't hurt me—"
"You are so fucking lucky she's here—" He jerked his head in your direction, "—And I don't wanna embarrass her because I would take such fucking pleasure from ramming my knee into your groin if we were anywhere else. I may be an old man, but all that means is I've won way more bar fights than you have. And you're a fucking coward if your baby soft hands are any indication."
David set his jaw and looked around Jack to you, "Could you get your fucking meathead boyfriend off of me?"
Jack rammed David against the wall one more time for good measure before dropping him. Grabbing your hand, scowl still on his face, he dragged you back inside, "Jack—"
"I know, I'm sorry," He said finally, dropping your hand and running it over his face, "I know you can handle it yourself, but he just makes me wanna fuckin'—"
"Hey, it's fine," You said quickly, ignoring everyone else who was whispering about the scene you'd just made, "It was my fault anyway, I—" You bit your lip and looked down at the floor, embarrassed, "I spit on his shoes."
"I know, I saw," Jack said, sounding amused. And then his finger curled under your chin, pullng your face up gently so you could see the shit eating grin on his face, "It was kinda hot."
You snorted and rolled your eyes, "Shut up."
"No, I'm serious. It was nice to see you stand up for yourself with him for once. And your sister too. Did it feel good?"
Shyly, you nodded, "It feels awful to admit it, but yeah it did feel kinda good."
"'Atta girl," He said softly and your stomach did a somersault. You weren't sure what was going on between the two of you anymore. The line had blurred so much between what was being done for show and what was real that it was impossible to find anymore.
You weren't blind, you knew he wanted you physically and clearly he cared about you, but neither of those things necessarily combined to I'm in love with you.
And even if he were in love with you, that didn't mean he wanted to be with you. Love wasn't always enough, you knew that more than anybody. There was work to be done in a relationship and not everybody was willing to put in the work.
You were drunk enough that you were thinking of articulating all this to Jack, though a small part of you knew that was a mistake, but the second you opened your mouth someone was tapping you on the shoulder.
You turned to see Brandon, David's best man, glaring at you with a beer in hand, "Can I talk to you alone for a second?"
Brandon was known to be an explosive drunk. There were several times when out with a group of friends at the bar that David had had to carefully remove him from situations that would have gotten him arrested for assault. In fact, when David wasn't there, it wasn't unheard of for him to get a call in the middle of the night from Brandon saying that he needed to be bailed out of jail.
You didn't like Brandon, never had, and you certainly did not want to be alone with him when he'd been drinking.
"You can talk to me right here."
Brandon shook his head, then shrugged, "Fine. I think it was disrespectful of you to show up here with him and now you've made your own sister cry, saying her wedding's ruined—"
"Oh, give me a break, no one's gonna remember our little spat by the end of the night," You said rolling your eyes, "And if David and Maya wanted a perfect wedding they probably should have married different people. I'm so sick of everyone acting like what they did to me was fucking normal!"
"Stop acting like the victim when you cheated with him first!"
You blinked, "I never cheated and frankly I'm tired of everyone saying I did. I was recovering from surgery after miscarrying his fucking baby and he was busy sleeping with my sister! It's sociopathic behavior and I'm so tired of all of you making excuses for him!" You were shouting again, angry tears streaming down your cheeks, all the people around you were quiet and staring.
Brandon stepped closer to you and you stepped back—into Jack's broad chest behind you. Immediately comforted, you softened, until Brandon was wagging a finger in your face, "If you had any fuckin' decency you wouldn't have come here."
You rolled your eyes, "Oh, go kick rocks, Brandon. You're a drunk loser who's been riding David's coattails for the last decade. You don't know anything about decency."
You turned on your heel and grabbed Jack's hand as you tried to lead him away from the growing wildfire—When there was a sound like shattering glass and then a scream.
You and Jack both turned towards the commotion on instinct—And found that Brandon had gotten so angry, he'd thrown his beer bottle in your direction, but his piss poor aim meant it had shattered about three feet to your right—Right where Maya was standing with David—And there was blood on the floor.
It wasn't immediately clear where the blood was coming from because of Maya's billowing wedding gown, but judging by her tears it was definitely her who was injured.
Without thinking about it all that much, you and Jack both began walking towards her—
"Both of you, get away from her," David said, "I think you've done enough."
Jack's hands were raised in surrender, "We're probably the only doctors here, I just wanna make sure she doesn't need stitches, that's all." You noted his immediate shift in tone and posture: this was emergency medicine physician Dr. Abbot in front of you. All traces of Jack were gone.
"It's okay, David," Maya said softly, "Let them take a look."
Reulctantly and with his jaw set, David stepped aside. As you both moved to Maya, turned and pressed his car keys into your palm, "Why don't you go grab some supplies from my truck? And a suture kit just in case?"
You frowned, "But I—"
"Don't take this personally, but I think Maya's still upset with you and would be more comfortable with… someone else assessing her injuries."
You looked from Maya, who was carefully avoiding eye contact with you, back to Jack. He really had shifted into supervising attending mode. You were his senior resident again and he had just given you an order. You were annoyed, but shrugged and backed away, "Fine."
***
Jack trailed behind as David carried Maya off into another room. As he did, he couldn't help but think how David had downplayed you almost bleeding out from a miscarriage, but was now babying his new wife over a cut on the foot. He wasn't sure what that said about the man. If maybe he was truly better off with Maya or that maybe he was like this with you in the beginning as well. Maybe that was why you seemed to have such a hard time letting him go.
When David set Maya down on a chair in the bridal suite, Jack took a step toward Maya, but she stopped him with a raised hand and turned to David, "Davey baby, why don't you go check in with my parents? I'm sure they're wondering what all the commotion was about, they'll be looking for me."
David frowned, "No, I—" He glanced at Jack, "I don't want to leave you alone with him."
Maya gave him a skeptical look, "Whatever beef you guys have, I don't think Dr. Abbot would do anything to hurt me," she turned to look at Jack, "Right?"
Jack shook his head, "I just wanna check on that laceration."
Maya turned back to David as if to say see? And eventually, he folded, sighing, "Fine. I'll be right back."
With David gone, Jack lowered himself to the floor to get a look at Maya's ankle. She had pulled the skirts of her dress up so he could access it more easily. His limb was beginning to ache where it sat in his socket, and the lowering of himself to the ground wasn't helping, but the alcohol was doing a pretty good job at masking the discomfort.
There was one lac, about three inches long on her ankle and it seemed to already be clotting. He turned her ankle this way and that to see if there was anything else, but it seemed to be just the one. He'd have to flush it out with saline to make sure there was no glass in the wound, but she'd just need a bandage. He told her as much and she sighed in relief.
"Look, um—" She sighed, "You seem like a loyal man who really cares about my sister so I understand if you probably don't like me, but I just wanted to say that I am really happy for you both. You seem really good together." At the look on Jack's face she added quickly, "And I'm not just saying that to relieve my own conscience, I—" She sighed, "I know what I did, what I allowed to happen, I know why she can't forgive me, I just—" She blinked, eyes going glassy, "I just really miss her, you know?"
She looked a lot like you when she cried and it softened Jack to her immediately, "I think that in your rush to be forgiven and not lose her, she feels like you keep trying to dismiss why she feels so hurt."
Maya sniffed and nodded, "Is she really still that devastated? Now that she has you?"
God, she was so young. You and Jack weren't together, but he thought even if you were this would still be a sore spot for you. Did she really not get it? "Two of the people she loved and trusted most in her life lied to her and snuck around behind her back for almost a year. That's not something that heals that easily, and not without a scar."
Maya was silent for a moment and then her voice came out small, almost childish, "Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"
Jack sighed and shrugged, "I can't answer that, kid. I know she really misses you, but I think she's just as angry."
She nodded, fingers knotted in her lap, "Can you at least promise me," She said, reaching out her pinky to him, "That you'll take care of her? She's always taking care of everyone else and I think she really just… Needs someone else to. At least for a while."
Well, that was easy. He'd never stop looking out for you. "Sure," he said and wrapped his pinky around Maya's, "I promise."
***
You don't think they heard you when you stepped into the bridal suite, but what a sight it was. Jack on his knees in front of your sister, smiling up at her, his pinky wrapped around hers.
You wished you could say the way you reacted had nothing to do with jealousy or trust issues. That it had nothing to do with how the last person you had been in love with had turned you in for the newer, fitter model in front of you.
It wasn't even the way he was looking at her. You'd worked with Jack for years, you knew he smiled at everyone like that. You knew he was a habitual flirt.
It was the pinky promise that really gutted you, combined with everything else. You felt like you were being slapped in the face with the fact that you weren't special, not to anybody, and certainly not to Jack. Something that had felt almost like a secret handshake over the course of the weekend now trespassed upon by your sister.
And of course, the alcohol in your system just fed on these insecurities, nurtured them until they were all you could see.
So, heart aching in your chest, you walked towards them and set the supplies you'd brought down next to Jack.
For your sister's part, she jumped away from him when she realized you were there, but Jack seemed unbothered, "Hey, could you start a saline flush? She just needs a bandage—"
"I need another drink, actually, so do it yourself."
You saw Jack stiffen at your curtness, but you turned and started walking before he could say anything else. He barely got out your name before you had left the room.
It wasn't long, though, before he caught up with you, "Did I do something wrong?" He asked quietly.
"Nope." You tried to feign cool and casual, but the truth was it felt the walls were closing in on you. You had nothing and nobody. You were so goddamn lonely it had started feeling like karmic punishment, for what you didn't know.
"Really," he said, "so there's no reason for the way you spoke to me back there? In front of your sister?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, I need a drink—"
He grabbed your arm, not unkindly, and turned you so that you were facing him, "I think you've had enough to drink today—"
You pulled away from him, stumbling a bit so that he reached out for you, but you regained your balance without his help, "We are not in the ED so you don't get to tell me what to do."
His brows knitted together and he shook his head, "I don't understand, we were just good like five minutes ago, why are you acting like this?"
"What does it matter? You're not my boyfriend, it's not your responsibility to figure it out." You turned and started walking again, "I'm actually just gonna leave, I think, I don't wanna be here anymore."
"Okay," Jack said slowly, "That's fine, let's go then—"
"No," you said, "Not we, me. I'm going. Alone."
Jack threw up his hands, exasperated, "Are we not friends, at least? Can you tell me where you're going? You're drunk, you shouldn't be wandering by yourself—"
"I'm going back to our room, getting my things, and then I'm calling an Uber to take me home."
You started walking again and Jack had to jog to catch up. You felt a pang of guilt when you noticed his slight limp. He'd been on his feet most of the day.
"You're gonna call an Uber to take you back to Pittsburgh? Right now?"
"Yes."
He sighed heavily, "Sweetheart, please, throw me a rope, anything: Why are you so upset with me?"
You felt childish when your vision swam in front of you, "What did you promise her?"
He frowned and shook his head, "What? Who?"
"My sister," You said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, "You pinky promised her something, I thought that was our thing."
His face fell and you could almost see his brain doing calculus behind his eyes as he shook his head, "That is our thing, we were just talking," You were shaking your head, trying to keep a stiff upper lip, "Come on, baby, it's you and me, remember?"
He was holding his pinky out to you and you hated the way you instantly softened at his term of endearment. Anytime he called you baby or sweetheart you melted. But that was how you'd been for David, too, and look how that had turned out. Jack himself said you gave into him too easily and you used to think that's what love was. You wouldn't fold like that anymore, not for anybody.
"I'm going home," You said again and then began walking outside.
Jack chased you the whole way, going on and on about how he knew you were hurting but he thought you were misdirecting your anger at him. When you got to the room he kept talking, begging you to stay and just get in bed with him and you could talk when you were sober. Please, I'll drive you home first thing in the morning, I promise. He was growing increasingly more desperate the longer you ignored him and when you went downstairs to meet your Uber, he carried your bag, but still repeatedly asked you to stay with him.
"Please don't get in the car," He said quietly, even as he put your bag in the trunk for you, "Please come back upstairs with me, I'm sorry. I was talking about you the entire time I was talking to your sister, I didn't mean anything by it."
Looking back on it later, you knew you should've stayed. Somewhere deep behind the anxiety and the pain you knew you were being unreasonable. Punishing Jack for crimes he hadn't committed.
You were looking for problems to make it easier for you to leave so he couldn't leave you first.
The truth was, in all the time you'd been with David, he had never once chanced after you when you were upset with him. He'd never made the effort to try to understand why you were upset. Not even when things were good between you.
Jack was nothing like him, but you were punishing him anyway because you were afraid of how much you cared about him. It was easier to think it wouldn't work out between the two of you because he had fucked up instead of the truth that he more than likely didn't want you like that.
So you got in the car, stared at your phone instead of Jack's receding form as your driver pulled off the curb.
***
Jack Abbot thought himself a patient man. After you left that night, he'd stared off after the Uber feeling sorry for himself and only sent you a single text: Please just let me know when you get home.
On the way back upstairs to the hotel room, he ran into your mother who he apologized profusely to as he explained you had left.
"It's not your fault," She said quickly, "Honestly, I'm impressed she'd made it this far. I expected her to cuss them out as soon as she set foot on the property."
Jack frowned, "Why'd you encourage her to come then?"
"Oh, well, that was the outcome I wanted," She smiled, "I know it seems crazy, what mother wants their daughters to have it out in front of everyone they love? But I've watched her bury it over the last two years. It was eating away at her. And I know that because I did the same thing."
Jack nodded slowly, "She mentioned. That you'd been in a similar situation with her father. I'm sorry."
She shook her head, "The only thing I regret now was not letting myself get angry." She sighed, "I'm sorry you were in the cross fire though, that I didn't want. I was actually hoping that you being here would remind her that her life wasn't over, but I underestimated how much she likes you."
Jack frowned, "I don't follow."
Your mother looked at him with a sad smile on her face, "She's scared of you. Of how you make her feel. That's why she left."
She had left him with that and he'd mulled it over in his head for a while, but decided he couldn't confront that and what it might imply right then. He was still drunk and now he was sad. He had only shared a bed with you for two nights, but he thought he'd probably sleep like shit without you.
He woke up the next morning in the empty hotel bed and saw you'd texted him just before dawn: home.
He wanted to say more. He wanted to call you, he wanted to hear your voice, make sure you were actually alright. But he didn't do any of that. He packed up his truck and headed out without saying goodbye to anyone and drowned out his thoughts with the radio.
Jack was patient when he arrived at his first shift back since the wedding, eager to see you, only to have Lena tell him you had called out. Fine. You had never done that before, but fine. If you still wanted space he could do that.
The second night you called out, he was irritated and finding it difficult to think about anything else. But still, he remained steadfast. He would not push you when you clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
The third night, he snapped.
"What the fuck?" He hissed to Lena, "She can't keep calling out like this, have you—I mean, have you actually spoken to her?"
"No, just texts," she leaned closer to Jack, "What happened while you guys were upstate?"
Jack scrubbed at his face, "Doesn't matter. Could you please call Shen and see if he'll come in tonight? I need to go check on her."
He tried calling you while he waited for Shen to get there, knowing you wouldn't pick up, but at least you didn't deny his call. You had enough decency to let it ring until it went to voicemail instead.
As he headed to your place, his fingers drummed anxiously against the steering wheel. He had no plan, no idea what he was going to say to you when—if you opened the door. Regardless, he was eager to see you. Even if you just screamed at him to fuck off.
He paced outside your door after ringing the doorbell, fists clenching and unclenching—he felt like a fucking teenager.
When the door cracked open, he stopped and turned, taking you in.
You were barefoot in sweats and a hoodie, eyes swollen and puffy. It was clear to him immediately that you hadn't been sleeping and you hadn't been taking care of yourself.
"Hey," he said softly, feeling like he was trying to coax a stray dog into his car, "How are you?"
Stupid. Dumb question. Especially when the answer was written all over you.
You crossed your arms, "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"
He raised his eyebrows, "Shouldn't you?"
"I'm sick."
Jack hummed, "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe I can take a look at you since I'm here."
You sighed and shook your head, "I don't understand why you're here."
He tilted his head, "You don't?"
Your eyes grew wet and you sniffled, "Are you here to fire me? Is that it?"
"No," He said softly, "Of course not. I'm here because I'm worried about you. Why're you calling out? Is it me? You don't wanna see me? Because I can—I can talk to Robby and see if we can move you to his shift, but I don't want you throwing your career away—"
"I don't want to work on Robby's shift, but I—I have a hard time even looking at you right now," You looked up and screwed your mouth to the side, the way you sometimes did when you were trying to stifle an emotion. He waited, though he was hanging on your every word, "I'm… mortified by how I acted when I left. I—I shut down I was too drunk and I got scared—"
"Scared of what, honey?"
Your lip wobbled, "Scared of loving someone again, of giving someone else the chance to hurt me."
Oh. Jack's heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Your mother had said something similar to him just a few days ago, but after sobering up and the repeated call outs, he assumed she'd gotten it wrong.
"It's stupid and you probably don't even feel like that about me—"
"I'm gonna stop you right there," He said and stepped towards you. He reached a hand up to stroke your cheek, thumb swiping at the tears just below your eyes, "I am madly in love with you."
You hiccuped, bringing up your hand to rest on Jack's wrist, anchoring him to you, "Really?"
He nodded, "And I—I can't promise you that it'll never hurt, I'm…not the easiest to love. I'm old and sad and stubborn and probably have more PTSD triggers than the number of years you've been alive. But I won't ever treat you the way he treated you," He reached his pinky up between you, "That I can promise."
You wrapped your pinky around his and then used your intertwined hands to pull him closer and rested your forehead against his, "I don't think you're hard to love at all. I think I'd be very lucky to love and be loved by you, Jack Abbot."
He sighed shakily against your mouth before kissing you. You'd kissed before, but this felt transformative. As his mouth moved against yours, warm and soft and pliant, he felt overcome by how much he loved you—Something he didn't think he'd get to feel again after his wife passed. But when he was with you, it felt like he was starting over. Like maybe he could step in the light of the sun again and not get burned.
With a groan, he pulled away from you, breathless and euphoric, "I don't want to be presumptuous, but… may I come inside?"
You smiled and looked away shyly, "I… was not prepared for guests I know how neurotic you are."
He gaped at you, eyebrows raised, "I am not neurotic."
You laughed and stepped aside, allowing him a path inside, "I give you thirty seconds before you hightail it out of here."
Jack barely made it past the entryway. There was clutter everywhere, the kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes, towels and clothes in varying states of clean and dirty littered the floors and hung over the doors.
He could tolerate mess, really, he could. But this level of mess reminded him of living with three other men in college, something he promised himself once he had the money he'd never live with again. He could not fathom wooing you and taking you to bed in this pit of entropy.
"You still love me?" You asked, voice small.
He gave a surprised laugh and ran a hand through his hair, resting at the back of his neck, "Yes, but we're leaving. Pack a bag."
"Where are we going?"
"You're staying with me tonight," He eyed your overflowing trashcan, a takeout container perched precariously on top of it, "Maybe forever," he added softly.
He helped you pack, dismissing every embarrassed apology you threw his way about the state of your apartment. He had been to your place before when you lived with David, once, after your miscarriage when you ended up needing surgery. He remembered the place had been neat and tidy—not sterile, but cozy. The state of your apartment didn't worry him, it was simply a manifestation of your mental health as of late. Something that was fixable. And fix it he would—later.
Once at back at his place, Jack immediately started running you a bath. He had copious amounts of epsom salts to ease his muscles, especially his leg, and he poured these in while the hot water ran. You stood in the threshold of the door alternating between watching him and taking in his house.
"When was the last time you ate anything other than Doordash?" He asked, gently tugging you by the hands fully into the bathroom.
"Um, I don't—" You sighed, "I don't remember."
"I'm gonna make you dinner," he said softly, thumb running over your lower lip, "Do you like bolognese?"
You bit your lip as you looked up into his face, "You don't have to do that."
He shrugged, "I want to. If it makes you feel better I was gonna make it for myself anyway when I got off shift." He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth, "Do you want a glass of wine while you're in the bath?"
"Sure," You smiled, and when he went to step around you, you squeezed his hand, "Jack?" He turned back to you, question in his eyes, "Could you stay with me while I'm in the bath?"
He smiled softly and walked back over to you, kissing you a bit deeper, worrying your lower lip between his teeth before pulling away, "Of course."
***
It felt a bit surreal, sitting in Jack's bath with a glass of red wine in your hand and the man himself staring at you with adoration as you soaked. This morning when you'd woken up you'd contemplated moving across the country so you'd never have to see him again. Now you were in his home and he'd told you he was in love with you.
You were still afraid, terrified really, of giving him the power to hurt you. It wasn't something that could be turned off so easily—but still, you trusted him. There was a persistent voice at the back of your head that reminded you you had trusted David at one point as well. But with Jack, it felt different. With David, even when you trusted him, there was an anxiety, a resentment, quietly brewing in the background. With Jack you felt only peace.
Your legs were thrown over the lip of the tub and the hungry look in Jack's eyes as he eyed them was not lost on you.
"You can touch, if you want," You said quietly.
His eyes dragged up to yours and then he smirked, "Is that why you asked me to stay?"
You sank lower beneath the water and shrugged, "Maybe."
His fingers tread carefully along your skin, at first kneading gently at your feet. You couldn't help the groan of contentment that escaped you almost immediately at his touch. It had been a long time since someone had touched you so lovingly.
Soon, you felt his lips at your ankle, pressing featherlight kisses along your leg as his hands traveled further up—Until they dipped beneath the water.
Your eyes stayed locked on his as his calloused fingers ran slowly up your thigh, your breaths quickening.
Slowly, he ran his tongue along his lips as his fingers reached the apex of your thighs, "You sure?" He asked, and his voice was rough and husky.
When you nodded, you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and beneath the water his fingers parted your lips. He began slowly, gently circling your clit as you sighed and arched your back. When you began whining beneath his touch, he pushed a finger inside you and you moaned in earnest as he slowly and gently curled it upward, thrusting in and out of you.
His fingers felt so good, warming you up and stretching you out, but you needed more. Your hands wandered up your torso until the cupped your breasts and you began pulling and pinching at your nipples.
"Fuck," Jack cursed and you watched as he palmed the bulge in his pants with his free hand, "You're gonna fuckin' kill me, kid."
Already, with Jack's fingers inside you, you were embarassingly close to the edge. You hadn't slept with David since before the miscarriage, so it had been something like two years since you'd been with someone. Since anyone had touched you with desire.
"You close, sweetheart?" Jack cooed, "You wanna come on my fingers?"
"Mmm," You whined, "Please, Jack."
There would be time for slow, for teasing, for edging later, you thought. Much later. Now you were ravenous for him. Altogether you thought it had only taken him about two minutes to get you to unravel on his fingers, and when you did, crying out, he hummed appreciatively, "You're so gorgeous when you come for me, baby."
As soon as Jack pulled his hand away from you, you were standing up. Jack laughed in surprise, "Where are you going?"
"Need you to fuck me," You said shortly, "Can't do that in here."
"Oh," Jack said, seeming surprised, and you watched as a flush worked its way into his cheeks, "You want to—Now?"
Getting cold now, you lowered yourself back down into the water, "Do you not want to?"
"No—No, of course I do. I'm just, um—" He shook his head quickly, "—It's been a—long time for me."
You nodded, "Me too."
He sighed and hung his head, "No, I mean, I haven't slept with anyone. The last person I slept with was my wife."
Ah. Well, that was quite a bit longer than you. Still, it didn't bother you, "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," You said slowly, "I hope that goes without saying. But I'm not going to be judging you on performance, Jack. I just want to be close to you right now."
He looked back up at you, a hesitant smile on his face, "I wanna be close to you, too."
Jack held your hand as you climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around you, kissing you tenderly as he helped you dry off. But his kisses became hungry, sloppy as the two of you maneuvered to the bedroom, his hands wandering to your hips and ass.
"God, you're so sexy," he murmured into your mouth. You licked into his in response, making every kiss impossibly deeper and hungrier, like you wanted to consume him.
When the back of his legs hit the bed, you dropped to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with wide eyes as you began unbuckling his belt. From this angle, from any angle, he was gorgeous to you, but he bit his lip now as he watched you free his cock and you felt your heart stutter in your chest at the sight of it.
He hissed when his cock sprung free and you wordlessly tugged him down to sitting on the edge of the bed as you admired him. He was thick and leaking, a patch of graying curls at the base, beautiful. You were practically salivating at the sight of it. Taking him in your hand, you lapped at his tip, taking his precum onto your tongue. Immediately, he was groaning and you watched him fist the sheets.
Looking up at him, you took one of his hands, watched it uncurl from the bed and placed it on the back of your head, "I want to feel how desperate you are for me," You said, looking up at him. He looked a bit helpless, almost stunned, and you nodded at him, eyebrows raised, "Okay?"
Finally, he nodded. This time, when you took him in your mouth, his hand gripped you. As you found a rhythm, bottoming out with him hitting the back of your throat, you were pleased when his hips began bucking into your mouth, his hand guiding your head on and off his cock.
After a couple of minutes of this, Jack groaned and gently pushed you off him, "Come up here," he said softly and watched carefully as you wiped the spit from your mouth with your arm and rose to standing.
He kissed you greedily and began to pull you into his lap, but you pulled away slightly, "Can we take all this off, please?" You tugged lightly at the shirt he was still wearing and his half off pants, "Want to see all of you."
Already nodding, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. You knelt back down to the floor to help him take his prosthetic off so the pants could come off too.
With everything off, Jack pushed himself backwards towards the pillows and you admired him from the foot of the bed for a moment. He was as broad chested as you imagined, covered in freckles you wished to connect like constellations. He was muscled, but soft around the middle, a generous happy trail that you longed to lick in its entirety.
You shook your head, almost at a loss for words, "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."
Jack blushed, but rolled his eyes and shook his head immediately, "Stop that, my body's—It's not what it used to be."
You shook your head, "I'm sure you were gorgeous then, too, but you're—" You bit your lip, "I wanna lick every inch of you."
You crawled over to him and straddled his hips, hands wandering eagerly across the planes of his chest while you ground your slick folds over his cock. Jack groaned appreciatively, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, "Fuck, you're so wet," You dragged your folds along the length of him again and he sighed, "That all for me, sweetheart?"
You nodded, eyelids fluttering as you rubbed your clit against him, over and over.
"You wanna come again, baby? Rubbing your clit on my cock like that?" He lightly slapped your ass and you moaned, quickening your pass to chase the friction.
You were close again, could feel your impending orgasm just on the cusp and Jack saw it all over your face, "Go on, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock."
His praise easily pushed you over the edge, Jack continuing to forcefully move your hips along his length as you came down.
With a hand on the back of your neck, Jack pulled you down to kiss him again, "So good," he mumbled, "feel so good."
Gently, he maneuvered you off of him and positioned you so you were on your side, you back to him, as if you were spooning. Flexing his left leg over your hips for purchase, he pushed inside you slowly from behind, the stretch of him making your eyes roll back into your head.
He kissed the back of your neck, "I'm—I'm not gonna last long like this, fuck—"
"That's okay," You ran a hand down his thigh and rocked your hips back into him, "We can go again later."
He chuckled and then started rocking into you fully, cursing occasionally or biting down on your shoulder hard enough that you were sure it would bruise later. Jack was overwhelming every one of your senses as he thrust in and out of you and you were being very vocal about. So loud, in fact, that Jack reached around and stuffed his fingers in your mouth and ordered you to suck on them as if they were his cock. This quieted you, but only just.
As you moaned around his fingers, he began slamming into you with more force, the sound of his hips snapping into yours filling the air until he stuttered and you felt him fill into you, warm and wet.
The two of you were panting as he finished, hips slowing until they stopped completely. After a moment of recovery, Jack tightened his arms around you and kissed up the side of your neck, "Are you alright? Was that okay?"
You almost laughed, "'Okay'? It was incredible. How was it for you?"
"Yeah," He said, kissing your shoulders, "About the same."
For a long while, the two of you laid there in the quiet, just holding one another—Until your stomach rumbled.
Chuckling, Jack ran a hand over your stomach, "Let's go make you dinner, sweetheart."
***
With the dishes cleared and your stomachs full, you had gotten ready for bed in Jack's en suite bathroom. When you walked back into the bedroom, he was under the covers, his face lit up with the blue light from the TV. When you climbed into bed next to him, you looked to see a baseball game on.
"Do you mind this? I can change the channel—"
You yawned and shook your head as you snuggled up next to him, throwing an arm over is chest, "I'm gonna pass out probably in the next five minutes, so, no need."
He hummed and ran a hand over your back, "Well I was planning on working tonight so I might be awake for a while longer."
"That's okay," You burrowed your nose into his neck, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, "As long as you stay here with me."
He kissed the top of your head, "No place else I'd rather be."
As you fell asleep, Jack kept looking back down at you, as if to check if you were still there. Every so often, he'd touch your face or kiss your head and you'd hum in contentment.
With you sleeping in his arms like this, he began to fantasize of another wedding, a couple of years from now. The dream wedding you'd always wanted, but didn't get the first time. He could practically see it, you in a white dress, him watching you walk down the aisle to him.
Both of you beginning a new chapter together, starting over. He didn't think he'd ever get to be a husband again. But with you warm and safe in his bed, he thought he'd very much like to be yours.
Leaning over you, Jack kissed your cheek and then whispered in your ear, "I love you."
Still half asleep, you murmured back, "Love you."
For the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot was looking forward to the sun rising and a new day beginning.
synopsis: bothering jack abbot is your specialty, fuck whatever your actual job is.
content: swearing, medical inaccuracy obviously--sue me I'm in law not medicine, minor gaslighting but only un poquito, jack cant even be mad at reader LMFAO he is so whipped. but like he can though. but also in the moment he cant. he just needs a little time, I kept it T for freaking teen baby!!
a/n: what is there to say...technically preceding goldilocks but you don't have to read that to read this and vice versa. dani @alexturner once said to me "i love how she's the lawyer but he's always the one winning arguments" and i was like hm. perhaps i should rectify that. ok bye
Jack is elbow deep in someone’s chest cavity when his phone buzzes, cutting straight through the controlled chaos of consequences befalling a man rushed into his trauma bay after poor seatbelt choices and an accident straight out of Final Destination.
It starts as a faint tremor in the pocket of his scrubs—more vibration than sound—but even beneath layers of sterile gown and adrenaline, he feels it.
He doesn’t acknowledge it.
He can’t. His hand is currently cradling some guy’s inferior vena cava like it’s made of glass, and one wrong twitch means this guy is leaking faster than a bullet-addled DC-10.
But the buzzing doesn’t stop.
It goes off again.
And again.
The third time it happens, Ellis glances toward the tray table. “Dr. Abbot, your phone—”
“I know,” he says, voice calm but clipped. “Ignore it. I need suction.”
It’s not that he isn’t curious. Of course he is. Jack’s phone never rings this much unless something’s on fire—or worse, you tried using his gas stove again.
But there’s a heart in his hand, so it can wait.
Probably.
Hopefully.
God willing.
And then it fucking goes off again.
“Oh my God,” he breathes out, entire body stilling with disbelief. “Can someone please answer that?”
There’s a small shuffling as Ellis obeys his command, maneuvering around the occupants of the room towards the small metal tray. Tugging off one red-streaked glove, she shimmies the small phone out of his back pocket and swipes across the screen, unlocking it.
It presses against Jack’s ear.
Silence bleeds through from the other side, softly broken by the static of a breath.
“Hey, Jack.” You voice drifts out, half-articulate, and followed by a soft smack like you were mid-snack and had a prophetic vision of him at the most inopportune moment and decided to blow up his phone. “What’s up?”
Jack blinks down at his blood-soaked gloves—at the fucking cavern his hand disappears into.
What’s up?
“Nothing crazy,” he replies mildly. Catching someone’s eye, he nods down where his hands disappear, demanding more suction. “Are you dying?”
“Only to talk to you.”
Jack sighs, wedging the device harder between his shoulder and cheek.
“Honey, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back.”
“No, you won’t—you always say that. There’ll be some emergency you have to tend to.”
“An emergency in the emergency room?” he asks dryly. “Imagine that.”
The doctor hears you snort, the microphone picking up the soft sound of your socks scuffling across the porcelain-disguised-as-wood floor before you grunt.
Hopping onto the counter in the kitchen, Jack assumes.
He shifts his weight, the blue fabric of his gown crinkling as he carefully pinches the artery between his fingers to further constrict blood flow.
Glancing up, he meets Ellis’ eyes and mouths, where the fuck is surgery?
Two minutes, she mouths back.
Jack huffs a breath that fogs up his glasses for a split second.
“Jack? You still there?”
“No, actually—”
“Alright, obviously you are. Anyway,” the doctor groans, but you continue as if he didn’t even have vocal chords with which to make the noise. “Medical opinion. Skipping backstory because someone is feeling bitchy today. Do penguins have depression?
Jack’s brain short-circuits.
Shaking his head minutely trying to generate any energy that would restart any mental faculty, a disbelieving laugh—more of a hwa, really—escapes him.
“What?”
“They can’t fly. Are they, like, sad because of that? I think I would be.”
He cannot fucking do this right now.
His leg is starting to ache, and his shoulder is starting to cramp from the awkward fucking position he finds himself in trying to stabilize this patient long enough to get him to surgery, and he has to subtly shift his weight in a futile attempt to relieve any of that tension—though, if he’s honest, most of that tension is coming from you—and his shoes make a sickening shweck sound when the soles of his boots slide across the blood-slicked ground. And through it all—the faint pulsing of the blood through the vein in his hand and the scent of iron wafting through the air, stealing all breath from his lungs—you’re on the other side of the phone, miles away, chirruping about the presumed mental state of Antarctic birds.
Jack’s eyes slide closed for a beat, and he takes a deep, should-be calming breath.
And then he cuts you right the fuck off.
“Sweetheart, I’m chest deep in someone who tried to merge with a semi-truck,” he bites out. “I have the only thing keeping his blood pressure in the double digits in my hand. My resident looks like she’s about cut my arm off and use it as a puppet, and I’m almost positive I just heard you lick a spoon.”
Jack takes another deep breath.
“And you called me,” he confirms slowly, the syllables taut with barely-there restraint, in an attempt to find the fucking sense in them, “to ask me if I think penguins get sad because they can’t fly?”
Someone stifles a snort across the room.
The tendon in his jaw flexes as he attempts to rein in his annoyance.
Someone's heart is literally in his hands. You’re calling inquiring about the possible chemical imbalances that may afflict flightless avians. And now there is laughter in his trauma room.
Jack makes a note for later—clean-up detail, entirely comprised of that one fucking guy. Why shouldn’t the janitor get a nice hour off?
“Yeah," you say simply. "Do they?”
“Honey. Sweetheart. Light of my life. I’m mid-vascular anastomosis,” He tilts his head, carefully balancing his phone between his cheek and his shoulder. Like a switch is flipped, his voice becomes laden with frustration. “I cannot stand here and opine on the emotional state of penguins,” Jack snaps.
The line goes silent. Jack almost feels bad.
Almost.
Then your voice—your once again snack-addled voice, thick with peanut butter or something, Jack guesses—cuts back in.
“Jack, it’s a simple yes or no,” you sigh.
Like he’s the crazy one for not wanting to have this conversation right now.
“I’m hanging up,” he decides.
“Okay, rude ass—”
“Kid, I love you,” he cuts in, catching Ellis’ eyes and shrugging the shoulder with his phone on it. “But I’m hanging up.”
Ellis grabs the phone from him, an extremely amused smile on her face.
Leaning over to him, she whispers, “I’ll make sure to chart that call as ‘urgent,’ Abbot.”
The moment Jack opens your door, he’s ready to fight.
He spent the entire drive rehearsing what he was going to say, so he could at least try to make it hard for you to twist his words and win an argument.
Jack would bring up the fact that the phone call was completely irresponsible. He would concede that, yes, you’re right, he could have hung up at any moment. He would also assert that you knew he was on-shift and that, barring any injury, major or minor, or you winning the lottery, communication should be confined to text.
He had it all planned out.
He, of course, forgot to account for the fact that your front door seems to squeak when it opens no matter how many cans of WD-40 he puts on it—he suspects that he’s keeping Home Depot in business from that alone—and the entryway looks directly into your kitchen.
His foot hovers over the threshold to your apartment, and Jack sees you freeze, half-eaten bagel hovering in the air, one of his old hoodies draped over your body barely covering your shorts, and one sock scrunched down by your ankle while the other remains glued mid-calf.
You don’t even turn toward him, but he sees your wide eyes locked on his figure from your periphery.
Without removing his eyes from you, the doctor hangs his backpack on the little hook he installed for himself.
His right foot brings him one step closer.
Then his left.
And then he starts stalking toward you.
Slowly, as casually as possible with no sudden movements, you toss your bagel down to the plate with a ping from the hard bread meeting ceramic. To your right, your arm slides across the kitchen island, your body turning toward him as it melts into the granite while your feet slink in the opposite direction.
Finally, your body reaches maximum stretch, and Jack rounds the island to rest opposite of you.
The island of burnt bagels and granite.
His new battleground.
You throw him a lopsided grin.
“Heyyyyyyyyy, Jack,” you nervously laugh out. “Looking goo—”
And suddenly, he’s angry.
Very angry.
He's angry that you can look so cute and be so nonchalant when you’ve caused him major turmoil in the past four hours. Not to mention teasing from Shen.
“Four in the morning,” he barks out.
Your shoulders hike up to your ears, smile melting down and baring your teeth in a distinct haha, you got me expression.
“You called me at four in the morning,” Abbot reiterates, “to ask me if I thought that penguins get sad because they can’t fly.”
He sticks a finger in your face. “Four in the morning.”
“Okay, well, do you—?”
“Four.”
“Established! But,” your finger lazily draws a circle on the counter, “you’re still not answering.”
Your name vibrates out of his chest in a groan. “You of all people should know the legal ramifications of stopping an emergency procedure for a phone call.”
He pauses.
Then, “Especially ones that are penguin based.”
“I don’t…” your eyes dart to the side before snapping back to him.
You squint, weaponizing confusion. “Jack, I’m not sure why you think the law explicitly prohibits penguin discussions amid emergency operations.”
“That’s not— my point is—”
“Give me one statute,” you demand.
“What?” he flounders, caught off guard.
“One. Statute.” You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I’ll wait.”
1. Bring up the fact that the phone call was completely irrespons–
“That’s your job—” he hears himself saying instead.
What the fuck is happening right now? Where did his bullet-points go?
“Oh, alright,” you laugh out, crossing your arms over your chest. “So, you admit you came into the operating room with zero legal grounding.”
“What? No—”
“So you knowingly performed a high-stakes medical procedure without ensuring full compliance with potential,” your voice hesitates, the last syllable wavering as you battle amusement, “penguin-related clauses in state and federal code. That’s…” You push yourself clear off the island and wave two disbelieving hands in a what the fuck gesture. “Well, that’s bordering on gross negligence, Jack.”
“I didn’t— there are no penguin clauses—”
“Oh, okay.” You nod slowly. “So now you’re just assuming legal precedent, then. On what basis? Gut feeling? Ornithological jurisprudence?”
“You’re making things up,” he snaps.
“I’m doing my job.”
“What job? It’s eight in the morning on a Saturday and you—” he hisses out, jabbing a finger in your direction, “—you’re in Whataburger boxers and mismatched socks.”
“Typical Sunday best,” you dismiss with a shrug.
Stand your ground, Jack.
“It’s Saturday, not Sunday,” he grinds out.
“Saturdays are Sundays of the weekend, everyone knows that.”
And what the fuck does that mean?
Jack groans, rubbing his temples like that’ll somehow buffer him from your logic.
“You know what?” he snaps. “I hope penguins are sad. Deeply, irreparably sad. Because if I have to suffer, they do too.”
“Wow.” You blink, head slinking back in astonishment. “Bold stance for someone claiming to be pro-bird.”
“I never claimed that!” he insists, the tendon in his neck flexing, almost to the point of pain, while he fights for his life in a court of bird law that doesn’t even fucking exist.
And, if it does, it sure as fuck isn’t taught in medical school.
“Oh, so you’re anti-bird now?”
“No! I just— God, what is happening right now?” he explodes, gesturing wildly. “You called while I had my fingers in someone’s heart to debate whether Emperor penguins have some sort of evolutionary seasonal affective disorder—”
“Well, do they?”
He closes his eyes.
Breathes in.
Out.
You lean forward, elbows on the counter in full cross-examination intensity.
“You said—and I quote—‘You of all people should know the legal ramifications.’ So, I asked you a legal question. And now,” your hand comes to rest on your heart, “I’m the bad guy?”
“I said that because you were going to kill that guy.”
“I was going to do no such thing,” you say mildly. “Because I. Respect. The law.”
The older man stares at you, jaw working, a silent plea to whatever higher power might be listening for the patience to survive this conversation.
A strange sense of calm washes over him—one that accompanies your specific brand of arguing technique.
He thinks maybe you have a point with all that amen, brother shit you throw around half-seriously.
“You know what I meant,” he says, each word a slow, deliberate exercise in self-restraint. “You can’t just twist my words because you’re bored and running on two hours of sleep and orange juice.”
You don’t bother to hide your smirk.
“I’m not twisting your words. I’m clarifying the record for the court. You know, in case this comes up during your deposition.” The sentence cuts off abruptly as you blink, holding a finger up while a thought belatedly comes in on the fax machine in your brain. “Also. I cannot drink orange juice. It interacts with my Focalin.”
“I’m not on trial.”
When he says it, he really, really tries to keep his tone resolute—clinical and I’m Mister Doctor who does doctor things.
You prod a finger at the air between you.
“Not yet. But the jury,” you gesture to the half-eaten bagel on the counter, “isn’t looking great for you, doctor.”
But, unfortunately, he's not doing doctor things. He's off the clock.
Jack stares at you for a long beat—at your wild hair that kind of resembles a lion’s mane right now, and at the amusement simmering in your eyes.
The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of this entire conversation hits him full force, all at once. Five hours ago, he was in the emergency department actually saving lives; now, he’s standing in your kitchen, tired and resigned and helpless to you, standing there wearing Whataburger boxers and arguing avian psychology with the composure of a Supreme Court justice.
A slow, helpless twitch tugs at the corner of his mouth. He tries to swallow it, but it’s too late. His shoulders betray him with a single shake, a breathless puff of air escaping him as his head drops forward.
You pivot on your back foot, twisting your body to put distance between the two of you, in confusion.
But when Jack looks back up, whatever annoyance—anger, whatever—that was there is completely gone. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen with an amount of affection that is, frankly, a little embarrassing.
“You’re a nightmare,” he laughs, but the bite is entirely replaced by a soft, thread of fondness, wrapping around each word. He begins a leisurely walk towards where you’re standing, before he reaches out and catches the side of your jaw. “A literal, legal nightmare.”
Looking down, he sees your cloth-enclosed toes shuffle forward until they bump his shoes. His eyes make the ascent, trailing across your socks, and your fuckass shorts, and his hoodie, until they lock onto your own.
The apartment is silent as your soft breaths mingle with his.
Jack’s thumb traces down the line of your jaw, hooking on your chin before it smooths down to rest right above your collarbone.
Slowly, he tilts your head up.
Even more slowly, because proximity to you is now just downright Pavlovian, his eyes slide shut.
Distance between the two of you becomes non-existent, the bridge of his nose gently nudging your forehead.
He’s not thinking about the semi-truck or the first-year resident he’s definitely going to be overworking tomorrow or your extremely frustrating way of doubling down even when you know you’re wrong.
He’s thinking about how your forehead feels against his and how, despite his best efforts to be a serious professional, his heart is currently doing an extremely unprofessional skip.
“I’m going to lose my license because of you, you know that?” he whispers.
Against his throat, he feels your low, vibrating hum of surrender, lips grazing the sensitive skin.
“Not even because of that stupid fucking phone call,” he says. “But because I’m currently standing in the kitchen after my shift arguing about the legality of penguins with my extremely stubborn girlfriend instead of sleeping.”
A small puff of laughter dances across his skin, goosebumps following in its wake. “Girlfriend, huh?”
Jack hums.
And then lets out a long, very self-suffering sigh as the mockery of adrenaline evaporates from his system, leaving only the comfortable weight of being home. Carefully, his body sinks into yours, nudging one foot between yours and anchoring himself to you.
“For the record,” he whispers, lips brushing your skin with every word, “your little jury is biased. I would like to request a mistrial.”
Your arms snake around his waist, hooking together and finding comfortable resting place on his spine.
Jack abruptly pulls back and you whine, a pathetic where are you going whine that tugs at his heart.
“And I want a bite of that bagel as a peace offering,” he demands.
Small arms—deceptively strong small arms—pull him back to you.
You shake your head like your trying to burrow in.
“That’s literally your bagel,” you say, words muffled from where your face presses into his chest. "I made it for you."
Jack blinks.
“You were just eating it.” He turns his head and looks at what’s left of the offending breakfast item. “I watched you eat it. It’s literally half-eaten.”
“Ohhhh my god, you are bitchy today.”
"Kid, that's not even a bagel anymore. It's a piece of cardboard."
Summary: Jack and Samira open a dating account for Robby, and furious Dr. Robinavitch goes to shut down the poor girl they have managed to charm, only for the night to take a turn and change his mind.
Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut(only one scene), VERY VERY PLOT HEAVY, so much pining urgh, Robby falls hard and fast and first, he is smitten alright, Alcohol consumption, blind date trope, lots of fluff and kisses and just cutesy things, English isn’t my first language<3
word count: 8.4k+
an: so I know I said I didn’t wanna write the blind date idea but here I am with this HEAVY fic! I hope you guys like this pleaseeeee comment and tell me what y’all think about it! Also, shoutout to @m-robinavitch & @pxpecxdy for helping me with this fic!!! ALSO THE PICS DO NOT REPRESENT THE READER!! She is written as neutral as possible with NO details about her appearance! She’s just shorter than Robby!
no beta<3
“Jack, he’ll kill us.”
“I’ve had enough of his grumbling.” Jack unlocks Robby’s phone, opening his gallery to find at least one good picture of him. “He doesn’t say it, but I can see how lonely he is.”
“And your solution is to open a dating account without him knowing?” Samira hisses, sitting down next to Jack on the couch, glancing at the bathroom door in the hallway in panic, “Stop— what if he finds out? Oh, great, now you’re snooping around his gallery.”
“Sweetie, listen,” Jack whispers while airdropping the few pictures he has selected from Robby’s phone, glancing up at the bathroom door before he looks at Samira, “Heather has moved on, all his exes have moved on, and he is sitting alone in a bar drinking while having a midlife crisis. He needs to go out; it’s good for him and my sanity.”
“You already have a girlfriend, stop digging your nose into his life, maybe he doesn’t— shit, shit, he is unlocking the door!” Samira snatches Robby’s phone, standing up anxiously before she rushes toward the kitchen, dropping his phone face-first on the counter, and busying herself with filling a glass of water.
Jack clears his throat, looking down at his own phone, a barely visible smirk on his face as he opens the dating app and uploads Robby’s photo without looking suspicious.
“What do you want to have for dinner?” Samira asks, smiling awkwardly at Robby, who gives her a reassuring grin in return while he reaches for the tissue box on the counter next to his phone, “I don’t feel like cooking, so…”
“We’ll figure it out, honey, don’t worry,” Jack, finally after the harsh glare Samira gives him, turns off his phone resting his head on his hand on the back of the couch as he waits for Robby to join him, “It doesn’t matter as long as Robby stays here with us.”
“Yeah, about that…” Robby drops the crumbled tissues inside the trash, putting his phone in the pocket of his jeans before he gives a soft apologetic smile to Samira, “I think I should leave. You gotta enjoy your time with him now that he’s moved in. I’ll come another day.”
“You know we are more than happy to have you over,” Samira replies, following Robby to the door, pulling Jack up by his hand to say his farewell, “But no pressure! You’re welcome anytime!”
“Thank you, Samira,” He gives her a half hug before he pats Jack’s back when he is pulled in for a deep embrace, “Good night, brother.”
“It’d have been great if you didn’t run away from having a solid conversation with me.”
“I don’t need you to scold me about my perfect life, I’ve heard enough,” Robby shakes his head as he bends down to put his sneakers on, sighing deeply when he sees how Jack and Samira — both — give him an unsatisfying look, “Don’t even think about talking. I’m outta here.”
“We want what’s best for you—“
“And that, Jack,” Robby hits the elevator’s button before he looks back at his friend with a defeated smile, “Is to keep your head out of my business. ‘M not trying to sound mean, I’ve done everything, maybe that’s how it’s always supposed to be.”
“What? What do you mean?” Samira asks, stepping forward, looking at Robby with a soft frown, glancing back at Jack, who is mimicking her conflicted thoughts.
“I’m not exactly the best man to date,” Robby shrugs, running a hand through his hair as he waits for the elevator to reach the floor, “I’ve been told, and I don’t disagree. I’ve tried everything—“
“Not everything.” It is comical how Jack and Samira both say it at the same time, and in that moment, Jack understands she is on board with his plans.
Robby chuckles, his shoulders go rigid as he waves at them one final time, “I have, trust me. I’m destined to be alone, and I’m fine with it. You should be, too.”
As soon as the elevator doors are shut, Samira pushes Jack inside the house, slamming the door before running her hands down her face, groaning loudly.
“Get out your phone, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she grabs Jack by the elbow, pushing him down on the couch as she crawls next to him, “Find him a date as soon as possible. He is becoming an insufferable old man.”
“See? My idea is fucking brilliant!” Jack grins at her, unlocking his phone to open the dating app, “We gotta make sure we talk exactly like Robby so when they go on the date, she thinks it was him all along.”
“We’re basically lying, but sure, thank you for your brilliant idea,” Samira sighs, shaking her head in disappointment, but deep down, she knows this is the only path Robby hasn’t taken; maybe something good will come out of it. She can only hope.
“Okay, choose a picture— definitely not this,” Jack angles his phone so she can take a better look at the photo. The first one is a group photo of Robby and his day shift team; he isn’t looking the happiest and cleanest, and more importantly, he is looking at Heather. So nope, this one has to go.
“Something that shows his face better,” she snatches his phone from his hands, leaning against his chest as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, “Okay… what about this?”
“Not bad, but it’s a group photo again— does he even have a picture of himself? Like a solo one?”
“That’s…” Samira stops, pouting a little when she thinks about it, “That means no one’s ever taken a picture of him. No wonder he feels so drained; he doesn’t have one single picture of himself! Jack he is so lonely.”
“I’ve been telling you, honey,” Jack kisses the crown of her head, “He needs to find his match again. He found it once, he can do it again.”
“This app better give us someone worth his time— oh, okay, this selfie isn’t that bad, huh?”
“He’s holding up a book,” Jack cringes, scratching his jaw as he stares at the photo, “Okay, urm, it’s not too bad, but he looks like a grandpa. We just have to find girls who are into him and whatever category this picture is a part of.”
“He’s had bunch of relationships before, we’ll definitely find someone,” he watches as she adds his name, making sure she puts down ‘Robby in short’ so his future hypothetical date doesn’t call him by his first name, “Add his height, his job… urm, what else?”
“What does he like? Besides books, obviously.”
“Women.”
“Jack,” she gives him a look that screams as if we don’t already know, “Focus! Hobbies. What does he do when he is out of the hospital?”
“Drinking, reading… he goes to this really, really old record shop— he’s such an old man, he’s going to die soon—ouch, what?”
“You are barely any younger than him,” she pinches his arm, rolling her eyes as she adds the things he told her, “Any sports? Football, basketball, baseball?”
“I think he plays basketball with Jake a few times a week when he isn’t exhausted, which is rare, you should add that he is so tired—“
“Listen, babe,” Samira turns around, cupping Jack’s face and he takes the opportunity to pecks her lips, “You had a stupidly amazing idea, now don’t fucking ruin it. Let me handle it, alright? Alright.”
She settles against him again, putting the location on Pittsburgh before she presses ‘done’ and starts going through the options the app is offering in this city. They like some of the profiles, delete the others, and the game of finding Robby a match starts.
•••••••
“Hey, man,” Jack strides inside the hospital, backpack slung on his shoulder as he hugs Robby, taking a look at the board before he looks back at Robby, who gives him a sympathetic nod, “Looks like you guys had a rough day.”
“Yeah, hope your shift is better than ours,” Dana sighs, tucking her glasses inside her bag, “It was a shitshow. A school bus crashed into a tree… a bunch of terrified children ran in here.”
“That’s the worst you got today? You should hang around and see how much—“
“It’s not a game of who has it worse, Jack,” Dana chuckles, swinging her bag on her shoulder as she leaves the station, “Enjoy the night, I’m sure you’d love the screaming children who’ve got hand surgery at three in the morning.”
“Have a good night,” Jack squeezes Dana’s hand as she passes him, looking back at Robby, who is leaning his hand on his forearm on the Central, “Go home, you need rest.”
“Yeah, I will,” Robby scratches the back of his neck, “I’m thinking of taking a few days off, just to sleep. I know I won’t, but trying it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Take Friday off,” Jack replies quickly — almost too quickly — before he clears his throat and pulls his phone out of his cargo pants, “So you know, you can have your weekend and a day more off in a row. Please text Samira and tell her I got here, the car’s hers for her next shift.”
“Sure,” Robby frowns a bit at Jack, watching him go after Jack, and hands him his phone. Robby, hesitant and nervous, unlocks Jack’s phone — yeah, he knows his password, it’s a requirement in ER because they trust each other enough and someone has to get inside this thing in the time of emergency — and he finds Jack’s messages with ease, Samira’s name pinned on top with a picture of her smiling.
It’s one second, he is too quick, he shouldn’t be this quick, but he is. He catches a glimpse of his name in one of the recent unread messages. He stands frozen, looking at the contact’s name, color draining from his face.
Robby’s date
“What the fuck?” He whispers, opening the message without thinking twice, reading the only text available.
I’m so excited to finally meet you this Friday, Robby!
He thinks he might drop dead in the middle of the ER. If he puts his hand on the side of his trachea, he would feel how insanely fast his carotid pulse is. He is sweating on his forehead, his back, and his hands. He doesn’t think he can hold the phone any longer.
He takes another look at the message, and it seems the words are taunting him. A date. Robby. A date he doesn’t know anything about. In Jack fucking Abbot’s phone.
Robby walks to the locker room, phone clutched in his hand as he pushes past people to find his friend, Jack, might not be his friend any longer after this conversation — and finds him pulling out his stethoscope from his bag.
“I’m gonna ask this once, Jack,” Robby squeezes his eyes shut as he holds up the phone, “What the fuck is this?”
“Wha— oh.”
“Oh is right, my friend,” Robby glares at Jack, who just shrugs and shuts his locker door, sighing deeply before he grabs his phone and locks it. “Robby’s date, seriously? Are you cheating on Samira—“
“Woah, woah, okay, man, take a fucking breath,” Jack raises his hands, giving Robby a look that shows if he talks more he might pull out his knife and slice his friend in half, “I would rather lose all my limbs than cheat on her, one. Two, that is your date. See the name, Robby’s name? That’s you. You think I’m that desperate to impersonate you? You’re not half as handsome as I am.”
“So what is it then? I have a date and I didn’t even know about it?” Robby pushes his hands into his hoodie, turning around to lightly bang his head on the lockers, “When were you going to tell me?”
“Thursday—“
“A day before the date? Wow, this is fucking thrilling,” he rubs a hand down his face, leaning on his side on the cold metal, giving Jack a defeated look while crossing his arms over his chest, “Why’d you do that, Jack?”
“Because I’m fucking worried about you,” Jack hisses, walking closer so he doesn’t need to shout and alert the entire floor, “You’ve been neglecting yourself, I can’t stand that.”
“You’re talking like a Victorian prince, spit it out, I’m one second away from banging my head on this damn locker.”
“You are lonely and instead of fixing it, you’re letting it destroy you,” Jack says, putting his hand on Robby’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly, “I know what I did was… unethical, so to say, but you need to get out there, brother. You have to stop letting these destructive thoughts ruin your life, and no, before you say it, you deserve a good life.”
“I’ll go to that date to shut that poor girl down,” Robby whispers, shaking his head slightly as he takes in Jack’s words. “She’s probably excited to meet me, and I’m gonna go tell her how it was not me. Bravo.”
“It’s a step even if you tell her no,” Jack shrugs and gives him a soft smile, “But go there, you never know what might happen.”
“I’m still fucking pissed at you so don’t push it.”
••••••
Robby is nervous. It has been too long since he has felt this way. Nervous about meeting a woman? The confident Dr. Robinavitch, who handles a chaotic emergency department for twelve hours on his own? It doesn’t sound like him.
What is worse, though, is that Jack didn’t budge for a second when Robby asked him to show at least a picture of his date so he could easily find and send the poor girl home. He already feels responsible for her excitement that he is about to ruin; he feels bad that he has to do this. But there is no other option either.
He is all dressed up, per Samira’s request; nothing too extravagant, but a dark green fitted shirt with rolled up sleeves and his jeans. He doesn’t know if it is a good look, he shouldn’t care because he isn’t going to stay at all — says hi, shakes your hand, sits down to explain what his idiot friend did, says goodbye, and then be on his way.
He walks into the restaurant with his hands in his pockets, nervously looking around before a waitress notices him and asks about his reservations. He doesn’t know which name Jack gave them, but a soft voice interrupts his thoughts before he makes a fool of himself.
“Robby?”
What he doesn’t except, is for you to be fucking ethereal, as if they have pulled you out of fairy tales and sat you in front of him. If he blinks one more time, he might be able to see you glowing under the soft lights of the restaurant.
You are smiling at him, standing up to greet him. The dress you are wearing makes his mind go blank. The color matches your skin, and the fabric clings to all the right places that have his mind spinning. And it only breaks his heart that he has to tell you the ugly truth about how you both ended up here — he wishes he could do something to change his unbelievable fate.
“Hi,” you reach to shake his hands when he walks to the table, beaming at him with such enthusiasm he has never felt, “It’s so good to see you.”
“Likewise,” he clears his throat, smiling back awkwardly before he rounds the table to pull your chair back, tucking you in gently before he goes to his seat.
“You’re late,” you whisper, as if you’re scared he might run out of this place before you get the chance to say something else.
“Yeah, about that,” he rubs the back of his neck, looking at you with soft eyes, knowing what he is about to say might ruin your entire night — the thought makes his heart twist, you are far too beautiful to be hurt because of Jack’s stupidity, but if he doesn’t tell you, he will never forgive himself — so he leans forward on the table with his forearms resting on the tablecloth, “I’m deeply sorry for what I’m about to say, I… I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Oh…?” You sound small, and he hasn’t even spoken the words. This is going to break him, he is sure, cause your bright eyes are slowly losing the glimmer in them the more he keeps quiet.
“The person you texted was not me.” The cat’s out of the bag now. “It was my friend, he wanted to get me to start dating again, and he thought whatever he was doing was to help me. I had no idea I was going to have a date until a few days ago, and… he even refused to show a picture of you.”
“So you’re not here for the date.” You take a deep breath, huffing out a slow laugh, “It’s alright, I wish I had known sooner so I wouldn’t spend hours getting ready for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”
“I’m so sorry,” Robby hides his face in his hands, embarrassment washing over him as he hears you. Fuck you, Jack. “For whatever’s worth… You look incredible. You look fantastic, so… so pretty.”
“Thank you,” you give him a halfhearted smile — at least that’s a start — and reach for your purse, “I think it’s best if I leave—“
“Wait!” What the fuck, Robby? He doesn’t know why he is stopping you, he is here to shut this stupid date down and prove to Jack that he doesn’t need to date to have an amazing life, but he already feels like someone has stabbed him when his eyes fall on the little pout on your lips, “Listen, um, I hate that I’m the reason you feel your efforts are wasted, so… let me buy you dinner. This is the least I can do to apologize for this inconvenience.”
“Are you sure? I mean,” you chuckle, looking down at your hands, “You don’t even know my name.”
“I can learn your name,” he shrugs, his eyes giving out the subtle hint of his admiration, “If you’d like me to.”
“Well, I’ve liked you for a few weeks, although now I found out it wasn’t you, but… I’m not opposed to a friendly dinner,” You explain, resting your chin on the back of your hands, gazing at Robby in a way that makes his heart leap into his throat, “At least someone gets to enjoy my outfit tonight, even though it isn’t the Robby I wanted to.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the real one more enjoyable than the one you talked to,” he smiles, wrinkles deepening as he looks at you, “if it makes you feel any better, the one you were talking to was my friend and his girlfriend.”
“You’ve got a tough competition then,” he knows you are flirting, he should shut it down, he should tell you to stop, he should stop his heart from racing when you blink and grin at him, he should most definitely look away to stop his cheeks from turning red.
“They don’t have you looking all dolled up in front of them,” fuck, fuck, fuck, there it is, “I think I can manage.”
“Wow,” you chuckle shyly, glancing away for a second before looking back at him, “Smooth, I like it. Definitely better than all the flirting your friends were doing.”
“See? Real Robby is the real deal.”
“Don’t take yourself too highly, you might trip and fall,” you grin, “Besides, this isn’t a date, right? Your words, not mine.”
“I don’t know about that anymore,” Robby looks at you, the heavy feeling in his chest making his lips stretch into a broad smile, “Maybe… we could ignore what happened and start over? And I get the chance to take revenge on them.”
“Okay, I’m in.”
“In taking revenge or turning this into a date?” He raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for your answers as he drags his eyes over your face. Jesus, you really are beautiful. How did those two idiots managed to get you to like him only with texts is beyond him.
“T-the date,” he can see how you get flustered a little, stuttering when your gaze locks with his, “Other aspects don’t concern me, nor should it bother you.”
“I can’t just let it slide,” Robby shrugs, “but I’m also too old to get back at him. I would rather focus on things that matter.”
“Like what?”
You know what, but he isn’t going to ruin this, not now, not when, after so many countless dates, he is actually feeling something. Robby beams, resting his cheek on his palm as he trails the length of your arm to your face, his grin matching yours.”
“Like you.”
“I thought you didn’t want to be here—“
“Yeah, yeah, well I’m a man, and I’m not immune to what I see,” he cuts you off gently, reaching to grab the glass of water on the table, trying to hide his flushed face behind the cup.
“And what is that?”
“Don’t play coy with me now, you know what I’m talking about,” he rolls his eyes at you playfully when you laugh quietly. And he soon finds out he loves that sound, and he would do anything to hear it again, anything.
“It wouldn’t hurt to say it, you know,” you bite your lip, waiting for him to reply, “I like expressive men, there, I gave you a hint.”
“Then I’m the worst person on earth for you to go to a second date with,” Robby winces as the words leave his mouth, thinking of how insecure he must have sounded instead of funny, but you don’t cringe, you don’t frown at him, only chuckle and shrug.
“I’ll be the judge of that, but you need to answer my question first.”
“Which question?”
“What changed your mind?”
Robby thinks for a long moment. He doesn’t know what it actually is: your beauty? Probably, you looked like an angel waiting for him, and he is glad he could wipe the quick frown he forced on your face when he told you he didn’t know about the date. Your humor? Possibly. But in all senses, you in whole changed his mind, you feel like the person he can speak to, the only one who wouldn’t make fun of him for all the vinyls he has collected.
“You,” he says, scratching his beard, looking down at his fingers as he clears his throat, “you did. It’s been a long time since I went on a date, and every time I did… something felt wrong. You don’t feel wrong.”
“You don’t feel wrong either.” You say it with so much grace to him, so soft and pliant that he can’t believe it is directed at him, as if he deserves it, “I’m glad you didn’t stand me up.”
“I would never,” he tells you, sighing deeply like you have offended him, “and to show that I am truly interested, I’d like to take you out again.”
“You don’t even know my name!” You laugh, glancing at the waitress as she makes her way to you, before looking back at Robby, who runs his hands down his face, shoulders shaking as he chuckles.
“What is your name?”
••••
You agreed to come, you replied to his text, and agreed to come. Not once, not twice, not even three times, but ten times in the period you were apart. He asked for your name, got your number successfully without making a fool of himself. So there is no reason you shouldn’t show up. Right? Right.
But why are you late? Was it all… a fun night for you? Then why did you tell him you were on your way ten minutes ago? You will come, yes, you will, you have to, there isn’t anything stopping you from coming to this date. Maybe his favorite fucking recordshop wasn’t the best choice to take you out, but you begged him to show you a piece of himself, so here he is.
Stupid, he should have listened to Jack and taken you to the cinema.
“Robby, oh my gosh, finally!”
He turns around so fast he thinks he is about to get dizzy, but a giant smile covers his worry as he finally sees you, practically skipping over to him, panting when you reach him.
“Hey,” you hold onto his biceps as you catch your breath, his hands automatically coming to your arms to hold you steady as he mutters a soft ‘hello’ and squeezes you a bit, “It took me half an hour to find this place!”
“I thought I sent you the location,” he gives a questioning look, “I did, didn’t I? Samira helped me, and no, I know how to use my phone, but I was never required to share a location. Don’t make an old man joke.”
“When have I ever?!” You gasp dramatically, laughing when his face turns red, “No, don’t worry, you did send me your location. But it wasn’t exactly the right one.”
“What?” He is going to die from embarrassment; he is sure he will drop dead on the hot bricks under his shoes, “I’m sure I shared it right…”
“You chose two streets down this place… It’s all good now! I’m here, late, which I’m so sorry about, but I’m here!” You straighten your back, giving him one of those radiant smiles he has grown quite fond of, before you wait for him to lead you inside.
“I guess I was nervous… sorry,” he rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat spreading down to his chest as well, “but yeah, I’m really glad you could make it.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have lost the chance to get to know you more! Of course I’d show up!”
“I’m glad,” is all he can say, before he notices how much his cheeks are hurting from smiling back at you. He manages to walk a few steps ahead, opening the door and waiting for you to enter, “Ladies first.”
“What a gentleman,” you walk past him, waiting for him to join you as you step to the side, suddenly looking out of place, “Show me around?”
“Of course, we should go upstairs,” he walks side by side with you, “I’ve been coming here since I got hired in The Pitt, it’s one of the oldest shops in the city, and sells vinyl only.”
“That’s so cool! To be fair, I’ve only been to record shops a few times, so I don’t know much about them,” you shrug, biting the inside of your cheek, bashful and grinning, “So I’m sorry, you have to explain everything to me.”
“Gladly,” he replies and pushes the door to the shop open, watching with amusement as you wait for him to enter this time, “Alright, come on.”
He walks inside, giving you enough space to join him. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, enveloping you both in its entirety, and Robby feels instantly at home. The colors are brighter, the music feels more vibrant than ever, and you… Your beauty blends so nicely with your surroundings — like you belong there with him.
He shakes his head a little, leading you between rows of different Vinyls, stopping when he reaches a room full of records on the walls, shelves, and two rows in the middle with record players in the corner.
“A room full of one dollar records, one of my favorite places to spend time in—” he explains, but soon he is cut off guard when you slowly grab his hand, looking around the room like you don’t know what you have done.
Robby stops dead in his tracks as soon as you wrap your fingers around his hand, head slowly turning in your direction, only to find you innocently shrugging and pulling at your bottom lip.
“I can— if you’re uncomfortable—“
“No, no, absolutely not,” he stops you before you can say more, smiling as his cheeks turn red again, “I… like it.”
“Good, show me the rest.” You squeeze his hand, and he tugs it forward gently, pulling you inside the room.
He feels like a freaking teenager again. He is fifty, fifty for fuck’s sake, yet he is explaining everything about these records to you, trying to stare at you all the time because if he does, he would melt under your gaze.
“I’ve always wanted to have this,” he says, showing you a record of Pale Blue Eyes by The Velvet Underground at the end of your tour in the shop, “I don’t know why I’ve never bought it, probably because I have tons of untouched records at home.”
“I buy it for you.” You gently grab it from his hands, pulling him towards the cash register, handing them the vinyl before Robby has the chance to snatch it out of your hand, “No complaints!”
“I can’t let you do that,” he reaches for his wallet, but you grab his other hand as well, stopping him from moving, standing forward to lace your fingers through his and looking up into his eyes, “I’m serious.”
“So am I, you paid for my dinner when you were forced to come, the least I can do is to buy you a simple record,” you tell him, letting go of one of his hands to pay the cashier, pulling Robby behind you as soon as you hand him the bag, “Thank you for today, I loved it!”
“Thank you for coming, honey,” he says, smiling softly when you come closer, craning your neck to look up at him. “I… I’m glad you had fun.”
“Couldn’t ask for a better date,” you grin at him, letting go of his hand to wrap them around his waist, laying your head on his chest, hiding your smile when you hear how hard his heart is beating, “When’s our next date?”
“Whenever you’d like,” he wraps his arms around you, too, kissing the crown of your head, sighing softly as he smells the scent of your shampoo, “I’d like to get to know you more.”
“I’ll think about it,” you beam at him, standing up on your toes to kiss his cheek, pulling away before he can react, leaving him blushing and smiling like an idiot, “Call you later?”
“Yeah, please do.”
••••
“Robby! Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not, honey,” he chuckles, hugging you back just as tightly when you jump into his arms, “You said you wanna go and well, I had the day off.”
“You had the day off, or you found another attendee to fill in your place?” You ask, hanging from his neck, and he rests his palms on your waist, rubbing your back and dragging his eyes down your sundress, “What do you think?”
“Fucking beautiful,” he breathes out, pulling back a little to take a better look at you, closing the distance so he can press a soft kiss on your forehead, “I can never get enough of you.”
“Juuust how I like you,” you caress the nape of his neck, leaning up to kiss his cheek before grabbing his hand, threading your fingers through his, before you both walk inside the gallery.
It has been a good four months since your first date, and Robby, true to his words, made these four months worth your time. He always manages to call you during the chaotic shifts he spends in the hospital to spend dinners at your place. He has kept the date at his house still on hold so he can treat you as best as he can.
Pet names have become a regular thing in your relationship, he loves how you get flustered and shy as soon as he casually drops another pet name to you, he adores your rambling behind the phone when something in particular annoys you at your work, or when you’d cuddle him to sleep when he reads to you — apparently his voice is ‘magical’ so you say.
“Jack’s covering for me, he owes me,” he shrugs, pulling you inside the gallery, turning around to glance at you, “Don’t say you feel bad for him, he deserves it.”
“Take it easy on him, will you?” You step next to him, resting your chin on his chest, “If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be here together.”
“I hate to admit that he did this,” he rolls his eyes, hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb caressing your cheek before he pulls back before he does something that surprises you both, “Show me around, honey.”
“With pleasure, Doctor Robby,” you drag him inside, and he lets you walk around the room with a skip in your step, pointing at different paintings, “You know, the museum showcased twenty two of this artist’s works? It was huge, I wish I could attend it back then.”
Robby just listens, holding onto your hand as you lead him around the gallery, voice soothing and beautiful as you give him information he will forget later, but he still listens intently, nodding and smiling when you catch him staring at you.
“Sassetta – The Virgin of Humility Crowned by Two Angels,” you read the name, stopping in front of the painting, “It’s an Italian Renaissance painting, early fifteenth century, and it shows the Madonna sitting humbly while being surrounded by angels. I like it, I don’t know why, but I do.”
You pull on his arm again, guiding him to another painting, talking about them so enthusiastically, and it warms Robby’s heart. When was the last time he had felt like this? So fuzzy and content? He doesn’t remember, he doesn’t care, not when you are showing him around all happy and smiling because you finally got to visit the place you wanted after a long time, and he is over the moon that he could make this happen for you.
“Enjoying the art?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off you when you ask him, and he doesn’t answer you either. So with a curious look, you turn around, only to find him gazing at you with such a soft expression on his face, brown eyes glimmering with love.
“Yeah, I am.”
“The paintings, Robby,” you giggle, pulling him closer, seeking his warmth.
“You’re more beautiful than all these paintings,” he confesses. When did your lips start to look so kissable? They are taunting him, looking back at him, almost begging to be kissed.
It’s impulsive; he shouldn’t do it, not here, not in front of all of these people. But he can’t help himself, his self control is gone, nonexistent even. So he puts his hand on your waist, tucking you into his chest as he dips down, locking his lips with yours.
You taste like vanilla buttercream (how the fuck it is possible, he doesn’t know and frankly, he can’t care less), your perfume is much strong now, the scent filling his senses with such intensity that he deepens the kiss as soon as you loop your arms around his neck.
Ridiculous, he should have kissed you on top of the Eiffel tower or a boat crossing a river, or with Jack popping a confetti over your heads — but it happens now, in a moment of haste, in the middle of a gallery, after four months of growing closer and closer.
It is the best kiss he has ever had.
He pulls back slowly, finally dawning on him what he just did. He kissed you, in front of everyone, in a public space, but… it felt so good, so real, so sweet and deeply comforting, like he was meant to do it.
“Robby…”
“Fuck, I’m sorry—“
“Don’t be, don’t—“ you press your fingers to his lips, biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning and kissing him again, “Come with me, people are staring.”
“Fuck,” he lets out a breathless chuckle, letting you grab his hand and guide him outside, trailing after you like a puppy with his tail between his legs and a very deep blush on running down his face and chest.
You pull him into the alley next to the gallery, trailing your hands up his chest slowly, holding the side of his neck, gently caressing his throat, thumb bobbing as he swallows. You pull him down slowly, pecking his lips so softly he thinks he might turn into dust.
Robby, though, is losing the last shred of control he has on his body. He is trying to be nice, but he can’t, not when you are tilting your head and pulling him closer. He spreads his palm over your waist, one running down to hold you by the neck, deepening the kiss like he needs to breathe the air in your lungs.
“Get a rooooom.”
You and Robby pull away immediately, looking to find a disgusted teenage boy looking at you with a frown, snorting when you apologize hurriedly. He walks past you and Robby a second later, leaving the two of you heaving and smiling from ear to ear.
You are the first to crack, biting down your fingers to muffle your laughter, only for Robby to groan and chuckle, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he tries to make himself look small, hands circling your body to hold you close.
“Thank you for today,” you cup his cheek, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Especially for the kiss.”
“That was spontaneous…” he reddens more, his hands going to hold on to your hips, “But I’m glad I did it, it was bound to happen…”
“Mhm, yup,” you scratch the nape of his neck slowly, watching him closely as he sighs and leans into your touch, “Wanna kiss me more?”
“Thought you’d never ask, honey.”
••••••
Robby sighs deeply, rethinking his life choices as he chops the potatoes as best as he can. He spent hours in surgeon rotation back in med school, he even does srugery in the ER rooms for fuck’s sake, so why do his pieces look anything but sharp? He is going to lose his mind if he keeps thinking about it.
He promised you dinner, a good one, you insisted you would bring the wine, and he caved in. Now, all he needs to do is cook these filet steaks as best as he possibly can. He doesn’t know much about cooking, but he had to invite you to his place; it only seemed right because he had slept countless nights at yours.
So he is going to do his best.
There is a knock on his door, a soft pattern he recognizes immediately. Robby wipes his hands on the towel he has thrown over his shoulder, marching to the door to open it for you, finding you leaning on the wall with a bottle of red wine in hand.
“Hey there, handsome.”
“Hello, honey,” he grins and pulls you in with a hand on your hip, locking his lips on yours in haste, pressing you to the door as soon as he closes it. “Welcome to my cramped apartment.”
“Hush, I love it!” You peck his lips, letting him lead you inside towards the kitchen, “Where’s your record stash?”
“In the reading room, and no, you can’t go there. I had to push everything inside there to make the house look tidy since I didn’t have time to clean up like I wanted to.”
“What do you mean you didn’t have time?” you ask, following him into the kitchen, “Robby, baby, look at me—”
He turns around, sucking the inside o fhis cheek as you cup his face, waiting for him to say anything. He thought he would be able to hide it from you so you wouldn’t get worried, but you have grown quite well at reading him.
“I promise I started my shift early to rest before you get here—”
“You told me you had the day off,” he cringes at your serious tone, but soon a small smile covers his face when you rub his beard, looking at him with nothing but sympathy. “Go sit down, I’ll cook—”
“Absolutely not,” he corners you against the counter, forearm protecting your back as he rests his hand on the edge, pressing himself into your body, “You’ve already done so much for me, let me take care of you tonight.”
“How are you going to take care of me?” You run your fingers up his sides, hands slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin, “Is something going to happen tonight?”
“Do you want it to happen?” he asks, leaning down, hovering his lips over yours, feeling your hot breath fanning on his face, his eyes drawn to your mouth.
“Mhm,” you nod, wrapping your arms around his torso, “I do, and I want it to happen now.”
“You don’t want to see how I ditched culinary school for medicine? Rude,” he skips your lips, kissing your cheek down to your jaw, “Forget dinner, I wanna taste you.”
He feels you suck in a sharp breath, tilting your head to the side to give him more space as he mouths at your skin, biting and nibbling and moving down to your pulse point, making you hiss into his ear.
“Robby—“ you gasp when he bends his knees a little, grabbing the back of your thighs to pick you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he walks to his bedroom, kicking the door open before he lowers you on the bed gently.
You close your eyes, feeling him grabbing the back of your leg to take off your heels, pressing a gentle kiss on your ankle when he drops your shoes on the floor, moving his lips up the path of your leg, tapping your thigh so you would scoot up on the bed.
“Open your eyes, honey,” he whispers, settling on his stomach between your thighs, “Need you to look at me, come on.”
You slowly open your eyelids, biting on your lip as you find him reaching your side to pull down the zipper of your dress, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric to feel the curve of your breast.
“Take it off for me, please,” he sounds wrecked already. He has imagined this moment in some dark moments when he would allow his imagination to wander freely, “I have to see you.”
“Okay,” you let out a shaky breath, sitting up after you throw your legs over his shoulders, pulling your dress off and lying back on the bed, only in your underwear, breasts exposed to the chilly air in the room.
Robby’s eyes darken with desire, hands moving up your belly to grope your tits, muttering a low ‘fuck’ as he pinches your nipple, pushing his shoulders under your thighs to spread your legs more.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he groans, nipping at the skin around your belly button, sinking his teeth into the flesh to earn a gasp from you, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, honey.”
“Please do,” you sit up on your elbows, reaching for his head to run your fingers through his hair, “Don’t keep a girl waiting, baby.”
He smirks, fingers pulling on the hem of your underwear, slowly taking it off before he locks his eyes with yours and starts kissing your inner thighs, moving to where you need him the most with patience.
You look like heaven itself, and taste even better when he licks a fat stripe from the seam of your pussy, humming as he closes his lips, genuinely enjoying the way your hips twitch under his touch.
“Oh…” you sigh when he starts sucking on your buzzing clit, flattening his tongue on your folds as he drinks your essence. You push his face into you a bit roughly, closing your legs around his neck as he moves faster, lips drawing patterns with an enthusiasm that has you throwing your head back.
He smiles against you, his beard burning your pussy in the most delicious way, and he knows with the way you are gasping and moaning, he knows you are feeling the euphoria slowly building up in your core.
He grabs one of your thighs, pushing it against your belly so he has room to push a finger inside without detaching himself from your cunt, thrusting the digit inside with so much care as if you will break.
“More,” you dig your nails into his scalp, bucking your hips to his face, moaning louder when he adds another finger, curving them both inside you. His fingers are thick, thicker than you expected, and they stretch you out just beautifully.
You feel the knot in your stomach breaking, your elbows giving out as you drop back on the bed, legs shaking around his head as you arch your back, releasing all over his face.
Robby buries his face into you, smothering himself as he laps up your wetness eagerly, drinking you like a nectar. He keeps your hips pressed to the mattress while he fucks you with his fingers through your orgasm.
“Shit, baby, that was… fuck,” you laugh breathlessly, pulling him up by his neck, “Take off your clothes, you’re too dressed for my liking.”
“You good?” He chuckles, kicking off his shoes and pants, unbuttoning his shirt only for you to push it down hurriedly, pulling him down on top of you to chase his lips into a passionate kiss, tasting yourself on his beard.
“Don’t make me wait, I swear if you do—“
“I won’t, I won’t,” he says, pushing his boxers down in haste, making home between your legs, grabbing his cock in a tight grip, stroking himself, “Fuck, I can’t believe we waited this long.”
“Jesus Christ, Robby,” you swallow as you look at his dick in his hand; fat, hot, heavy and ready to fuck you into oblivion, “You’re big.”
He turns red, bright and beautiful, but he soon closes the distance and kisses you, guiding the red tip of his cock to your entrance, gently rocking his hips forward, inhaling sharply as he pushes past the first ring of muscles.
You moan into his mouth, hands flying to his shoulders to ground yourself as he pushes inside you, filling you with all he has got in him, caging you under his weight with his belly pressed to yours.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, hiding his face into your neck, pulling out halfway before easing his length inside your puffy cunt again, “I’ll keep you on my bed forever if I could.”
“You can, baby,” you gasp, nails scratching Robby’s back as he picks up his pace, no longer as sweet as he thought he would go, but now faster, rougher, more urgent and needy. The lewd sound of his hips slamming next to yours echoes in the bedroom, only adding to the fuel of your desire: “You can keep me here as long as you want.”
“Fuck, ‘m not gonna last long,” he whispers into your ear, holding himself up with his forearms around your head, moans and deep breaths filling your hair as he fucks you harder.
You whine in his throat, pressing your lips into his Adam's apple as you feel your walls clenching around his girth, crying out when he angles his hips to hit your sweet spot, groaning as you quiver beneath him.
Wailing, you cling to Robby’s body as you gush around him, waves of pleasure hitting your body as he follows you closely, growling at the sensation of your cunt clamping around him tightly.
He pulls out, fisting his cock a few times before he comes on your stomach, groaning from the depths of his chest as he empties his balls on you, and you hold him through it.
“That was amazing,” you kiss his forehead, holding him close as he shakes on top of you, gently lowering his weight on you to catch his breath, “You were amazing.”
“I love you.”
There, out in the open, three little words that he has wanted to say for the past six months ever since he set his eyes on you. Pulling back a bit to look into your eyes, he doesn’t regret it, he had to say it, utter the sentence softly so he can make his feelings known.
“I love you, too.” You cup his cheek, pulling him closer, “I love you, Robby, so so much.”
He kisses you again, this time soft and endearing, full of unspoken promises. He swipes his tongue over your bottom lip, pushing the muscle into your mouth, exploring your taste deeply.
“I’m gonna go clean up, I’ll come, honey.” He lets go of your lips with a lewd ‘pop’, kissing the corner of your mouth. You nod, scooting up to lie on his pillows, watching as he walks stark naked into the en-suite bathroom to clean himself up, coming in with a warm rag to wipe you off as well.
“Wine?” You ask, jumping off the bed as soon as he agrees, running to the kitchen and coming back with his phone and the bottle you brought earlier and a corkscrew, “There you go.”
“What’s the phone for?” He looks at you, grabbing the bottle from you as you crawl into his lap, popping the cork before he puts the wine aside to breathe, hands coming up to hold you by your hips, laughing when you raise his phone in your face, “What’s that for?”
“Pictures!” You laugh too, taking a few pictures of him, smirking as you notice a few blooming marks on his throat, “There, now you have some juicy photos to put as your profile picture in dating apps.”
“I’ve already found my match,” he says, squeezing your flesh, smiling when you bite your lips, looking down at his chest shyly.
“Yeah?” You lean forward, nudging your nose with his, “Plan on keeping your match forever?”
“If she lets me,” there it is again, the fucking butterflies in his belly, “I’d love to keep her as long as she lets me. For days, months, even years.”
You’re scraping by in the Boston QZ—clinging to the one thing: leave and find your missing sister. So when you try to mug Tess Servopoulos and her loyal dog, Joel Miller, you expect death. But she sees your skill and folds you into what she and Joel live by: they’re smugglers, and useful people don’t go to waste.
Their newest angle? FEDRA’s Family Restoration Initiative—a program rewarding “proper” pre-outbreak households with extra rations and safer housing. What Tess really wants are those routes, tunnels, and contacts on the inside. And you? Six months of cooperation in exchange for a way out of this hellhole.
A fake marriage to Joel becomes your job and your only way. Soon you’re sharing a home with a man who acts like you’re dirt under his boot, even as he’s teaching you to run routes, stash contraband, and keep your lies airtight. But somewhere during the deaths, cons, and the griefs, something that looks a lot like love starts to take root. Fragile, unwanted, and entirely yours... if you take it.
♡ Tropes:
#cordycesoutbreak #12yearagegap #marriageofconvience #fakemarriage #slowburn #timeskip #murder #prostitution #death #cannondeaths #violence #angst #grief #hatetolove #trustissues #suicialthoughts #surviorsguilt #commitmentissues #heavydescriptionsandmentionsofsexualassult/rape(not on reader) #trauma #romantictension #heavyyearningandangst #angstwithahappyending #lotsofplotbeforeandafterporn #banter #emotional sex #roughsex #oralsex #bratreader #degragation(butforwho...) #praise #condsendingdom!Joel Miller #brattaming #mean!Reader #oldman!Joel Miller #mean!Joel Miller #mentor!Joel Miller #soontobeloverboy!Joel Miller #twopeopleterribleatfeelings twopeopleterribleatfeelings #theyliketobeateachotherup #helovesitwhenhiswifeismeantohim #"whydoIlikemywifesomuch?" #mafiavibesbutnotreally??
series summary: After your fiancé takes a job at Miller Ranch, adjusting to your new life there becomes so much harder when you meet his boss.
warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, sex, fluff, alcohol consumption, language
a/n: really wanted to get this chapter up much sooner but I also didn't want to rush it, so we're still very much in christmas for this one hehe. I proofread as best I could but pls ignore any missed errors :) Hope you enjoy!
series masterlist | ao3 link
The sharp sting of the whiskey makes you wince as you swallow it. You’d never usually drink before the sun had time to retreat behind the horizon, but if you're going to get through this dinner, you're going to need it. Glancing out the kitchen window, you notice your parents just sitting in their car waiting, but you're not sure what for. Eventually, you go out into the cold to face the music.
Approaching the driver's side, where your dad stares straight ahead, refusing to look at you, you knock on the window.
“Bill?” You see your mother mouth to him.
The car unlocks, and you climb in the back.
“What are you doing?”
“Your dad’s just a bit in shock, darling; we both are.”
“We thought it was a nice idea to surprise you and Marcus on Christmas morning, but we didn’t expect that we’d be the ones left surprised.”
“Dad… I’m grateful you guys are here, I am-”
He cuts you off again. “The last thing your mom and I expected was to see John Miller sprawled beside you practically naked in your bed.” He sighs with an exaggerated shake of his head.
“You know his name is Joel, Dad; I told you last time.”
“Joel. John. I don’t care.”
“I thought you liked him? The first time you met him, Mom said you couldn’t stop talking about him the whole drive home.”
“Hmm, that was until I learned he was taking advantage of my daughter.”
“Bill, just calm down. I don’t quite think that is the case.” Your mom adds
“I just want to understand what's going on. You're engaged to Marcus? Where the hell is he?”
“We’re not engaged anymore. I told Mom when you were here last that things weren't the same anymore, that we needed to figure out what we both wanted.”
Your dad turns to your mom with a look of deep betrayal on his face.
“That’s all I knew; I didn’t know about… this,” she defends.
“Right. So let me get this straight. You told Marcus you need to figure things out, and that included you jumping into bed with his boss? How long has this been going on? Does he know?”
“No. Not yet,” you say quietly. “It’s been going on a while.”
“So you're having an affair,” your dad states, bluntly.
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Dad, please.”
“It’s selfish, and you've ruined Christmas. That's what you've done.” The comment strikes deep in your heart. You've never heard your dad speak like this, not to you. It's understandable for him to be surprised; Marcus was the golden boy after all, but saying you've ruined Christmas? That’s a bit of a stretch.
“Bill, don't be like that,” your mom scolds him.
“I just don’t get it. Don’t you think he’s a bit… old?”
“He’s older, yes, but he’s not old.” You correct him. Joel may be quite a few years above you in age, but you've never seen that as a barrier. If anything, you appreciate the emotional maturity, life experience, and self-awareness that gives him unlike Marcus and any guy you’ve met you’re own age.
“Don’t be clever,” he snaps. “With Marcus… you were so close to happiness, to marriage, to a family, and now… well, that's all gone up in flames, hasn’t it?”
“You’re wrong,” you mutter.
“Excuse me?” he snaps.
“You’re wrong. I wasn't close to happiness. I’m not a kid, Dad. I make my own choices. I get it was unexpected; believe me, I'm not exactly ecstatic about you walking in on us either. But it's not fair to react this way. You think Marcus was so fucking brilliant-”
“Language, darling, please!” your mom cuts in.
“He wasn't perfect, Dad. He wasn't always a good man like you think. I loved him for a long time, but most days that love wasn't returned. He hurt me…”
“Hurt you?” Your dad looks up to you through the mirror, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Not physically. But he’d spend his evenings getting drunk with other girls while I sat at home, alone, wondering when he’d come back. He didn’t care about me, dad. Would you want me to marry and start a family with somebody like that?” The car turns silent; both of them unsure how to respond. “This isn't just some affair or some stupid reckless fling with Joel; when I met him, he made me realize I was worth more than someone like Marcus. Maybe I have been selfish, but for once I decided to choose myself, and I won't apologize for that.”
“So… Where is he now?”
“He stays in the bunkhouse with the other ranch hands. I know I need to tell him, and I will, but his feelings are not my priority anymore; he never put my feelings first. Everything has just moved so fast, and then there's Sarah too…”
“Sarah?” Your mom looks at you, confused.
“Joel’s daughter.”
“Oh… right.” She turns away, looking out the passenger window.
“I’m sorry,” your dad says quietly.
“You don't need to apologize, Dad.”
“I’m sorry that you felt you couldn't tell us all this. The last thing your mom and I want you to feel is alone. But Jesus Christ, you've sure gotten yourself into a big goddamn mess here. You should be focusing on your writing, your career, and not wasting your time and energy on these pathetic, worthless men.”
You decide to ignore that last comment; you don't believe Joel is a waste of your time, no matter what your dad believes. The glaring fact that you still haven't told them about your accident also plays over in your mind, but one thing at a time, right? Besides, you need them to come to this dinner, and if they realize you lied about almost dying, they might just disown you right here, right now.
“Look, I need you to do something for me. I need you to come to dinner today.”
“Dinner?” Your mom asks.
“At Joel’s.”
Your dad lets out a loud laugh at the suggestion, and you almost laugh too because this is all a bit too funny when you think about it.
“Dad, please. I know it sounds crazy. But he wants you to come, and it’s Christmas after all; can we just try to have a nice day?”
“Do you think that's a good idea? I take it his daughter will be there too?” "Your mom asks.
“Yeah, he plans to tell her at dinner.”
“Fuck…it gets better!!” Your dad sighs in disbelief. He never swears; you don't think you've ever heard those words leave his lips your entire life until this moment.
“Again, Bill! Please don’t use that language!” your mom yells.
There’s a small part of your dad’s reaction that makes you wonder if it’s valid. Saying it all aloud makes you feel pathetic, like maybe you and Joel are living in a dream world thinking this is all okay and that telling Sarah is a good idea when it couldn’t possibly be.
“Darling, if it’s what you want, of course we’ll come to dinner; we love you, so we’ll support you. But it’s going to take time to get our heads around this.” Your mom offers.
“Hmmm. Spending my Christmas day with your secret lover and witnessing his great love declaration was certainly not what I imagined.” Your dad’s sarcasm makes your mom giggle, for which she apologizes.
“How about we get a nice breakfast, just the three of us this morning before dinner later? How does that sound?” your mom suggests, always trying to find solutions to keep everyone happy.
“Sure,” you mumble.
“We might need it; don't suppose this cowboy can cook, can he?”
You don’t say anything, just roll your eyes.
———
Breakfast was uneventful, mostly more awkward tension that your mom desperately tried to extinguish by talking about irrelevant gossip back home about people you've never really cared about. You watched your dad practically inhale his food, something he seems to have in common with the cowboys. Meanwhile, you push your food around the plate, the nervous energy about what lies ahead preventing you from being able to stomach anything.
Now, as you walk up the steps onto Joel’s porch, you turn back and see your dad’s eyes examining the large house, silently weighing it up in his mind. Does he like it? It’s impressive, but you’re sure he’ll be judging it.
“I love you both, and thank you for doing this, but please, please be nice to him. At least for Sarah's sake.”
“Oh darling, of course we’ll be nice.” You mom smiles.
“Dad?”
He looks up from the ground before grunting, “It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”
Sarah opens the door as you turn back around. Her excitable attitude as you introduce her to your parents causes a knot to form in your tummy. God, she’s so happy, so delighted the three of you are here. She’s going to kill you when she finds out; you feel it in your bones.
Walking through the house, you follow behind Sarah and your parents as she takes you all into the living room. You stand in a trance, pretending to observe the Christmas tree that you decorated as Sarah speaks to your parents. A hand comes to rest on your back, and as you turn, you see Tommy's warm, comforting smile as Benjamin runs into the room past you.
“Happy Christmas!” He says, too enthusiastic for the mood you're in.
“Happy Christmas, Tommy.”
“Pleased you guys are here! You’re parents?” He nods to them across the room.
“Yeah, I feel like we’re intruding.”
“Not at all. A big family Christmas is good for Benji and could be a sign of things to come, if you know what I mean…” He winks at you, his cheeky grin not at all hidden.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself; after today you might never see me again.”
“What?” He looks lost. So he doesn’t know Joel’s plan then.
“Never mind.” You fold your arms. “Where is he?”
Tommy nods towards the door. “Out the back gathering firewood.” He watches you look longingly in that direction; a chance to escape. “Go find him. I’ll distract these guys.”
“Thanks.”
Behind you as you leave, you hear your dad speak. “You’re not Joel.”
“Nah, I’m the better brother.” Tommy says confidently, shaking your parents' hands.
“I don’t doubt that.” You hear your dad’s snide response and it annoys you.
The distant sound of logs being split as you step back out into the snow makes you smile. Knowing he’s close relaxes you, if only for a brief second. When you round the corner, you see him and lean back against the house watching him quietly. He hasn’t noticed you yet, giving you the chance to enjoy the view as he swings the axe up into the air repeatedly. Eventually he feels your presence behind him, and his face lights up, like he can’t quite believe you actually came.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asks, walking over to you.
“Not long. Just like watching you.”
“You alone?”
“Tommy’s distracting Sarah… my parents too.”
His eyes go wide. “They’re here? I wasn't sure you'd convince them. How did it go after I left this morning?”
“Not great. My dad wasn’t exactly nice about it. But they’re here, I guess.”
“That counts for something, right?”
“Right.” You look down at your feet.
“Just breathe; you look like you're about to throw up.”
“I think I might.”
He crouches a little, tilting your chin up to him. “Hey, we’re just being honest, choosing not to hide anymore. No one can be angry with that.”
“I just don't want this to be the end… of us.” Your voice shakes as you try to hold your emotion in. “If Sarah…”
“It won’t come to that.” He leans in to kiss you softly, the touch of his lips against yours like a medicine for your nerves. Suddenly the door bursts open and Benjamin runs out towards you both, Joel standing back from you on instinct.
“Uncle Joel! Can we eat yet?”
“Soon, kiddo! Why don't we go inside and see if Sarah needs any help?” Joel responds, patting his nephew's head. Benjamin runs off ahead of the two of you as you help Joel grab a bunch of logs.
When you go inside, your parents are sitting by the fire with Maria and Tommy. You notice your dad's posture stiffening when Joel walks in behind you. After placing down the logs, you watch as your mom stands to greet Joel with an overly polite tone, as though she thinks it will erase the tension that lingers in the air. Joel holds his hand out to your dad. In what feels like an eternity, you watch your dad as he looks Joel up and down; you can practically see the cogs of his mind turning, deciding how he should react.
“Dad.” You nod towards Joel.
Your father finally stands and takes Joel's hand with an irritating fake smile. “Nice to see you again, Joel, this time with your clothes on at least.”
A strange high pitched noise comes from within Tommy, which he quickly disguises by clearing his throat. Your eyes flick over to him to see a grin on his face, and Maria nudges him hard, unimpressed.
Before the awkwardness eats you all alive, Sarah appears at the door to call you all through for dinner. The dining room is so pretty, and Sarah's carefully planned table decorations instantly become a talking point between the women. Once sat, you notice Tommy making small talk with your dad across from you as you pretend to show an interest in the conversation between Sarah, maria and your mom about which wine to try first. You couldn't care less which they pick; any with a strong alcohol content will work for you. You look down to the head of the table where Joel sits, his eyes fixed on you, and he gives a subtle nod of reassurance.
Whilst everyone eats, you find yourself struggling to swallow each mouthful of food. At this point, you wish Joel would just get on with it and tell Sarah; the anticipation is too much to handle, and another bite of food might be the final push to make you throw up or worse.
“This your recipe, Joel?” Your dad asks, and you sense there’s a sarcastic comment coming.
“Uhh no, Sarah’s.” Joel smiles.
“Ahh right, wasn’t sure if you’d stolen it from anyone.”
There it is. You look over to Tommy who can’t help but grin.
“I don’t steal, Bill.” Joel replies.
“No, no, of course you don’t. Why would you ever take something that didn’t belong to you? That would be selfish.” There’s a vicious tone in your dads voice and you hate it. As though this dinner wasn’t already awkward enough.
After what feels like an eternity, the next scene plays out in front of you in slow motion. As Joel clears his throat to speak, you know it would have been better to tell Sarah by yourself, but instead telling her the truth has become some ridiculous grand announcement, and you feel nothing but a coward as you look down at the plate in front of you.
The truth leaves Joel's lips with ease, but you don't hear it clearly, just small, quick fragments: I've found somebody. It just happened. We couldn't help it. I've never felt like this about anyone. I’m sorry we didn't tell you before. I understand it's complicated…
One by one, you watch the reaction of everyone around the table. They all sit there in silence, looking from Joel to you over and over again, apart from Benjamin, who is none the wiser helping himself to a second helping of the potatoes.
Finally, you turn to look at Sarah. Her face is pale, and you can't quite tell if she’s angry, confused, or embarrassed; maybe just a mix of it all. Her eyes flick from her father to meet yours before moving back to him again. A sudden laugh escapes her and makes you flinch, bringing you back into the room.
“I’m assuming by the look on all of your faces right now that everyone at this table already knows?”
“Apart from Benji, obviously.” Tommy adds, and he yelps as Maria kicks him under the table.
“We only found out this morning by accident, dear. It was a shock for us too,” your mom says, a pitiful look on her face.
“You can say that again,” your dad bites. There’s a long pause, the entire room bracing for impact as you all await Sarah's reaction. “Told ya.” Your dad looks at you. “What a big ol’ mess you’ve made.”
“Sarah?” Joel calls her.
There's a strange look on her face. Perhaps the wine really was strong, or maybe there was something in the food, because you swear you see her smiling. “Well…uh…it’s about damn time, I guess!”
“What is?” Joel asks.
“You both really think I wouldn’t know by now?”
You look at Joel; he looks at you, both unsure what what she means.
“Dad, seriously?” She grins. “I figured it out that night in the hospital after the accident. The fear was written all over your face the entire time; you didn't sleep, and you couldn't stop watching her.”
“But…I don't understand,” you say, your leg bouncing under the table as the adrenaline pumps through you.
“Accident?” Your dad tries and fails to interrupt.
“Ending your engagement with Marcus confirmed it too.” She looks between the two of you. “Jeez, you guys are so glaringly obvious, I never thought I’d say this, but it's kinda cute.”
“Shiiiiitt.” Tommy smirks, sitting forward to look at his big brother. True to her character, your mom gasps in horror at Tommy for cursing, especially at the dinner table.
“Shut up, Tommy.” Joel snaps. “So, all this time, you knew, and you said nothing?”
“Yes, Dad, that's what I'm saying.” She smiles at him like it was the clearest thing in the world. “Frankly, I'm just disappointed you chose my favorite day of the year to finally tell me; make it about yourselves, why don’t ya?” She rolls her eyes as she stabs her fork into the remaining food on her plate. “Potatoes are good!” she shrugs, taking a huge bite.
The words are going in, but you’re not sure if you believe what she's saying. How is she so cool about this? Doesn't she hate you? Doesn't she want to throw the leftovers across the table straight into your selfish, stupid face? There has to be something more. All this time you’ve been letting the truth eat you up inside; the guilt, the secrets, the shame, when all along she just knew?
“Woah, woah, woah, back up for a minute. What accident are you talking about? Who was in the hospital?"
Joel nods at you. It’s time. You sigh. “I had a car accident, Dad, but I’m fine. I was okay; you don’t need to worry.”
“Worry? What do you mean, why the hell didn’t you tell us?!” He yells across the table, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red and he pulls at his collar.
“You can’t keep stuff like that from us; that’s not fair!” Your mom stands from her seat as she moves around the table to come straight over to you. “Ohh, my precious girl, why? We should have been there with you.” She curls her arms around your shoulders, holding you tight.
“Mom, please, I’m fine.”
“Is there something in the air around this goddamn ranch that has changed your entire moral compass? We’re your parents; you're keeping all these secrets from us, but this one might be the worst yet!”
“I didn't want to worry you guys.” You feel bad, of course, but at that time you couldn’t deal with the fuss. “Joel and Sarah took care of me.” You watch your dad through his annoyance turn to Joel. He doesn’t react, but you know that look is his way of thanking Joel for taking care of his daughter.
“Jesus Christ,” your dad sighs, shaking his head. “Did Marcus know? I can’t believe he didn’t call us.”
“That’s because he didn’t care, Dad, not really.”
“Right.” He looks down at the table; the realization that Marcus really isn’t all what he thought he was is slowly starting to seep in now, especially with this new information.
“Any more secrets anyone wants to share?” Tommy smirks. “Now would be the time, I s’ppose.”
“Oh god, you’re not pregnant, are you, darling?” Your mom blurts, pulling away from you to look into your eyes. At the head of the table, Joel nearly spits out the swig of beer he just took, and he starts to choke. Tommy can’t hold his laughter any longer, and your dad rubs a hand over his face, the disappointment all too clear.
“Mom! No, of course not.” You yell as you sink down into your seat, embarrassment all over your face.
Sarah stands then and you watch her leave the room. Not convinced by her reaction to you and Joel, you decide to go after her, it can’t just be left like that. Finding her in the kitchen, you see her wipe a tear from her cheek. Now you wonder if her reaction had been an act after all. Maybe she really was caught off guard but refused to show that in front of everyone; how could you blame her?
“Sarah?”
“Hey.” Her watery eyes look at you, a soft smile on her face.
“Hey. Are you ok? Did you really know?”
“Yes. Yeah, everything I said was the truth. I just… that was a lot, Dad telling me in front of everyone like that, you know? He’s never been the best at communication, I know, and I’m not that surprised he thought that was a good idea. But you? I’d just expected that you would have persuaded him otherwise. I mean, Christmas Day, really?”
“I know. That wasn’t fair, I’m sorry. We should’ve come to you privately. I should have told you a long time ago. I-“
“It’s fine. It’s done now.” She cuts you off gently, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves.
“Is it fine?” You push. She doesn’t respond. “You're not going to shoot me with Joel’s gun when I turn around, are you?”
“Of course not, you idiot.”
“You’d have cause though; I’d almost let you.”
“Shut up, don’t say that.”
“Sarah… if you need to, shout at me, hit me, throw me out, do something, anything. but don’t be so nice. Please, Sarah, I don’t deserve kindness.”
She searches through the cabinet above her head. “I’ve got an expensive bottle of the finest red in here somewhere; it has both our names on it.” When she finds it, she takes it and two glasses out the kitchen. “Girl, come with me.” She leads you up the stairs and once in her room, she closes the door, and you both sit on the end of her bed. She pours the wine into both glasses, right up to the brim, which makes you giggle. “Cheers.” Lifting her glass to you, you clink yours against it. After taking a big gulp, she looks right into your eyes. “So we should probably discuss everything.”
“We should.”
“I won’t pretend this isn’t weird, because it is; it’s sooo fucking weird. You and my dad… It’s a lot. I thought you were going to be my new sister, and now I’m wondering if I should be thinking of you as my new stepmom.”
“Oh, Sarah, please don’t say that!”
“Why not? You’re screwing my dad, aren’t you? It’s kind of true-“
“Sarah.” You warn, your cheeks turning a rosy shade of red at her words. “It’s still early days; let’s not get carried away.”
“Is it? I’d say it’s more than that. I may not know all the details, and I don’t think I’d ever want to,” she screws her face up at the thought, “but it seems pretty serious to me. My dad… He never discusses his feelings, and he never talks about anything personal; that’s just not him. But downstairs, he just showed everyone his most vulnerable side, and I can count on a single hand how many times in my life I’ve seen that happen.”
“Sarah…”
“He gave you Shadow, didn’t he? If there’s one thing in this world that my dad would never give away, it’s his horses. A cowboy's bond with his horse is a bond you can’t ever break, and the fact that he trusts you enough to give you Shadow says all I need to know.”
“I just don't want this to change anything between us. I value your friendship. I value how you’ve taken me under your wing since I arrived here when you didn't have to, and now you're being so kind. I don't deserve it, Sarah.”
“Look, we don't know what the future looks like, I can't promise nothing will change between us. I really hope it doesn't, but I think it's inevitable, because it won’t be easy for me to adjust. I was so angry when I realized, in fact, I hated you! I hated you so much I really wanted to punch you in the face so hard that I never had to see you again. It felt like a betrayal. My dad. You. No. It didn't add up. But over time I came to realize maybe it wasn’t so bad, because he’s happy now, and that's all I want for him. He raised me by himself and went through so much pain in doing so, I owe him my life.”
She pauses to collect her thoughts, peering over to her bedroom window. In the quiet, you think about her words and can’t help but wonder once again just exactly what Joel has been through. You just wish you’d pushed him more that night by the fire when you asked him, it feels like there’s a secret he’s keeping from you but you can’t prove it.
Sarah continues, her voice softer now. “When we moved here, I thought he would finally have a chance at happiness, he’d be at peace doing what he’d always dreamed of, but I realize now that happiness could actually be you.”
The emotion escapes you both then; after a long, intense day, it's impossible to keep it in any longer. The anxiety, the fear, and the worry now turn into hope and into love, and you couldn't be more grateful for this beautiful, mature young woman sitting in front of you.
“Can I hug you? I feel like we both need it,” she says. You surge forward and wrap your arms tightly around her frame, not wanting to let go. You didn’t deserve this reaction, but you’re endlessly grateful for how kind she’s been about this because she didn’t have to be. “So, I hate to bring this up, but what are you going to do about Marcus? He’s the only one who doesn't know. I hate to tell you this, but all the other cowboys know too.”
“What? How?”
“I confided in Emma after the night in the hospital; I had to discuss it with someone, and she could tell I was angry at something. But as much as I love Emma, she can’t keep a secret, so of course she told her boyfriend, and it went from there.”
“All this time.” You shake your head in disbelief.
“Yup. But that should also tell you how much everyone loves you around here. Not a single person on this ranch has told your asshole of an ex-fiancée about you and dad.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“But I think you need to do it soon; you're not going to be able to hide this much longer.”
“I know. I’ll tell him before the new year. Joel deserves that too.”
She downs the rest of the wine in her glass before falling backward to lie on the bed with a thud. Looking up to the ceiling, she starts to laugh. “Wow, I really can’t believe you’re with my dad.”
“I’m so sorry.” Falling down beside her, you laugh too, but the apology is honest because you never meant for any of this to happen, it just did.
———
Another glass of wine later, you and Sarah rejoin the others. Joel and Tommy are outside making a snowman with Benjamin, a sight that warms your heart when you see the happiness radiating off the young boy. Meanwhile, your mom and Maria are mixing up some strange alcoholic festive mix in the kitchen, and your dad is watching football on TV, although he’s almost asleep. Deciding the nicest option seems to be joining the boys outside, you both wrap up, and you head out. Joel gives an unsure look.
“You girls still friends?” Tommy asks/
“Shut up, Uncle Tommy, of course we are.” Sarah replies, picking up a handful of snow to launch at him.
He gives his niece a look like she just started a war. She squeals and starts to run away, you following her as Tommy runs after you both with ammunition made of snow. As you run through the dense white stuff, snowballs land close by, and your laughter makes it hard to keep going. Tommy continues his attack on Sarah with Benjamin in tow, but you notice her putting up a strong battle once she finds a tree to hide behind. Meanwhile, quick footsteps approaching behind you signal Joel is coming for you now. A thud of snow hits the back of your neck, and you gasp in shock as the ice-cold fluff trickles down your back. Turning around, you see his cheeky smirk turn to sudden worry that maybe he hurt you.
“Shit, I didn’t mean-”
Before he can say anything, you launch a ball of snow back at him and it hits his shoulder. “Impressive.” he says sarcastically. Then he’s heading straight for you and as much as you try to get away, he’s much more used to this kind of weather than you. His arms circle your waist, lifting you up off the ground, and he pulls you down on top of him into the snow, tickling your sides.
“Stop! Please, I hate being tickled!” you yell but he just laughs before nibbling at your neck.
Minutes later, you're trying to regain your strength to stand back up, but he pulls you back against him. “Don’t move.”
“It’s getting cold and wet lying here, Joel.”
“I know. But I forgot my age when I pulled you down here; I’m not sure I can get back up just yet.”
You grin. Managing to find your balance again, you reach down and take his hands. There’s a look on his face that makes you think he’s about to pull you back down on top of him, but you warn him against that. When he’s up, you turn with a big happy smile until your eyes catch your moms. She’s huddled, arms folded on the porch staring at you both. You're unsure of her expression at first until you adjust your eyes and see a kind smile appear on her face.
The rest of the day is much calmer, a mixture of relief, the alcohol, and the festivities allowing you to find some enjoyment in it. Your dad stays grumpy with you, but you notice him talking with Joel in the kitchen for a while, which gives you hope.
Now though, you’re sitting by the fire with Joel. Your parents left to go back to your place an hour ago, Tommy and Maria left when Benji couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and Sarah went out to meet a guy.
“What did my dad say to you?”
Joel hums in response; you know he’s pretty drunk and tired, but you’re hoping you can still get an answer before bed. “In the kitchen earlier, what did my dad want?” you repeat.
“Ahh, he thanked me for looking after ya. Said he wished he could have been here himself, but that he was grateful that I was.”
“Oh, wow.” You didn’t expect that.
“Knows he was an ass, darlin’, but that’s just what us protective dads are like.” He rests his head on your shoulder, exhaling deeply and closing his eyes. “Want another drink?”
“No, and I don’t think you should either.”
“You're so sensible.” he mumbles
“I don’t quite think that's true is it? I'm here with you arent i?”
“Hey, shushhh. Have you realized?” He asks.
“Realized?”
“You can sleep in my bed tonight, where you should be, where you belong.”
You hadn’t in fact realized. Yeah, you’d given your parents your own bed at the cabin, but you’d just assumed you’d walk back and take the sofa. But he’s right; now Sarah knows there’s nothing to stop you from sleeping beside him and that makes you feel good.
———
The next few days are nice. For once, you feel relaxed and reassured. Yes, there’s still the Marcus-sized elephant in the room, and yes, you still feel guilty about Sarah too and you know you will for a long time, but you can breathe better now. It’s just reassuring to have her by your side, even after everything you’ve done.
Your parents left a day after Christmas, but not without a few more hints from your father about how stupid you’ve been getting caught up with an older cowboy. But despite this, you know somewhere deep inside him he really likes Joel; you just need to give him more time to adjust to the fact that Joel Miller is a thousand times the man Marcus ever will be.
Today is New Year’s Eve, and you're snuggled into Joel’s shoulder, stroking his chest softly as you both lie sprawled out on your bed. He was working today; cowboys don’t exactly get to take many days off, and you missed him as ever. So when the light knocks came as the winter sun started to dip below the mountains, your stomach flipped with excitement knowing he was finally home. You could see the tiredness across his face when you embraced him, so you led him upstairs, helped him remove his filthy t-shirt, and cuddled up against his bare chest as he napped.
“I wanna go to the movies.” You say softly as some shitty reality show plays on the TV. You’d become too invested in it whilst Joel slept, and of course he mocked you for it when he woke.
“The movies?” He frowns.
“Hmm. Let me take you.”
“I’m no teenager, baby. Not taking you to watch some god-awful rom-com for a cutesy date.”
“I know you’re not. I’m taking you.”
He sighs, looking up at the wood beams above with a smile. “The nearest one is over an hour away; you forgot we ain’t in the city?”
“Joel… please.” Your eyes go wide like a puppy dog as you lift your head and look down to him.
“Go with sarah.”
“Joel.” you plead.
“Jesus Christ, you know I can’t say no to you, don’t ya?”
He gets up to sit on the edge of your bed. The broad expanse of his back facing you is just asking to be kissed. You push yourself up and start at the bottom, peppering light kisses slowly up to his neck. Wrapping your arms around him then, you nuzzle your head into his neck. “Thank you, you’ll love it, I promise.”
“I won’t. But I love you.”
Those three words again, but this time he knows for certain that you hear him. You pause, taking in what they mean. A moment later, you climb off the bed and come round to straddle his lap. Hooking one arm around his neck, your other hand holds his jaw, tipping his face to you as you capture his lips. He nods when you pull away a little. “I love you.” He repeats.
You look into his eyes, and you believe him. “I love you too.” You whisper, your finger stroking along his beard.
“Yeah?”
You bite your lip, trying to suppress your giddiness. “Yeah.”
He leans into you, kissing you hard, before moving to kiss every inch of your neck. He stands, his strong arms lifting you up onto your feet as he does. He pats your ass lightly and reaches for his T-shirt. “Come on then, darlin’, let’s go to the goddamn movies.”
———
“Jesus, don’t you ever take me to the movies again.”
“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad.” you grin. In your defense, you’d chosen a movie you genuinely thought Joel might enjoy. It had some action, it had at least two horses, and the main protagonist wasn’t that insufferable. But it turns out, Joel was never going to be a fan when it was still just a cheesy love story. Add that to the irritating couple behind you who tipped half of their popcorn down Joel the moment they arrived.
“Maybe the worst movie I’ve ever watched,” he announces.
“Hmmm. And how many movies have you watched in your life, Joel?”
“Not the point.”
You giggle, and he tugs at your hand to pull you right into his side as you walk back to his truck. He loops his arms around your shoulder and kisses the top of your head, breathing you in.
“You smell good.” He says.
“And you smell like popcorn.”
“Wonder why.”
“I thought you were about to turn around and punch the guy when he dropped it over you.”
“Almost did, fucking asshole.”
You giggle at his annoyance. When you get back to his truck, he does the gentlemanly thing Marcus never did and opens your door for you. It’s so cold you can see your breath, but you appreciate how it soon warms up as he drives.
“You know, maybe if you’d watched more of the film instead of watching me, you might have liked it.”
“Nah, don’t think so. Besides, you’re too fucking beautiful not to watch.”
“Joel…” You shy away.
“Was thinking about all the things I want to do to you once I get you home.”
“Oh yeah? Who says I’ll let you?”
“Ya will.” The change in his tone makes heat begin to build between your legs.
“Had to contain myself though; got so fucking hard thinking about it in there I almost committed a crime.”
“You wouldn’t dare, not in public.”
“You’d bet on that?”
You bite your lip and turn away to look out the window. It’s too dark; you can’t see anything apart from a small glimmer of your reflections. Joel’s looking over at you. You feel his hand smooth over your thigh, squeezing softly, and you already know what he wants, but you don’t bite. Not yet. Taking his phone, you search through his playlists, most of the songs unknown to you, so you pick a country one you know he likes.
“Trying to distract me?” he murmurs.
“From what?”
“You know what.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
His fingers inch up to circle your inner thigh slowly.
“Take ‘em off.” His deep voice instructs.
You look over to him, his eyes focused on the road.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
“Not here, Joel, we’re in your truck!”
“So. Take ‘em off. Let me get to that pretty pussy.”
Heat floods through your entire body at his order, and you find yourself doing as he says. It’s awkward, and you’re glad it’s dark because it’s not the most flattering thing to remove your trousers in a moving vehicle. Once they’re off, his hand finds the bare skin of your thigh, and he starts to brush his fingers up and down again to relax you. He pulls at your thigh to part your legs, the backs of his fingers moving up to brush the damp fabric of your panties.
“Knew you’d already be fucking drenched for me. Can’t help yourself, can ya?”
“It’s you; you do this to me.” Your breathing is starting to become heavier now, and you scoot down just a little to part your legs wider as he explores. Hooking a finger under the material, he pulls your panties to the side, the air hitting your soaked folds. He smears the wetness that has gathered all over. Bringing his finger to his mouth to taste, he licks his middle finger and moves it back down to circle your sensitive bud, a long, low moan escaping you which you know just made him twitch.
As you start to whimper for him, he slips his finger down to your entrance, pauses for a moment to tease, before thrusting it deep inside you repeatedly. You let out an involuntary cry as the angle makes his movements more intense. He doesn’t mess around and adds another finger, stretching you open further. You lift one leg up to rest your foot against the dash as his fingers pump fast later. He looks over at you again, your eyes closed, lips parted, and chest heaving as you squirm against his hand.
The combination of his movements and the thrill of doing this in his truck whilst he drives you home urges your orgasm closer and closer, and you dig your nails into the brown suede of his jacket. Despite keeping your eyes closed, you know he’s enjoying the show a little too much.
“Eyes on the road, mister.” You breathe.
“Yes, darling, it’s just kind of hard not to watch this goddamn fucking show. You're so sexy like this, you know that?”
Your whole body is on the verge. “I’m so close, Joel, don’t stop.”
The wet sounds coming from between your legs are torturing him, his cock so hard in the confines of his jeans. “Touch me, baby; feel what you’re doing to me.”
You reach over to rub his hard bulge. “Ahhh shit! When we’re home I’m going to stuff this cock so deep inside of you, I’m going to take you so hard your screams wake up the fucking horses.”
He circles your clit with his thumb. “Joel… oh fuck, Joel, I’m going to come.” You know your juices are going to make a mess on the seat, but you can tell he doesn’t give a damn.
“Yeahhh, that’s it, let go for me, make your mark in my truck.”
With more rapid flicks of his thumb, you fall over the edge, panting hard as you cry out his name.
“Atta girl.” He tastes your juices on his fingers, an appreciative hum escaping him as he adjusts in his seat. You can feel how painfully hard he is, but he bats away your hand, focusing back on the dark road ahead. “Just you wait till we get home.”
———
True to his word, he grabs a blanket from the back of his truck and wraps it around your legs. He helps you out of the truck and picks you up, taking you straight into the house and upstairs to his bed, where he drops you onto the sheets. He looks down at you with a dirty smirk. “What did I do to be lucky enough to have you come to this ranch, huh?” He removes his hat and boots and walks over to the door. “Take off the rest of your clothes. When I get back, I wanna see you naked and waiting for me.”
You nod, and he goes off. When he comes back just in his sweats, he's faced with the view of you kneeling on his bed, arms folded across your chest, wearing nothing but your panties. You feel vulnerable but so fucking horny. He stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with a primal hunger that tells you he’s about to devour every inch of your being.
"I like you like this, naked, cold, waiting for me in my own bed.”
“Yeah?” You whisper.
He nods. With the backs of his fingers, he brushes your hair back over your shoulder and strokes along your collarbone slowly. “The most irresistible woman I've ever laid my eyes on.”
You giggle quietly not believing what he says, he makes you nervous like this.
“I’m serious. I crave you; I think about you every second of each day. There's not an hour you're not in my mind.”
His fingers sweep down to your tits. He gropes them, squeezing hard making you lean into his touch.
“Up,” he commands, wanting you to kneel up closer to him. He cups your jaw, his black eyes filled with want looking right into yours. “Tell me again.”
You make him wait, make him impatient.
“Say it.” His lips brush over yours.
“I love you.”
He kisses you then, his tongue pushing into your mouth, and he guides you backwards down onto the bed. With his weight on top of you, you can feel his covered erection pushing in between your legs, and you've never felt so desperate for him. Finding a glimmer of confidence, you push him over onto his back to straddle him. He reaches up for your tits again as you grind against him through his sweats, making his eyes roll to the back of his head.
“Mmmh, playing a dangerous game,” he mumbles.
You bend down to brush your lips over his, “And you fucking love it.” The change in angle mixed with your words makes him groan loudly into the quiet bedroom.
You move down his body and hook your fingers into his waistband. Pulling at them roughly, he lifts his hips to let you remove them. You palm his hard cock over his boxers, making him hiss. Pulling the band of the material down enough to free him, you lick from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip, tasting the bead of his arousal that's gathered there.
“God, you're so damn good with your tongue,” he breathes, moving his hand to the back of your head. Taking him into your mouth, you hum around him as he guides your movements. You start slow, but he soon begins to fuck your mouth quicker as he gets carried away, making you gag when he thrusts his cock too far down your throat.
“Off. Off,” he pulls you up and over onto your back. He peels your underwear down your legs before hovering above you, taking in your form. Reaching down, he watches whilst he slides his erection through your soaked folds.
“Please,” you whimper.
Finally, he pushes into you, your back arching off the bed as his thick cock stretches you open. You’ll never get used to his size, or how it feels so perfect whenever he fills you.
“Fuuuuck, so tight for me, baby,” he moans as he waits for you to adjust and your nails scratch up his back leaving a trail of red.
“Please, please move, Joel.”
He doesn't hold back then, drawing out before building up a rough pace that feels too damn good. You hook your leg up over him, as he drives harder into you, the only sound in the room being his skin slapping against yours and your shared desires mixing.
“Wish I could fuck a baby into you, our baby.” He drops his forehead down onto yours, his hot breath against your face as he pants between his words.
“Joel-“
You know he’s just saying it in the heat of the moment; it’s way too soon for that, but right now when it feels so good, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to.
“Would you like that, huh? A little one running ‘round this place.” He thrusts hard once again before withdrawing all the way out. “Turn over.”
He grips your side and helps you onto your stomach. He kneels back and pulls your ass up towards him. In one quick thrust he’s back deep inside you, pushing the air out of your lungs. He slaps your ass hard, making you cry out before he smooths his hand over the sting. Then he does it again even harder.
“Fuuuckkk,” you moan.
“Yeah? You make me wild, I won’t ever get enough of you.” His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you back to meet his intense thrusts.
“Joel, feels so good.”
“Mmmmmh. Would you let me fill you up, put my baby in ‘ere?”
“Yesss, Joel.”
“That’s right. God you’re such a good girl ain’t ya.” He pants, head tipping backwards, his mouth wide as his thrusts become more ragged. “Tell me again. Tell me what you want.”
“I want your baby, Joel.”
“Fuccckk, I’m so fucking close… you gotta let go for me.” He reaches around to circle your sensitive bud. “Come on, baby.”
On his request, you break. Your entire body ruts violently against the sheets as you come around his cock.
“Ohh yeahhh, squeeze me like that. That’s it.” He slaps your ass again. Not slowing down at all, he spreads your ass cheeks apart with both palms to watch his cock piercing into you. Finally, he can’t hold out any longer, and he shoots his thick ropes of cum deep inside you, with a guttural groan. He falls on top of you, still sheathed deep within your walls as your hot, sweaty bodies each come down from your orgasms.
It’s been a long day, and you know he’ll definitely not be able to go again so you need him to move. “Joel.”
He hums, sleep fast approaching him.
“You have to let me go to the bathroom.”
Finally slipping out of you, he rolls onto his back, allowing you up. While you pee, you decide you’ll ask him about what he said, about having a little one running around and if he really sees that in the future. But when you return, he’s out like a light.
Sometime after 1am you wake. It’s New Year’s Day. Lifting your head, you see Joel fast asleep beside you. You reach up and trace the back of your index finger down softly over the outline of his nose. You take in his beautiful sleeping face, wondering how the hell you ended up here with someone like him. Unable to resist, you feather kisses down his jaw, his neck, and his chest. He stirs, opening one eye to look at you.
“Something wrong?”
“No. But it’s the next day.”
He scrunches his face up, half asleep and totally lost as to what you mean.
“Happy new year, Joel.” You whisper.
Then he smiles and opens both eyes. He turns onto his side and moves you around so that your back is facing him. Looping his arm around your waist, he pulls you flush against him, nuzzling his face into the dip of your neck. “Happy new year, my love. This one will be ours.”
You lay there wide awake, listening to the sound of him falling back to sleep, wondering what exactly he means by that.
———
It’s a new day, a new year, a fresh start. Joel woke you up this morning, horny as ever, telling you that you had to start the new year in the best way possible. So he carried you into the shower and took you under the hot stream.
But sex means hunger, and he’s ravenous, so as he fixes the heel of his boots ready for a long day on horseback, you slip his tshirt over your head and tell him you’re going to bring him breakfast.
Padding down the stairs of the large house that feels colder and emptier this morning, you go into the kitchen in search of something good. Crossing your arms as you evaluate the breakfast situation in the fridge, a light knock comes from the door. Without even thinking about it, you walk over to answer it.
Shit. SHIIIIT. SHIT! You were complacent. You were foolish. You got carried away and took advantage, and now Marcus is staring right at you in nothing but his boss’s t-shirt, in his kitchen, with damp hair and the look of recently been thoroughly fucked by Joel Miller all over your face.
Marcus takes a step back, his eyes narrow as the realization hits. His lips part as though he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Before you can say anything, he surges forward knocking you back against the door and you hit your head. His big steps move past you into the house, and you're unable to stop him from heading straight for the man upstairs.
may i request some old!joel miller fanfic ☹️ with him acting pervy and having to take blue pills 😋 pretty please! loge your works💕
COURSE YOU CAN! AND THISSSSSSSS IDEA 🥵🥵🥵🥵🙏🏻 fabulous as fuck! i already started the draft and i’m having so much fun because i fucking love writing about old man joel! and thank you so much for the caring, anon! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
ever since i saw this video (the context for my non brazilian mutuals is basically the bride dancing with one of the bar guys and the comments are pretty much like: “if you had waited a bit more you could’ve married your soulmate!”) i can’t stop thinking about writing a one or maybe a five chapters max thing, where joel owns a bar service and sometimes helps his staff during the events, and, in this specific one, he dances with the reader/bride, they both have so much fun and it’s like an instant sparkle, but, at the same time: “wow reader just got married what the actual fuck??????!” you know? and maybe he could fuck reader dumb in the bathroom 🥵
Summary: Joel Miller, your favorite fictional character of all the time, appears under your Christmas tree, literally. And he's so fucking good.
Word count: 3.9K | Part 2
Warnings: MINORS DNI! Porn with a minor plot, dry humping, Joel cleans his mess with his tongue on the reader, kinda of a breed kink tho. Oldman!Joel, as always. No reader description at all except that she has hair. NO USE OF Y/N.
A/N: I had this idea while wondering either should I write something to post here for Christmas or not, but writing it was so fun and I just had to! English it's not my first language so I apologize in advance. If you’re new over here, welcome and Merry Christmas! Feel free to check my masterlist with more of my writing and please, let me know what you thought about this one! 💌
You knew every single detail about him. Every tiny thing that made him your favorite character, and after so many years fixed on the same obsession, you could almost no longer separate reality from fiction.
Joel Miller was absolutely everything to you.
Your countless hours on Tumblr, the long list of failed dates with men who couldn’t even hold a candle to a fictional character molded over the years by the best writers you had ever seen in your life, the constant and extremely explicit dreams. Another year was coming to an end, and despite considering yourself a successful woman at twenty-one, you would soon be twenty-two, and your only wish was that Joel Miller existed and would materialize under your tree, or, better yet, in your bed.
Nothing compared to the feeling of complete emptiness that washed over you every night, especially on those ones when you slept alone, surrounded by your pillows. During the Christmas season, the feeling became even worse: the family dinners, the lingering looks, and all the meddling aunts always questioning when you would find a boyfriend to introduce to them.
You had returned home early that day. December 24th was nothing special when you felt increasingly alone. As you prepared for bed, still with your toothbrush between your lips, you scrolled through your Tumblr feed looking for a good one-shot to read before completely surrendering to the tired sleep that only a long day could provide. Colorful lights were strung throughout the house, but they were especially concentrated on the giant tree that one of your best friends had insisted you needed this year — though it remained empty, thanks to the gifts having been distributed two weeks prior.
You didn't even notice when those same bright lights grew dim. When you returned to bed, you curled up amidst the warm blankets, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and cozy socks. You still had to face lunch the next day and listen to all the comparisons between you and your perfect younger sister, who flaunted a giant diamond on her ring finger. It would be a new day, and you needed to prepare yourself mentally.
Not long after having your feelings captivated by a good read, one that drew sighs from you and made you wish once more that fiction were reality, you fell into a state between deep and light sleep, still alert and not completely relaxed as you so desperately desired.
For Joel Miller, it all happened very fast.
Extremely fast.
One moment, he was certain he couldn't take any more. The blows Abby dealt to his body were incredibly heavy, and his lungs were surely damaged; yet, he was still fighting bravely, while Ellie’s screams were nothing more than a buzz in the back of his troubled mind. He knew that soon he would no longer be there for her, that the apocalyptic world was cruel, and that she would have to fend for herself. But contrary to what he imagined of death, he didn't see the image of Sarah or any of the loved ones he had lost over the years. In fact, everything went silent for a second, in complete darkness.
Until he found the courage to open his eyes, and the pain was gone. Perhaps paradise included a Christmas tree and a silent house, he couldn’t really say. Joel moved his body slowly, savoring the sensation of being able to breathe properly; the pain in the back of his head no longer seemed to be a problem, and there was no sign that his leg had been shoot.
Adjusting his hand, he felt a small note. The handwriting didn't look familiar, but Joel managed to read it anyway:
“Begin again, Joel Miller.”
Of course, he didn’t understand a single thing about what was happening, of course not. But he didn’t felt dead either; his clothes were halfway decent, and despite his messy curls and the initial confusion, the place still felt somewhat familiar. It didn’t seem like a world he knew, but he understood the coincidences of fate perfectly well. The same fate that had brought him Ellie, the same fate that had led him back to Tommy... Joel didn't believe in any bullshit at all, but it seemed to be his lucky day regardless.
He stood up slowly. He was still an old man, even if he was no longer on the path of a young woman furious over an action he had taken years ago — an action he did not regret.
He would have done it all over again, the exact same way, without hesitation, and there was beauty in that.
More than anyone, Joel Miller understood grief.
The decorations were curious, and as he walked through the hallways of the house looking at the photos on the walls, he realized this didn't seem like a world much different from the one before the apocalypse. Part of him still considered all of this a post-death dream, but the end of the world felt too distant, the end that had happened so long ago and taken the best parts of him. Joel should run and seize this chance, this fresh start; but if this really was a dream, he could afford to nose around for a few more moments. He could afford to breathe for once without feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The half-open door of your bedroom revealed Christmas lights while you were lightly asleep. Your phone screen still glowing. Joel paused for an instant, feeling a sharp pang in his chest, as if all the pieces of a puzzle were snapping into place at once.
He had been dreaming of you all these years.
It was your face in every one of his dreams. Over and over again.
For years.
He didn’t believe you could be real. With every passing second, he grew more shocked, watching you, frozen against the doorframe, afraid that if he took a single step, he might wake you. Afraid that if he moved in any way at all, he might lose you. Joel blinked slowly, gathering the courage he needed to approach. He took the phone from your hand, inspecting it to find where to turn off the light, as the model looked far more advanced than the ones he remembered. Finding the button he deduced was the correct one, he set the device aside and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand going directly to your hair, delicately brushing it away from your relaxed face.
His eyes traveled over every detail of you, but also over every detail of that room, stopping when they found a framed photo of him on your nightstand. A photo he didn’t remember taking, a photo impossible to capture for the simple reason that there had been no cameras. With every passing moment, it all seemed to grow more confusing.
Before he could demand anything, any explanation, your eyes snapped open. In a series of quick, terrified movements, you let out a hoarse, loud scream, trying to pull away as far as you could, but his hand was quickly over your mouth, muffling the sound. You couldn’t believe what was happening; a complete stranger was inside your house, and he looked exactly like the man you had daydreamed about for years, down to the clothes, the beard, the tiny details that had once only been described to you through the spiciest words.
Even the scent was the same.
“F’ God’s sake, girl. Ya’ wanna wake up all of ya’ neighbors?” he asked with his deep, raspy Texan accent making you even more terrified of what this could be. You certainly weren't dreaming, and you felt you needed to find a psychiatric emergency room as soon as possible.
But it felt so... real.
“Ya’ know what...?” he asked, hoping for some decent answers, nodding his chin toward the photo while still keeping his hand over your mouth. “How do ya’ know me? This picture... it’s not damn possible.”
Joel seemed more interested in trying to understand it for himself than actually prying the answers out of you, yet there he was, in the flesh, in your bedroom in the middle of Christmas Eve. Actually, it was already Christmas, according to your clock on the opposite wall, which marked shortly after midnight. When he finally took his hand off your mouth, his eyes — nearly imperceptible in the dim light — gave you a silent warning against screaming.
And if he really was your Joel, you knew exactly what he was capable of.
“I know everything about you,” you said. “Everything.”
“How’s that possible?” He asked, his expression a growing mix of fear and curiosity. “Ya’ don’t know shit about me.”
“I know that you have a younger brother named Tommy. I know that you lost your daughter, Sarah, on the first day of the outbreak. I also know that years later you found Ellie Williams, a girl who can’t be properly infected, and you saved her and… I also know that you should be dead by now, because Abby Anderson, the daughter of the doctor you murdered to save Ellie, killed you.” Joel remained silent, processing all of that information in complete stillness, blinking slowly.
“That doesn’ explain why I dreamed ‘bout ya’ almost every night for the last three years,” he muttered, completely devoid of humor, his voice sounding dry and still confused.
“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that question.”
The fear seemed to dissolve with every passing second, and you relaxed back into the bed, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders for a moment as you savored the silence. You didn’t understand much about Christmas miracles or the nature of it all, but it felt as though fate were finally granting you one.
Only, it was much deeper than it seemed.
Joel Miller, with all his nuances, had saved you from terrible days where the pain of reality was relentless enough to make your chest ache and your body tremble as you cried yourself to sleep, questioning if there truly was a God or anything capable of making you feel even slightly better, capable of helping you fit in. Joel was, for the most part, the reason you still believed in love; and even as a fictional character, now materialized on your bed, you understood every inch of the shared pain regarding loss and new beginnings.
He was everything to you.
It was through words, through every version of him, that you had come to understand the meaning of loving someone so unconditionally that death, eternal sleep, and faith in the unknown... all of it seemed worth it if the love that filled your chest and made you feel seen truly existed.
You didn't realize when the tears began to stream down your delicate face, but Joel didn't move closer. He didn't know if he could, he wouldn't invade your personal space regardless… but it broke his heart to see you cry. It didn't feel right.
You managed to pull a brief smile onto your face before you began to sob heavily, finally reaching out for him, for a simple hug. Perhaps you would wake up the next day and none of this would exist anymore, but you would know that it had been real, and you would have something to hold onto during your hardest days once again.
Joel held you tight, pulling you against his chest, and you squeezed him as hard as you could, inhaling the woody scent emanating from his flannel. Every second of that moment felt as if two souls were finally meeting, as if Joel could finally rest, and as if you were finally whole.
“Don’t cry, sweetpea. Bet ya’ still have a lot to tell me,” he said, keeping you close and kissing the top of your head while holding you in his arms.
He wouldn't invade your space. He didn’t even understand the purpose of being there; he truly didn’t know how to go back home — if he even had one left in this world — but being with you felt right.
It felt like fate.
And Joel was counting on that for everything to be okay.
...
“So, what do you do for living, Joel?” your grandmother asked him for the tenth time. Joel ended up laughing. The clothes you had bought for him at the last minute seemed to fit perfectly, especially the sweater that matched yours, which had made him laugh heartily in front of the mirror when he realized your intentions, though he decided to wear it with honor.
“I’m a contractor, ma’am,” he replied, taking a sip of the best hot chocolate he had tasted in decades. In this world, food seemed to taste much better, for obvious reasons, of course.
Joel had agreed to pretend to be your date while the two of you spent a good part of the night talking after your tears finally stopped. To you, it made perfect sense that he knew everything and all your nuances, just as the fictional versions of him always seemed to know. Everything was very new and strange to Joel, and part of him still felt like a rough, completely inadequate man.
But for some reason, things felt easy by your side, and he couldn't deny it.
He didn't plan on occupying your guest room forever; he needed to get his life in order. What he lost, what he had. The grief, the fresh start… But it had only been a few long hours since he had woken up under your Christmas tree, and you were in no hurry at all to have him leave.
His hand rested possessively on your waist the entire time, especially when your sister had started talking minutes earlier, trying to brag about everything, specially about the plans for her thousand-dollar wedding. She was interrupted by Joel, who seemed to have eyes only for you.
Your mother was radiant; his perfectly Texas accent and excessive politeness made her eyes shine, as if she were saying that you had finally chosen someone decent.
“See that? A real job for a real man. I always told all my daughters and granddaughters that those...” Your grandmother paused for a second, nodding her chin toward your younger sister’s prim-and-proper fiancé, who was holding a champagne flute and could certainly hear what she was saying. “...type of boys were real trouble. A man who can’t build the house his future wife will live in, isn't a real man.”
His laughter echoed through the room in sync with yours as you exchanged looks. There was a certain complicity between you, and you cherished the feeling; your heart, full after so long, felt like a dream you would refuse to wake up from if that were the case. Joel was a gentleman, opening doors for you, making sure your cup of hot chocolate was full at all times, and being ready to get you whatever you asked for. He had taken the role of your Christmas date seriously, but a part of you felt something far beyond all the supposedpretending.
“Your granddaughter is safe with me. I would build anything she asked m’ for.”
But when he spoke those words, Joel wasn’t looking at your grandmother. No. He was looking at you, deep into your eyes, as if one of your favorite writers were at the helm of your life's script, casting you in the most beautiful romantic comedy of your life. As if he knew you in every lifetime of his. As if things were simple, meant to be even.
And you felt your heart race.
You felt the flip in your stomach and the butterflies in your chest, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, making you smile and causing your eyes to sparkle. You feared the pain you would feel when you woke up and discovered that all of this had been a dream.
But you were awake, and Joel Miller had his hand on your waist, and he was the most handsome man you had ever met in your life and... Well, he was your greatest passion, and you were going crazy.
Definitely fucking crazy.
...
You barely had time to cross the threshold before Joel pinned you against the wall, completely famished, while his lips, chilled and flushed pink from the cold, sought yours in the same state, making you moan in protest. Your breaths condensed inside the house, which was quite dark, illuminated only by the Christmas lights. He was quick to kick the door shut with a none-too-gentle thud, but you didn't care; his hands were all over your body, and you were completely desperate for him.
The tension that had been building during dinner at your grandmother’s house during the touches, every time he followed you to the bathroom just to exchange looks whose meaning no one else could understand. The portrait of a gentleman you knew he were. The kindness implied in every action of his.
The final straw seemed to be when you ended up sitting on his lap, watching your little cousins open their presents while Joel squeezed you far more than necessary, acting as if he had known you for years, as if you were an old couple who had shared a bed for decades.
It was as if he had belonged to you forever.
You understood that it would take much more than just a true connection. Years of therapy, dealing with all the losses, yes, but the moment he pulled off his sweater and groaned hoarsely in your ear, you forgot every dilemma living in your head at that moment.
“Arms up, doll,” he whispered, removing your sweater the instant you promptly obeyed, leaving your pajama top exposed, revealing enough for him to realize you weren't wearing a bra. “Naughty girl, not wearin’ a damn bra f’me, I see it.”
And it felt like a dream.
Like all the things you had read a thousand times over, but this time, you were incredibly starved for him. You could already feel your body burning and your legs growing slightly weak, leading you to cling to Joel tightly, your sensitive breasts brushing against his chest.
Joel hitched up your shirt just enough to take one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking the nipple and pulling at it hungrily, gripping your waist with his free hand with a strength that would surely leave a mark the next day. You moaned uninhibitedly, feeling the heat spread between your legs, and as if he were reading your mind, he lifted his knee slightly, making you feel his knee against your already wet cunt.
You were both wearing jeans. It was too much fabric; you needed more, you needed his touch. You needed to feel Joel in every part of you, driving you completely out of your mind. It was as if fire were crackling and burning through you; in that instant, you moaned his name slowly, pleadingly.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Like this, ‘m gonna have to fuck ya’ and ‘m really tryin’ to be a gentleman and treat ya’ right.” Joel’s voice was nothing more than a hungry growl, and his cock was already straining against his jeans, drawing your curious fingers toward his zipper, but he shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Needy girl will take what I give. My rules now. Ya’ will ride my knee and cum for me when I say so.”
“Joel… Please.” You moaned, completely surrendered, while your nails slid up and down his arms. But Joel made no move to remove the remaining pieces of clothing that felt like the biggest obstacle between you two; instead, he forced his knee against the middle of your legs again and you felt it just right, melting over him.
“Yeah, just like this. Be good, doll, I might give ya’ some more. Show me what those things ya’ read ‘bout me taught you.”
You began to move your hips with a purpose, feeling the seam of the jeans between your legs, feeling the thick fabric grow wetter while Joel’s hands went straight to your throat until you were completely breathless, only to release his grip slowly before delivering a sequence of slaps against your cheeks, leaving it tingling. You knew you liked these things, but as you ground your hips against his leg, you felt your body go up in flames with the real-life practice of it all. Of all the things you once fantasized.
Joel grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him as he seemed to revel in your pleasure, his member cock harder than it was before, hoarse groans escaping his throat. It had been years, considering his life before, since he had touched a woman or made one feel the way you seemed to be feeling for him, and for him, it was like feeling alive again. The man would make you his in every corner of that house; he would fulfill every one of your fantasies, he would make you feel so good and just the mere thought of it made him delirious.
“Yes, Joel, please, it’s so good…” you moaned, your voice thick with longing under the pressure he applied, your cheeks burning as you searched for something to hold onto. He pressed his lips against yours in a hot, wet, and intense kiss, returning to massage your breasts, pinching your left nipple with his thumb while savoring your mouth in the most explicit way possible.
You could feel your orgasm building and tried to warn him, but Joel seemed even more determined to make you feel every possible sensation. You clung to him as if you were about to collapse, your fingers tangling in his salt-and-pepper curls, your breaths perfectly out of sync and ragged as you searched for more, and more, and more.
“Gonna fuck ya’ so good. Gonna fill ya’ with my milk and make ya’ a mama.” Joel moaned. “When I give ya’ this cock, I will fill ya’ with my cum and get you dripping it all over your legs for me, doll. It’ll sting so good, ya’ might never want to fuck with anyone else ‘ver again.”
And that was enough to make every wall of your body tremble.
Joel held immense power over you, and you couldn't even begin to deny it as your body shook with the most intense orgasm you had ever reached with someone's help. You tried to grind against his leg even more, trying to prolong the feeling, sensing the tears streaming down your face from the sheer weight of the stimulation.
He made sure you didn’t fall, but then he knelt in front of you, unzipping your jeans and dragging the fabric down with a certain aggressiveness. He didn't care about the delicate lace of your panties, and in a single, swift motion, he brushed the fabric aside before putting his tongue to work on your sensitive cunt, licking your orgasm as if you were the sweetest thing he ever tasted. You tried to close your legs, but he was holding you with a firm cruelty, making you moan in protest.
“It took a fucking Christmas miracle to make ya’ cum properly, sweetheart. Now lemme clean what’s mine.” Joel mocked you. “Don’t ya’ worry ‘bout it. Gonna make sure ya’ feel whole for the rest of your days. Stuffed with my cock and melting over my tongue. Gonna fuck ya’ so good with this pretty belly of yours all swollen…”
Summary: Joel Miller, your favorite fictional character of all the time, appeared under your Christmas tree a few days ago, now, he fucks you dumb during New Year's Eve.
Word count: 2.8K | Part 1
Warnings: MINORS DNI! Porn with a minor plot, P in V, Joel is so fucking hungry, DEFINITELY a breed kink. Oldman!Joel, as always. No reader description at all except that she has hair. NO USE OF Y/N.
A/N: FINALLY THE PART 2 as I promised! Happy New Year, folks! Thank you all so much for all the love this series had received, we're definitely having more for each holiday! In my masterlist you can find more of my writing and please, let me know what you thought about this one! 💌
You know you need to give it time.
You also know that getting attached to your favorite fictional character, who suddenly came to life on Christmas Eve, is one of the worst things you could do. You know you might be having another episode where you completely dissociate, and when you wake up, the pain of loss will be so deep that it will leave you in bed for days until nothing makes sense anymore.
But it is impossible not to get used to the extremely strong coffee he makes for you both in the mornings, or the incredibly comfortable embrace while you are watching a movie or an episode of something you desperately feel he will love as much as you do.
There is also the fact that in this reality, neither Tommy, nor Ellie, nor Sarah actually exist; and although you avoid the subject as much as you can, on the night of the 29th, you both end up having that delicate conversation where you have to explain exactly what you are both dealing with.
Joel seems to understand. He understands that being alive and knowing the outcome of the lives of the people he loves is better than not having a second chance. He is understanding, and that breaks you into a thousand little pieces inside. Because for him, there is no option to go back — at least, not alive. There are several options for a fresh start, and you offer to help him once the holidays are over to find something to occupy his mind, a job, anything. Even though money isn't an issue for you or your family, you understand his point of view; Joel didn't like the feeling of being a leech.
And well, he definitely wasn't.
You like the kisses you exchange more than you should, the way he seems to praise you at every moment as if you were a deity, covering you from head to toe with caresses and sweet words. His scent is embedded in your sheets in the most delicious way possible. Your mother seems to pay more attention to you now, calling you several times a day to ask about the handsome contractor from the Christmas party, and for the first time in your life, you don't feel the need for her approval. Not when Joel Miller, your Joel, is alive and breathing, with a towel wrapped around his waist and wet hair in your living room, asking where he can find a deodorant that doesn't smell like wild lavender.
You haven't touched each other intimately since Christmas night, when you deliciously came on his leg and eventually fell asleep in his strong, warm arms while feeling him completely hard against your ass. You no longer need to spend part of your nights reading steamy stories on Tumblr or scrolling through your feed on any other social media tag with his name; you have him here now, in the flesh. Yet, curiosity is always greater than you can admit, and you obviously still want to take a peek to see what your favorite authors are writing.
It is even more fun now, knowing that he is capable of doing all those things to you, or even worse.
It is even more fun knowing that his hands are indeed strong, and even if you won't admit it, you are dying to feel the heat of having him in your hands, and better yet, inside you, making you drip his cum. The mere thought sends a specific warmth just below your belly. Joel is sleeping beside you, his grey beard neatly trimmed and his curls scattered across his face in the most beautiful way you have ever witnessed. You both decided to stay home for New Year’s Eve and, naturally, were in bed before midnight. Somehow, there was nowhere else you wanted to be; all the parties, fireworks, and expensive glasses of champagne seemed to have lost their charm now that your heart felt like it was about to burst in your chest, finally full of love.
He is sleeping peacefully, breathing softly, his prominent stomach rising and falling slowly. One of his hands rests possessively on your leg; he seems made for the fit of your bed, as if your entire existence were in complete sync with his. You didn't believe in destiny, of course not, but nothing could explain Joel Miller to you, or what he represented.
The photo of Joel was still on your nightstand despite his protests, and you found his reactions even funnier when you made him watch other television shows featuring the actor who played him in general. Both were similar, if not identical, even though Joel would grunt at every turn about how he would never do something that way, or how they were completely different. Your laughter seemed to make him soften, and you wouldn't even realize when you had fallen asleep until you woke to his husky voice announcing he was carrying you to bed, lifting you without any effort at all.
And all these moments made life feel good; they made life sound like something to be celebrated, something sweet that you never wanted to end.
You didn't want to admit it, but you had always been in love with him. Now, of course, it felt terrifying, but you couldn't help it.
Not when Joel seemed completely enchanted, telling you how your eyes, your hair, and your entire existence had haunted his dreams ever since the apocalypse he had witnessed. As if some force in the universe were guiding you toward each other, and you believed in it deeply.
He seemed to celebrate every little thing in this world, and it made you realize how much all the things that Joel had faced had molded him. A walk around the block to pick up some snacks for dinner would leave him tense and defensive, as if a crazy zombie were about to attack you both, and he seemed even more protective; you knew that with time, everything would fall into place. Joel loved sitting in your garden; he loved watching life happen from your kitchen window and seemed enchanted by the birds, the small animals, and the wildlife, as well as the snow falling in the most mundane way and the laughter of the neighborhood children as they built snowmen and made angels in the soft, white snow.
He was safe now, and you would make sure that nothing bad ever happened to him again.
You couldn't sleep. It was just a few moments until midnight, which meant that soon, you would be starting your year on much more than just the right foot. You would probably just leave a tiny kiss on Joel’s cheek, you wouldn’t have the heart to wake him to celebrate properly, and simply having him by your side was already enough of a sign that the coming year would be perfect.
Trying to ward off boredom, with your legs tangled in his in the most comfortable way possible, you rested your face against Joel’s chest. He was wearing only the black boxers you had bought him a few days ago, claiming he hated sleeping in clothes because, apparently, it was much hotter during a New York winter than it was in Jackson. You kept your smartphone screen at its lowest brightness so as not to disturb him while you read and you scrolled through a scenario imagined by one of your favorite writers where Joel, your Joel, bent the reader over his construction office desk in Texas and did all sorts of wicked things to her.
You ignored the heat spreading between your legs as you moved through the story, taking a deep breath and pushing the covers away at the sudden warmth you were feeling. You shifted much more than planned, pressing your thighs together in search of some kind of relief. You had forgotten how stimulating the words you used to read could be.
You felt Joel move in bed, possibly just to shift positions, trying to get more comfortable. You didn't want to wake him, of course not, but his heavy, possessive arm was draped across your waist in such a way that you couldn't help but let out a loud sigh, knowing you were just one step away from all the things you were reading about. Joel’s grip caused your position to shift completely: your back against his chest, your ass against his hip, and all the heat from his body transferring to yours, skin to skin. It was comforting and the worst kind of torture at the same time.
Joel buried his face in your neck, murmuring something while still unconscious, in a state between dreams and reality, a grunt, perhaps, that you definitely couldn't identify. You sighed, with no choice but to surrender to the man, and found yourself extremely surprised to hear his husky voice, knowing his eyes were still closed, knowing he was one step away from ruining you if he wanted to.
“Ya’ think I don’t realize… that I don’t see ya’ readin’ this bullshit when ‘m right here to fuck ya’ in many better ways.” The accent seemed to make everything even better, and before you could process it, Joel swiped a lick over the sensitive spot on your neck, making you moan in complete surrender.
You felt him gradually hardening against you, causing you to tilt your hips toward his prominent bulge. Feeling his grip on your waist grow stronger, Joel was on top of you in a matter of seconds, pinning you between his strong arms and the soft bed. His expression was still sleepy, but his desire was apparent even through his ragged breathing, his grey curls falling in every direction and that damn smile dancing on his lips.
“S-Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up…” You tried to apologize, your voice trembling even as you savored every moment. With one hand, Joel grabbed your phone from where it had been forgotten in a corner of the bed, his eyes scanned the still-glowing screen for a few seconds before the device hit the fluffy rug with an impact that wouldn't actually cause any damage.
You let out a gasp at the sound of Joel’s dry, ironic laugh echoing through the room, sending shivers straight down your spine and all kinds of wrong sensations directly to your cunt, which was completely wet at this point. He seemed strangely hungry, and you could never deny the fact that you had wanted him since the very first day, since the first kiss, since forever.
It was a universal truth that only Joel Miller possessed the power to give you the best orgasms, whether they were through your dreams, your own hands, or through his damn voice that made you rub yourself even harder against his knee a few nights ago.
“Didn’t even needed to, doll. Sighing this loud and rubbin’ this pretty ass f’yours on me thinkin’ I wouldn’t notice? Nuh-uh. No need to keep readin’ this bullshit. I’ll show you something so much better.” He seemed completely insane, just like you, and there was something in his voice, in his scent... the universe seemed to be conspiring to make you more and more surrendered to Joel Miller, and no part of you intended to resist.
Joel rubbed his completely rigid cock against you and then adjusted himself once more between your legs, spreading them just enough to stay in the middle, the contact being completely direct now, tearing the most whiny and far-from-discreet moans out of you. Your hips tried to meet his, tried to search for more, but Joel was holding you firmly enough and seemed completely satisfied with dictating the rules and enjoying your whimpering and general suffering.
“Please... I've needed this since that damn party, Joel,” you begged, surrendered and feeling a lump form in your throat. Part of you hated begging and how easily it became an option when Joel was in play.
“Ya’ need me, hm? Where, darlin’? Show me, please,” he asked, though he sounded extremely ironic. You took one of his hands, leading it to your wet cunt over the delicate burgundy lacy panties you were wearing that night.
His laugh became even clearer, loud and husky. That single sound made you even wetter, driving you to act in the most pleading way possible. In one swift motion, you felt the fabric being torn by his own hands, with a sound that seemed deafening; with a whimper, you protested, and Joel froze in place. He looked at you, his gaze questioning how you even dared to challenge him.
Did you want him to stop and leave you like that?
Definitely not.
Without a second thought, he pulled the fabric up to his face, his gaze leaving no room for doubt, before tossing the panties toward the rug. He pulled his own cock out of his boxers, completely hard and leaking precum, impatient enough to rid himself entirely of that fucking piece of clothing that restricted him. Joel moved his hand up and down his length once before entering you in a single, deep thrust, making you moan out loud as if you were never fucked this good.
“Nhm… Joel…” You moaned in complete surrender, feeling his length stretch every inch of you, making you melt entirely. Joel seemed to be in total ecstasy as your pussy squeezed him, as if you were milking him.
“Pussy so damn good, fuck, ‘m pretty girl. Gonna fill ya’ up with my milk and make ya’ swollen with a baby of mine.” He groaned, his accent becoming even deeper and loud. “This what ya’ wanted, hm? An old man fuckin’ ya’ so good? ‘M makin’ sure ya’ don’t need this bullshit anymore. ‘M right here.”
With every phrase that left his mouth, Joel accelerated his movements, making them more intense, holding you firmly in place and completely using your body for his own pleasure, like he hasn’t fucked a tight cunt like yours in years.
And he was fucking right.
Your back arched off the bed as you craved more and more, and before you could process anything, Joel leaned his body forward and took one of your breasts fully into his mouth. He sucked desperately, circling his tongue around the sensitive nipple and nipping at it before letting go to repeat the process on the other.
“Gonna steal your milk so good, darlin’…” He groaned. “But fuck… if your tight pussy keep milkin’ me like this, I will cum inside of you so fucking good.”
“Please, J-Joel… Cum inside of me, please, please.” You begged.
You pleaded over and over, your legs locking him in place, preventing him with all the strength you had left from pulling away, leaving him no choice but to stay deep inside and fill you with his seed. Joel intensified his movements, and you felt your orgasm hit with such force that it made you see stars, your entire body trembling as your vision went dark under the most intense climax you had ever experienced in your life. You rarely had unprotected sex with anyone and were fully aware of the risks involved, but frankly, you couldn’t have cared less.
It took Joel a few more moments, but when he finally came completely inside you, the seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. He simply wouldn’t stop; you could feel him spilling over and over and over, his cum leaking between your legs and onto the sheets. You were acutely aware that Joel was usually deprived of such carnal, worldly pleasures, and it felt as though he were emptying his very soul into you. Your moans, joined with his, only ceased when he finally, exhausted, gave one last shallow thrust and pulled out. His cock, now softening and slick with your deliciously mingled fluids, slid free as his grey curls stuck to his forehead and sweat dripped from his neck down to his chest.
Breathless, the two of you took a moment to stare at one another, groggy smiles of pure satisfaction on your faces. Joel lay down beside you and pulled you against his chest, taking a moment to calm his breathing while pressing a lingering, symbolic kiss to your forehead.
“Did so well, ‘m pretty girl. An old man like me can’t barely handle all of this.” He joked. “So damn good.”
“I might never read anything ever again knowing you can do so much better, oh God…” You laughed and Joel looked at your clock on the wall.
“Happy New Year, my little miracle.”
“Happy New Year, darling.”
And when the two of you finally drifted off to sleep after a few moments of wandering conversation and shared laughter, every moment that had led you to this point seemed to make sense. You knew that in some universe, destiny was satisfied with the palpable happiness, the mere beginning of a long life together, where you would give your own life to keep him, your Joel, happy and safe.
so, i’m working on the part two of the joel is your favorite character and appears under your christmas tree and fucks you really good thing and it’s new years based, but, i need you guys to decide which route should it take! i’m also thinking into turning this into a holiday special thing! and also i want to thank everyone that stopped by and left a nice comment and everyone that liked or reblogged! i had so much fun writing this one and i’m so happy that you guys liked! there’s a tiny possibility that i can do both of the ones i asked for you guys to vote too…
choose one
a direct sequel about THEM
readers fav character joel miller appears on her wedding day on new year’s eve 🌶
